#I was inspired through this to maybe make

[harrysfolklore]

i see your face in every crowd - op81

summary: the asutralian grand prix is right around the corner and oscar's face is everywhere in melbourne, his ex girlfriend can't help but miss him (he misses her too)

folkie radio: if you know me you know i'm a sucker for an exes to lovers trope, and honestly this one is one of my faves i've ever done. ENJOY AND LEAVE FEEDBACK

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

liked by oliviarodrigo, lando and 2,107,399 others

yourinstagram back home for a bit... needed some time to reset & breathe. been writing loads lately - the songs are just pouring out 🌊 feeling more inspired than ever tbh. can't wait to share what i've been working on with u all soon. huge thank u for all the love lately, means more than u know xx

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username1 BABYYYY

username2 i'm happy she's home and surrounded by love

sabrinacarpenter miss ur face already 😭 these songs are about to end lives fr

chappellroan THEYRE NOT READY FOR WHAT'S COMING!!! also pls come back to LA soon i'm dying without u

username3 chappellynbrina is a forever thing

username4 the way melbourne gp is gonna be so awkward next month...

└ username1 why does everyone have to make everything about that 🙄 let them live

└ username2 no fr like can we focus on the music instead

username5 oscar ain't shit anyway, ur so much better without him queen

└ username3 y'all don't even know what happened, stop being toxic

└ username6 they literally both asked for privacy can u respect that maybe

alexandrasaintmleux being home suits u sm! can't wait for the new era

└ username2 once a wag always a wag

username7 THE BREAKUP ALBUM IS COMING AND IM HERE FOR IT

username8 take all the time u need but also pls drop a song soon we're starving 😩

lando yooo text me when you get the chance !

└ username1 THEIR FRIENDSHIP LIVES

└username2 oscar piastri you can't break this one

username9 some of y'all are being so mean for no reason, they were cute together and now they're not, it happens

username10 manifesting a collab with sabrina on this album 🕯️

liked by lando, alex_albon and 467,958 others

oscarpiastri Last few days of prep before heading home for the season opener. Ready 💪

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username1 THATS MY BABY GOAT

username2 we're so taking that wdc this year

lando looking a bit weak mate might need another few months of training

└ oscarpiastri stick to gaming mate

└ carlossainz55 Children, behave 😂

└ username1 THIS INTERACTION

username3 we're so back. man's entering his thirst trap era and we love to see it

└ username1 healing through gym pics, real

username4 the transformation from rookie to absolute unit we love to see it

username5 melbourne's gonna go crazy for him

└ username2 the city will be pretty much covered with his face

username7 the post-breakup glow >>>>>>

username8 bro said watch me get faster AND hotter

username9 yn is stronger than me bc i definitely would've given him another chance

georgerussell63 Looking strong 💪🏼

└ lando but still slower than me

└ oscarpiastri We'll see about that mate

└ username3 WHAT IS LANDO'S PROBLEM

aussiegp Our hometown hero getting ready to give us a show 🇦🇺

username10 YN GET BACK WITH HIM I BEGGG

liked by shortandbrina, livbedumb and 119 others

definitelynotyn not me stalking his instagram at 2am with a glass of rosé in hand... why he gotta post gym pics looking like THAT 😭 someone take my phone away fr because what if i do something stupid like text him rn???? also why does he have to look so good while training I HATE HIM

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shortandbrina girl DELETE instagram rn i'm not joking!! calling u in 2 mins

└ definitelynotyn too late i already watched his story 3 times help

midwestprincess this is why we don't drink wine alone bestie... coming over with ice cream and we're watching mean girls

└ definitelynotyn pls hurry before i do something stupid like listen to our playlist

livbedumb first rule of breakups: BLOCK THE GYM PROGRESS POSTS!!!! trust me on this one

└ definitelynotyn but what if i just want to check if he's doing okay 🥲

└ gracieeeeee she's lost it completely someone intervene

arithegood not me literally writing a song about this exact situation last week 💀 wine drunk stalking is universal bestie

└ definitelynotyn pls send me the song i just know it'll hurt so good

phoebenotbuffay okay but like... we've all been there 😭 remember when i almost texted #him after he decided to walk around in those short shorts

└ definitelynotyn at least urs wasn't wearing race suits that make his arms look like THAT

whostaylorswiftanyway time to write a song about it bestie x

└ definitelynotyn already got three verses and a bridge done ngl

liked by username1, username2 and 6,974 others

f1updates Melbourne is getting ready for the Australian GP! The city is covered in @/oscarpiastri billboards and posters as they prepare to welcome their home hero

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username1 imagine being yn trying to get coffee and boom there's your ex's face on a 50ft billboard 💀

username2 the way you literally can't escape his face anywhere in the cbd this week

username3 the way this gp would've been so different if they were still together... remember last year?

└ username1 they were the cutest in the paddock

└ username2 pls she probably won't even be in melbourne this year

username4 our boy is everywhere and we love to see it!!

username5 the promotional team really said oscar piastri world domination

username6 the billboards are giving everything they need to give tbh

username7 maybe she should drop the breakup album during race week for maximum chaos

└ username1 now that would be iconic behavior

└ username3 the way the charts and the podium would be fighting for his attention

username8 MELBOURNE IS OSCARLAND

username9 imagine not being an oscar fan rn… or worse, being his ex

username10 CAN SOMEBODY THINK OF OUR GIRL YN

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liked by lando, charles_leclerc and 597,388 others

oscarpiastri Seems like there's a few of me around Melbourne at the moment... has anyone noticed? 😅

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username1 OSCAR FUCKING PIASTRI

username2 HE DID NOT

lando bit of an upgrade for the city tbh └ oscarpiastri Better than your face mate

username3 OH HE'S MESSY FOR THIS ONE

└ username1 posting this RIGHT after her story i'm screaming

username4 he chose violence today and i'm here for it

mclaren Our guy's everywhere! Can't wait for the weekend 🧡

└ username2 admin pretending they don't see what's happening here

username5 THE TIMING OF THIS POST??? someone's feeling petty

username6 he really said "oh you can't escape me? let me show you why" 💀

georgerussell63 Just ran into your face in the airport

username7 the way he probably had these pics ready and WAITED

username8 bro saw her story and chose chaos

danielricciardo looking good mate! although i remember when it was my face everywhere 👴 └ oscarpiastri Times change old man

username9 it's giving "oh you miss seeing me? here's more" energy actually

username10 focusing on the important stuff: he looks good in every single billboard

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liked by harrystyles, sabrinacarpenter and 1,389,647 others

yourinstagram missing tour life so much today! can't wait to get back on the road and see all your beautiful faces again 💕 thankful for the memories we've made together x

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username1 MY GIRL I MISS HER

username2 the way she posted this exactly after THAT story... we see you

└ username3 damage control era

troyesivan SUPERSTAR 🤩🤩

username4 girl we know what (who) you're really missing

└ username2 not her trying to distract us 😭

username5 we're not fooled bestie but we support you

sabrinacarpenter miss you too angel!! ❤️

└ yourinstagram love you sabs 🥺

username6 NOT THE DAMAGE CONTROL POST

username7 WE NEED A TOUR ASAP

gracieabrams I miss being on the road with you 🥹🥹

username8 EVERYONE TALKIG ABOUT OSCAR HELP

username9 can we talk about how good she looked on tour though??

username10 the way she's probably sitting with sabrina rn planning damage control posts

└ username11 the group chat must be WILD right now

liked by midwestprincess, livbedumb and 109 others

definitelynotyn well. something just came in the mail and i think i might actually throw up. universe really said "you thought that instagram story wasn't enough embarrassment for one day?"

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shortnbrina GIRL CHECK YOUR TEXTS RN

└ definitelynotyn I'M HAVING A CRISIS

midwestprincess the way i SPRINTED here when you texted

└ definitelynotyn help what do i do

└ midwestprincess BREATHE FIRST

gracieeee wait is that what i think it is? 🏁

└ definitelynotyn 🙃🙃🙃

└ gracieeee OH MY GOD????

livbedumb the timing… someone's been plotting

└ definitelynotyn don't. i can't think about that.

maddiebeer okay but like… are you going?

└ definitelynotyn MADS PLS I'M ALREADY SPIRALING

└ maddiebeer that's not a no 👀

arithegood manifesting a rain delay so you have to stay longer

└ definitelynotyn I HAVEN'T EVEN DECIDED IF I'M GOING

└ arithegood sure jan

phoebenotbuffay imagine if you'd actually posted this on main too

└ definitelynotyn DON'T EVEN JOKE ABOUT THAT

└ phoebenotbuffay too soon? 😂

dulapeep at least you have time to plan outfits

└ definitelynotyn NOT HELPING

└ dulapeep the green dress. trust me.

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liked by lando, charles_leclerc and 665,583 others

oscarpiastri Close. Bring on tomorrow

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username1 THATS MY BABY GOAT

username2 oscar piastri man of few words

username3 pole position if he was still with yn

mclaren Our home champ 🧡

username4 OKAY CHAT DO WE THINK YN WILL ATTEND THE RACE??

└ username1 maybe focus on racing?? this isn't about his ex

lando sorry about that

└ oscarpiastri Should've just let me keep it

username5 can't help but think about yn in parc fermé for his win tomorrow but they're not together anymore

username6 HES WINNING TOMORROW THERE'S NOTHING THAT CAN CHANGE THAT

charles_leclerc An existential crisis later

└ carlossainz55 Let him breathe

└ username1 HUUUH WHAT ARE THEY TALKING ABOUT

username7 brb listening to yn's songs about him.. specially lover

liked by midwestprincess, shortandbrina and 107 others

definitelynotyn watching from my couch because apparently i'm the biggest coward in the universe. the pass is literally staring at me from my coffee table. i hate myself.

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shortnbrina GET IN YOUR CAR RIGHT NOW

└ definitelynotyn I CAN'T

└ shortnbrina YES YOU CAN I'M CALLING YOU AN UBER

midwestprincess GIRL THERE'S STILL 40 LAPS YOU CAN LITERALLY MAKE IT

└ definitelynotyn and then what?? walk in mid-race??

└ midwestprincess YES EXACTLY LIKE A MAIN CHARACTER WOULD

livbedumb not you watching his every move on tv when you could be there

└ definitelynotyn this is less scary ok

└ livbedumb is it though??

maddiebeer remember when you said you'd never be that girl who's too scared to face her feelings?

└ definitelynotyn low blow mads

whostaylorswiftanyway THE PASS IS RIGHT THERE GO GET YOUR MAN

└ definitelynotyn STOP YELLING AT ME

└ whostaylorswiftanyway NO

gracieeee remember when you said his note was the sweetest thing ever? remember crying about how much you missed him? but sure stay on your couch

└ definitelynotyn this is emotional manipulation

definitelynotyn FINE YALL WIN. CALLING A CAR RN

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liked by shortnbrina, landitooooo and 113 others

definitelynotyn we did some talking. then we did some kissing. then we did some more talking. then we did some more kissing. might have cried a bit (him too). wearing his sweatshirt again. life's funny sometimes.

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midwestprincess OH GOD FINALLY

gracieeee I'M SOBBING

leclercccccc FINALLY you accepted the follow request

└ definitelynotyn oh my god

└ leclercccccc i helped with the speech you know

└ notoscarpiastri mate.

└ leclercccccc you're welcome btw

landitooooo took you both long enough bloody hell

└ notoscarpiastri says you

└ landitooooo oi what's that supposed to mean

└ shortnbrina no idea really

└ definitelynotyn lando norris and sabrina carpenter... there's stuff you need to explain

arithegood THE TIMELINE HAS BEEN RESTORED

└ definitelynotyn dramatic much

└ arithegood says the girl who showed up mid-race

whostaylorswiftanyway I expect a full debrief tomorrow but I'm happy for you my girl

notoscarpiastri Can we go back to the kissing?

└ definitelynotyn please

liked by username1, username2 and 8,594 others

popbuzz YN AND OSCAR PIASTRI SPOTTED TOGETHER IN MELBOURNE

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username1 THE SWEATSHIRT THE SWEATSHIRT THE SWEATSHIRT

└ username2 SHE'S WEARING HIS CLOTHES AGAIN

username3 FROM SPINNING OUT TO BREAKFAST DATES IN 24 HOURS

└ username2 character development at its finest

username4 IM GOING TO CRY THEY'RE BACK TOGETHER

username5 Sources say he went to her place last night...

└ username1 and didn't leave 👀

username6 I CAN'T BELIEVE THEY REALLY GOT BACK TOGETHER

username7 this is proof that crying over your ex on main actually works

username8 YN IS A WAG AGAIN OMFG

username9 everybody say thank you australia gp billboards with oscar's face

username10 OSCAR LOVE SONGS ARE SO BACK

username11 WE WON SO HARD

liked by yourinstagram, lando and 876,494 others

oscarpiastri Home race took some unexpected turns both on and off track. P9 wasn't the result we wanted, but somehow still ended up winning this weekend.

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username1 HE'S SOOOO

username2 LOST THE RACE BUT GOT THE GIRL??

lando mate that's actually smooth

└ oscarpiastri Learned from the best

mclaren We'll take this kind of victory too 🧡

username3 THE THIRD PICTURE IM SOBBING

username4 mans really said forget p9 i got the girl

username5 HE'S SO BOYFRIEND WE'RE SO BACK

nicolepiastri ❤️

username6 OSCAR PIASTRI THE MAN THAT YOU ARE

username7 oscar's guide to get back with your ex with just ten simple steps

sabrinacarpenter FINALLY !!! OUR GIRL CAN STOP MOPING AROUND

└ chappellroan now we need oscar's friend to grow some balls too

└ oscarpiastri @/lando

└ lando well...

└ username1 OMFG LANDO AND SABRINA??

└ username2 WHAT JUST HAPPENED

username8 I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS IS REAL LIFE

yourinstagram 🥺🥺 i love you

[delilahsturniolo]

— ୨୧ it’s ok i’m ok . . . m.s

in which . . . your best friend matt helps you get over your ex boyfriend.

warnings . . . SMUTTY, unprotected sex, degradation, use of pet names, fingering, kissing, oral, (fem!recieving) breast play, wall sex, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, edging, teasing, dom!matt, veryyy brief (barely) handjob, reader grinds on matt’s face, ummm lemme know if i forgot anything?

written by @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)

SO CLOSE TO WHAT WRITING MARATHON . . . fic #11

“i don’t wanna talk about it,” you say softly, stretching your arms out, letting your head tilt back. you hear him exhale, and then, after a few moments, you feel him. the heat of matt near you as you both stood in his room. not trapping, not overwhelming…just there. solid. present. your boyfriend of 1 year had broken up with you a few days ago, and you didn’t know how to feel. you were honestly happy…but also pretty upset. you just wanted to get away from your ex, to forget about him.

“you sure?” matt’s voice is low, rough at the edges, the kind that sends a shiver down your spine. you nod, and when you look up, his eyes are already on you, watching. studying. like he’s trying to figure you out, even though he knows you better than anyone. “i’m okay,” you murmur, a little softer now, and it’s true. maybe it wasn’t earlier. maybe you were spiraling, feeling like everything was slipping through your fingers. but here, with him, with the way his fingertips skim against your bare shoulder, you feel grounded.

he leans down, just a little, his breath fanning against your skin. “you don’t have to be, i’m honestly surprised you aren’t a sobbing mess right now.” matt shrugged. your chest tightens, but not in a bad way, not in the way that makes it hard to breathe. but in the way that makes you aware of him, of how close he is, how easy it would be to turn and close the space between you. and god, you want to.

“i just wanna feel good,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. and that’s all it takes. matt’s lips brush against your shoulder first, slow and deliberate, like he’s asking for permission. then, higher…your neck, just below your jaw, where he knows you’re sensitive. his hands find your waist, pulling you back against him, fitting you together like you belong there.

“then let me make you feel good.”

his words send a heat through you, a slow-burning fire that ignites at your core. you turn in his hold, pressing your hands to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. matt’s eyes flicker down to your lips, and you don’t even hesitate. you close the distance, sinking into him, into the way he tastes, the way he moves against you, like he’s been waiting for this just as much as you have. his hands slide down, gripping your hips, pulling you even closer. the rest of the world fades away, the night, the noise, everything but the feeling of him. your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging slightly, and the low sound he makes in response sends another shiver down your spine.

matt is on you in an instant, strong arms hauling you against his muscular chest. his mouth crashes against yours in a bruising kiss, tongue delving deep to claim you. you moan into him, fingers tangling in his dark hair as he walks you backwards until your ass hits the wall. he pins you there with his hard body, one hand gripping your wrists above your head while the other squeezes your boobs through your shirt. mmm, let me make you feel good, let me make you forget about that asshole." he growls against your lips, hips grinding into yours. you can feel his erection straining against his jeans, the thick ridge pressing insistently against your core. "please," you pant, arching into him.

with a quick flick of his fingers, he unhooks your bra and tugs it off, letting your breasts spill free. he palms them roughly, thumbs circling your nipples until they harden under his touch. "oh fuck," you cry out, head falling back against the wall as he pinches and tugs at the sensitive buds. his mouth descends on one breast, sucking the nipple into his hot mouth. he bites down gently before swirling his tongue around the sensitive flesh, sending sparks of pleasure through you. "matt.." you whimper, hips bucking against his. matt chuckles darkly.

his other hand undoes your pants, shoving them down along with your panties. he finds your dripping folds, stroking through the slick heat. "so fucking wet already," he purrs, circling your clit with a teasing touch. "you're a needy little slut, aren't you?" you whimper, trying to push your hips into his hand for more pressure. "that's it, grind on my fingers pretty girl.." matt taunts, plunging two digits into your tight pussy. he pumps them hard and fast, finger-fucking you brutally. his thumb rubs tight circles on your clit, pushing you closer to the edge.

"cum for me," he demands, fingers thrusting deeper. "cum on my fingers." your orgasm crashes over you, back arching off the wall as you spasm around his invading digits. matt fucks you through it, drawing out your pleasure until you're boneless and trembling. as you come down, he pulls his fingers from your pussy, bringing them to his lips to lick your juices off. "you taste so fucking good," he groans, lapping at his digits. he drops to his knees in front of you, spreading your legs wide. "now it's my turn to eat this sweet cunt."

he buries his face between your thighs, tongue diving into your soaked folds. he licks and sucks at your pussy, alternating between long strokes and hard flicks of his tongue on your clit. you grip his hair, holding him in place as you grind shamelessly against his face. matt drives two fingers into your tight pussy, curling them just right to hit that perfect spot inside you. "fuck, just like that," you moan, walls fluttering around his invading digits. he pumps them faster, tongue lashing your clit as he finger-fucks you hard and deep.

"i'm gonna cum," you pant, thighs trembling. he doubles his efforts, sucking your clit into his hot mouth as he fucks you with his fingers. your orgasm slams into you, making you scream as pleasure explodes through every nerve ending. he keeps licking and sucking, drawing out your release until you collapse against the wall, absolutely spent. he stands, face glistening with your juices. "you're so pretty when you come undone," he says huskily, kissing you deeply so you can taste yourself on his tongue. you return the kiss hungrily, hands fumbling to undo his jeans and free his throbbing erection.

you wrap your hand around his length, stroking slowly from base to tip. matt groans into your mouth, hips rolling into your touch. "i need to be inside you," he pants, picking you up and wrapping your legs around his waist. you line him up with your entrance, feeling the broad head of his cock nudge against your slick folds. "fuck me," you demand, sinking down onto his thick length in one smooth motion. he bottoms out inside you, stretching you. "oh god yes," you moan out, clenching around him. matt grips your hips hard as he starts to move, pulling nearly all the way out before slamming back in.

the force of his thrusts rocks you against the wall, his cock driving deep into your pussy with each snap of his hips. you hold on tight, nails digging into his shoulders as he pounds into you relentlessly. "ah, oh my gosh matt" you cry out, head thudding back against the wall. he smiles, fucking you so hard the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room. "take my cock," he grunts, slamming up into you brutally. "fucking take it." your pussy spasms around him, drawing him deeper. "yes, just like that," you pant, feeling another orgasm building. he angles his hips to hit that perfect spot inside you with every thrust.

"i'm gonna fill this pretty pussy up," matt growls, one hand snaking between your bodies to rub tight circles on your clit. "gonna make you full of my cum." the dirty words push you over the edge and you cum with a scream, your pussy clamping down on his cock. he follows shortly after with a loud groan, burying himself to the hilt as he explodes inside you. you feel his hot seed painting your walls, filling you up just like he promised. he rocks into you a few more times, drawing out both your pleasure until you're boneless and sated.

matt holds you against the wall, panting heavily as you both come down from the high of your shared climax. "holy shit," he says finally, giving you a lopsided grin. "you feel better now?" you can only nod as you stupidly smile, still lost in the haze of pleasure.

© delilahsturniolo do not copy, re use, or modify any of my works.

taglist

[jeonginsleftcheek]

Discipline

pairing: professor!hyunjin x afab!reader

genre: smut, college au

synopsis: you did bad on a test and need to be taught a lesson.

wc: 2.1k

warnings: dom/sub dynamics, degradation, power play, caning/spanking, hair pulling, unprotected sex, oral (m), creampie, cum tasting, praise

a/n: this is just dirty smut and it was also needed for hyunjin's bday😩 enjoy💙 title inspired by nine inch nails - discipline!

~ masterlist

You were staring at your feet as you waited for Professor Hwang to come out of the classroom and invite you in.

You played with the hem of your skirt nervously, you knew he was going to scold you.

You were his best student, always with straight A's and he'd praise you and even use you as an example of a good student to everyone else.

But, on your last test you barely got a D.

Professor Hwang had immediately sent you an email to come see him after class. Oh yes, you were nervous but also excited.

You tried to supress the smirk forming on your lips as you bit into them and tried to look as innocent as possible.

The door swung open and students spilled out of the room, going different directions as you kept chewing on your lip, making your eyes big and teary for when he comes out.

Professor Hwang leaned on the door frame, his eyes travelling from your feet to your face as he scanned your fidgeting body.

"Come in, Y/n." he said, his face stern and unreadable.

You scurried inside, following him as he already made his way to his table.

"Lock the door." he ordered, sitting down in his chair and spreading his legs a little.

You gulped, your eyes falling to his lap before you swiftly turned around and closed the door, locking them after that.

"Come here." he beckoned you with his finger and you neared his table.

Professor Hwang stared at your bare thighs for a moment, licking his lips before he looked up at you.

"So, what happened? I thought you were listening to my lectures." he started, taking your test out and placing it on the table, his big hand splayed over it as he stared at you intently.

"I-I do listen." you stuttered quietly, blinking your eyes at him.

"If you did, you wouldn't be in this predicament right now. You're always my best student. I was expecting more from you and you disappointed me." he talked and tears brimmed in your eyes.

You opened your mouth to apologize but he kept talking.

"Were you distracted, hm? Maybe by a boy?" he smirked, leaning closer to you as you stood there playing with your fingers.

Professor Hwang sucked his bottom lip in as he glanced at your thighs again, his eyes travelling up to your chest pressed in the tight little shirt you had on.

"N-no! No I wasn't, I swear." you squirmed in place, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

"No?" he taunted you with a smirk.

"I-I'm sorry." you whispered, gulping.

"Oh yeah? How sorry are you?" he asked.

"Very, very sorry." you answered and he let out a chuckle, his hand reaching towards the drawer inside the table.

"Very, very sorry?" he repeated your words as he rummaged through the drawer, obviously looking for something.

"Yes, I swear." you nodded.

You shivered in anticipation as he paused, eyes raking all over your frame again. Suddenly his arm swiped over the table, pushing the contents of it and making them clatter on the floor. You jolted from the sudden movement, a little gasp escaping your lips as your professor pulled out the pointer he used sometimes during lectures.

You stared at the item in his hand then looked up at his face as he stood up, hovering over you.

"Bend over." he pointed to the table.

"W-what?" you stuttered.

"Don't make me repeat myself." he looked at you sternly as he tapped the table with the pointer.

You swallowed and shifted past him, standing in front of the table and staring at it before you slowly bended over, laying your upper body on the hard wood.

"I wanna see how sorry you really are." he smirked as he stood behind you and you pressed your cheek against the table, trying to look back at him.

Professor Hwang bunched your skirt up in his hand and then lifted it up to reveal your bare ass.

"No panties?" he chuckled, his hand gripping the skirt tighter.

A flush of embarrassment washed over you as you squirmed.

"Stay still." he warned you before pressing the pointer against your ass.

A shiver ran up your spine, settling on the back of your neck as your hairs stood up. Your heart started pumping fast against your chest, nails digging into the wood as you anticipated.

"I think you need to be taught a lesson. Don't you agree, my little bunny?"

Your pussy clenched at the nickname as you gasped.

"Y-yes." you were already fighting for a breath.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, I need to be taught a lesson." you whimpered and he chuckled at your compliance, removing the pointer away and waiting for a few seconds before he struck down, the cane making contact with your supple flesh.

"Ah!" you yelped, your thighs rubbing together instantly.

"Count." he growled at you before striking your backside again.

"T-two!" you whimpered and he laughed, repeating the process.

"Three!" you counted, digging your nails further into the table as professor Hwang whipped your ass.

You were crying, tears running down your cheeks as you counted and whimpered in pain and arousal as he showed no mercy on your poor flesh.

The more he struck you, the wetter you got, your arousal now dripping and smearing on your inner thighs. Professor Hwang could see it and smell it and it made his pants uncomfortably tight.

He threw the pointer aside after you counted to fifteen, his middle pressing into your ass, making you feel his hard erection pressed against your warmth.

"Look what you did, naughty girl." his hand tangled in your hair and he pulled your head back, rubbing against you and you whined loudly.

"I- I'm sorry!" you cried out as he grinded into you before leaning back and giving you a few more spanks with his hand, making your backside sting even more.

"Again with the apologies." he tsked. "I'm not sure that you're actually sorry, bunny."

"Yes I am, I swear!" you trembled when his fingertips ghosted around your core.

"For some reason I don't believe you. I think you're lying and you did badly on purpose." professor Hwang leaned over you, whispering in your ear as his fingertips ran over your wet folds.

You gasped, opening your mouth to speak but he cut you off.

"Naughty girl wanted to be punished by her professor, is that right?" he pushed your legs apart with his feet before plunging two of his fingers inside you.

You had nothing to say, because of course he knew. You only moaned as he pumped his fingers inside you.

"You don't wanna answer, little bunny?" he pulled his fingers out, only the tips touching you, teasing you.

"I do. I do." you panicked, thinking he'd pull away when you needed him so much.

"Tell me the truth then. And I just might go easy on you." he smirked.

You gulped, looking up at him as he hovered over you, his fingers toying with your clit.

"I did it on purpose." you confessed.

He let out a laugh and shook his head.

"Aren't you just a desperate little slut? Playing with your academic success to get under me. Pathetic." he tsked, mocking you as he pushed his fingers inside you again.

You whimpered, leaning back into his touch as your eyes fluttered.

"Answer me!" he growled, grabbing a fistful of your hair.

"Yes, I'm a desperate slut!" you cried out, fresh tears spilling out your eyes.

"How desperate are you for me, bunny?" he stopped all movement, suddenly pulling away from you and you whined at the emptiness and the cold breeze coming from the window.

"So desperate." you said as he pulled you up and then sat down on his chair, spreading his legs and beckoning you to come closer.

"Prove it." professor Hwang smirked.

You swallowed before getting down on your knees on the hard floor and he bit on his lip, looking at you with a stern look in his face and his brows furrowed as your shaky hands unbuttoned his pants.

He kept quiet, just observing you as you fumbled with the zipper and pulled his pants down with his boxers. His cock slapped against his stomach, the tip red and angry.

"You did that bunny." he smirked a little as you scooted closer to him.

Your pussy clenched at his words as you leaned in and tentatively licked at the pre-cum on his tip. You wrapped your lips around him and his hands grabbed at you hair, creating a makeshift ponytail as you sucked on him, taking him in more.

"Aren't you just so cute like this?" he asked more rhetorically while you swallowed as much of his length as you could, your small hand wrapping around the rest that couldn't fit.

Professor Hwang couldn't help the little moans escaping his lips because you knew exactly how to drive him crazy.

"That's enough." he pulled you off after a while, slapping your cheek with his dick. "You should be thankful I even let you do that."

"Thank you, sir." you batted your eyelashes at him and his cheeks flushed. He was weak for you when you'd call him that.

"Come sit." he ordered and you were eager to obey as you scrambled to your feet and hovered over him. You grabbed the base of his cock and pressed it against your entrance, letting the tip slip in before you slid down completely, burying him inside your warmth, your thighs flush against his.

"You expect me to do all the work?" he lifted his brow as you squirmed on top of him.

"I- I-" you were stuttering again, your pussy gripping him.

"You didn't do any work for your test so make it up to me, bunny." he ordered and you placed your hands on his shoulders and gripped, steadying yourself before you started bouncing on his cock.

"Harder." he ordered and your nails dug into his flesh as you pressed your feet against the floor and bounced harder, fucking yourself on his cock.

"Fuck." he groaned as he looked at your breasts, his length twitching inside you.

He ripped your shirt open, making you gasp when his hands grabbed at your tits, a smirk on his lips as you weren't even wearing a bra.

"All ready for me to take, hm?" he smirked as you moaned and shook against him, fucking yourself harder as his tip kept hitting your sweet spot.

"Y-yes, always." you whined as he grabbed at your breasts roughly, pinching and pulling on your nipples.

You cried out and came, exploding around his cock and squeezing him like you never wanted to let go.

"Fuck, my naughty bunny!" he growled and gripped your hips before fucking up into you and knocking the breath out of your lungs.

"H-Hyunjin!" his name had slipped out in your cloudy state and that was enough for him to grip you tightly and cum inside you, the warmness filling you up and making your eyes roll back.

Your arms wrapped around him as you tried to catch your breath and he pressed his forehead against your shoulder, his hands grabbing at your backside, massaging you gently and trying to soothe the pain.

"Think you learned your lesson now, bunny?" he lifted his head up to look at you, his hand coming up to put a strand of your hair behind your ear.

"Maybe I need some more tutoring." you winked and he shook his head.

"More, hm?" he smirked then, his hands cupping your breasts and running over your nipples. You clenched around his spent cock instantly and he noticed.

"Yeah well, you're the best professor, I love learning from you." you teased and Hyunjin laughed, throwing his head back.

You stood up, feeling his cum trickling down your inner thigh.

"Then I'll give you some more private lessons." he stood in front of you, hand between your leg as his fingers gathered his juices and brought them to your lips. You wrapped them around his digits and sucked, keeping eye contact with him as you swirled your tongue around and tasted both of your arousal.

"I'm looking forward to that." you said lowly as he stared darkly at you.

Hyunjin grabbed your face and kissed you passionately, his tongue tasting you before he pulled back.

"See you tonight for our dinner date, bunny." he smirked when you both adjusted your clothes.

"See you, professor." you winked, blowing him a kiss before you left the classroom.

Yes, dating your professor was forbidden, fucking him in the classroom even more so but forbidden things always seem more delicious, don't they?

taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @porangporangmeong @laylasbunbunny @laughatdanger @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @painterhyunjin @moon-ttokki-x @saintcosette @ooshyana @frehyun @scarlet789 @skzdust @schniti-is-in-the-house @hwangjoanna @sona1800 @channiesrightasscheek @justwonder113 @yvettemint @inaribu00 @httpdwaekki @possum-playground @ria-april @yn-x-them @mariahxrrera @0omillo0 @halfwinterhalfuniverse @cooldeermagazine @delulkpopstan143 @todorokiskitten @compersian @azxulskz @stayp1eceposts @minniesverse @skzdreamer13 @0325ale @j-ji-jia @shannthewriter @mhluvie @my-neurodivergent-world

[wordsofwhimsy]

𝙇𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙗𝙤𝙮

Pairing: Lensless!Mark Grayson x Reader

Warning: Violence

Inspiration: “Loverboy” by A-Wall

—synopsis—

you break up with Mark and he absolutely loses his shit

a/n: i keep thinking about the turning point for all the variants, the moment when they finally go full psycho. this is my take on how it went down for the most unhinged of the bunch 😛 if y’all like this idea i might do the same setup for some of the other variants c: also can someone tell me how to center shit? i can't stand the way this photo is aligned to the left

Mark Grayson stood there, staring at his phone like it was some kind of strange, foreign object. The message from you, the words that had just shattered his world, danced in front of his eyes, flickering and mocking him.

We need to break up. I can’t do this anymore.

He blinked, once, twice—hoping the words would change. But no, they stayed there, taunting him. We need to break up. I can’t do this anymore. Over and over. His mind spun, his heart dropped. The world felt like it was suddenly tilting sideways.

No, no, no, he thought, shaking his head, trying to make sense of it. This can’t be happening. He had fought aliens. He had stopped monsters. He had beaten back threats from across the universe—and yet, here he was, powerless, staring at a screen.

His hands started to shake. He dropped the phone, watching it crack on the floor.

Why?

The question echoed in his head, over and over again. Why? What had he done wrong? He was Invincible, wasn’t he? He had saved the world. He had fought for the good of everyone… And you just throw it all away?

He couldn’t breathe. His chest tightened. The suffocating pressure, the sting of betrayal—it all built up, bubbling beneath the surface.

But I’m not enough, am I? His voice, in his head, started to change—warped. Bitter. Angry. The hero, the one who always stood tall, suddenly felt small. No one was there to save him. Not you. Not anyone. Everyone had left him to stand alone, even when he gave everything for them.

His eyes darkened. His teeth clenched. The anger… it was coming. The rage, the darkness—it was pulling at him like a tidal wave.

Maybe it was time to stop pretending.

The phone rang. It was his father—Omni-Man. The same man who had told him all those awful truths about the world. The one who had turned everything upside down.

Mark didn’t even bother to answer. No one could save him anymore. Not his father. Not anyone.

His fists clenched, and the room around him started to crack. He could feel it—the power surging through his body, the rage making him tremble. Every muscle in him screamed for release.

They all leave eventually. He thought of you. Of how you’d just thrown him away like a broken toy. It was sickening. He could feel it crawling under his skin—like something was snapping inside him.

I tried. I really tried to be good, to do everything right, but it never mattered, did it? Now? Now the world was his playground. They all wanted him to break. And they would get exactly what they wanted.

He stepped outside, shot into the air with charged energy, the world below him nothing but a blur of lights and noise. He needed this. Wanted it. It was the only thing that felt real anymore. He could hear the people below, terrified. They had no idea. They had no idea what he was about to become.

Mark grinned. It was a twisted, manic grin—a grin that didn’t belong on the face of the boy who had once been a hero.

“I did everything for you.” He muttered to himself, his voice thick with insanity. He floated over the city, his eyes gleaming with something darker than hate. “Everything. For you. And you—” He laughed, an unhinged, breathless sound that filled the empty space. “You don’t even care, do you?”

The city trembled beneath him, a test, a challenge.

He didn’t want to stop. He didn’t need to. In fact… it felt good. No, it felt great.

With a violent snap of his wrist, the skyline cracked, buildings folding under his power. People screamed below him, running, hiding.

“Oh, don’t worry!” Mark called out, his voice light and playful, as if this was just another game. “It’s not the end. Not yet, anyway. We’ve got all night, right?”

He paused, letting the devastation sink in. The city was crumbling, and he was loving every second of it. He hovered there, savoring it, as the world around him burned.

Hours later, the night was still. The destruction was only a whisper now, the silence hanging in the air like a promise. Mark flew through the streets, his mind buzzing with a strange kind of glee. His thoughts were chaotic, but one thing was clear.

He knew where you were.

Mark floated toward your house, the familiar street now a place of twisted anticipation. It was so quiet. Too quiet.

He could see your lights on through the window. He could hear your heartbeat, faint but steady, inside.

A manic grin spread across his face. He didn’t need to think anymore. It was all so simple now. The game was changing. The stakes? Well, they were everything.

Mark landed gently on the lawn, the grass bending under his feet. He didn’t knock. He didn’t have to.

He could feel the power surging through him, making his skin hum with excitement. He was a bomb ready to explode, and you were the fuse.

“You know,” he said, voice dripping with dark amusement as he slowly approached the door, his steps heavy, controlled. “I thought maybe I’d let you see what happens next. But I think it’ll be more fun if you feel it.” He grinned, twisted, and so full of madness.

The door creaked open, just a crack. He leaned in, his eyes glowing with a dangerous light.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll enjoy this. Not so sure about you though.”

And with that, the door flew open, the shadows swallowing the light from inside.

Part Two!

[alchemistc]

He'd had a dream about this, once. Sweat still cooling, sheets tangled at his feet, a view of Eddie Diaz's bedroom ceiling.

Sue him - Tommy's not the first guy who ever had a raunchy dream about a straight friend. For a few weeks there, both Diaz and Evan Buckley had featured heavily in his rotation. And then Evan had tried to murder his best friend and Tommy had kissed him about it and now...

Tommy shifts his weight. Slides his hand across the sheets - Evan's sheets, still familiar even if the location has changed. Christ, why had Eddie never scraped the popcorn off his ceiling? It's an easy job, really, even if it is painfully boring and time consuming, he could -

The hand that curls around his neck, just under his jaw, is light, careful, still possibly covered in Tommy's cum.

"I missed you," Evan says, and Tommy feels the panic bubbling under his skin, a miasma of humming thrumming reminders that this had been a bad idea from the start. That "randomly" running into his ex three shots deep at the bar had been one of his shittier plans, fueled by his own tipsy jealousy at seeing Evan's drinking partner grinning at him for a good hour while Tommy got progressively worse at pool.

He opens his mouth to let Evan down. He can't do this There's no world where this changes anything. For Christ's sake, he'd only done it because the possessive monster inside of him had heard Evan introduce him to Ravi Panikkar as 'my... Tommy' and the rest of his brain had left the fucking building.

"Everything is so screwed, Tommy. Eddie, and Maddie, and - I just. I want to work on this. I want - I know I didn't say it right before, but everything went to shit that day and if we could just..."

He's always done this. Fucked Tommy to the brink of brainlessness and then proceeded to talk a mile a minute like the sex they'd had was inspirational and energizing. Tommy'd been endeared by it from the start. He still is.

He fucking hates that.

"I can - we can go slow. You set the pace, Tommy, I promise."

"Buck," he starts, and everything in Evan shuts down all at once.

He's done a poor job of keeping that line drawn in his own head - all these months later and he still thinks too much about him, still thinks of him as Evan, and it's a shitty thing to do when they're both fully aware that it's something of a treat for both of them - that name that's been mostly Tommy's since the day Buck found himself at the academy with three Evan's and grinned his way through a nicknaming process.

Evan's hand unfurls from its spot, fingers slipping from where they'd been working at his earlobe. He's gone from soft and pliant glued to Tommy's side, to stiff as he rolls away, sheets travelling with him, and Tommy doesn't fight it when they shift free of him, leaving him bare as the day he was born.

At least he's got his trusty fucking walls. Those at least will keep Evan from glancing up and seeing him break his own heart in two twice over.

Evan rolls to a sit, heaves his legs over the bed. In the soft light Tommy can map out the constellation of moles on his curved back as he drops his head into his hands.

The silence is deafening.

"I, uh ... I think you should go?"

Tommy's certain he doesn't mean for it to sound like a question. He's also certain Evan Buckley has never once in his life been anything but a novice at hiding emotion in his face, body language, voice.

He's pretty sure they could do this a hundred times and Evan might just let him.

Tommy doesn't speak as he gathers his clothes. Doesn't speak as he steals furtive glances around the hem of his T-shirt, doesn't speak as he realizes he didn't even make time for cleanup so he's definitely driving home with the evidence of this night still fucking on him.

Evan's still cradling his head in his hands when Tommy shoves his foot into a boot, not bothering with laces because maybe he'll just fucking trip on the curb and fall into oncoming traffic. It might be the better option.

"I'm -."

"Don't," Evan says, just loud enough for Tommy to know he's barking around a phlegmy throat. "This is worse, just so you know. It was already bad, Tommy..."

Tommy expects there to be more, but there isn't anything. Evan's shoulders heave, and Tommy grabs his keys and phone off the side table, and he blinks and he's somehow out the door, eyes stinging and blood rushing in his ears and he honestly shouldn't be driving but he's not gonna leave his fucking truck here.

He's not entirely sure how he makes it home. He comes back to himself with scalding hot water washing away the evidence of his fuck-up, throat sore and jaw tight and his phone blowing up on the bathroom countertop.

He shouldn't feel the vindication he does that at least this time he milked enough emotion out of Evan to make him send fourteen - his phone buzzes again - fifteen texts in a row.

He feels it anyway, and just to dig the knife deeper into his own chest he shuts his phone off for the night the moment he's towelled himself dry.

Tomorrow. He'll figure it out tomorrow.

He's been telling himself that for five months - a year - his whole fucking life. Maybe one day he'll be telling the truth.

[theonottsbxtch]

GHOST OF HER | LN4

an: i can't remember which song inspired me to write this, but i had it on loop and cried and wrote this so please enjoy this angst

wc: 3.4k

synopis: lando and his girlfriend had been broken up for 6 months, he tried to make it work with the new girl, he really did. but lando never moved on - he just coped and when his new girl was getting jealous,t here was only so much he could take.

IT HAD BEEN SEVEN MONTHS SINCE SHE'D LEFT.

Seven months since she packed her bags, closed the door behind her, and never looked back. Seven months since he sat on the floor of their flat, staring at the dent in the carpet where her suitcase had been, replaying every second of the moment she walked away. He had thought she was the one. The love of his life. The mother of his future children. The woman he’d grow old with.

And then, one evening, with no warning he could stomach, she was gone.

For the first few months, he didn’t feel real. He moved through Monaco’s streets like a ghost, haunting the bars, slipping between soft bodies and red-painted lips, drowning in perfume that wasn’t hers. One night after another, a different name, a different bed, hands on his skin that felt like nothing at all. It should have helped. It didn’t.

Eventually, he settled. A girl, warm and bright and willing, started staying the night. Then a few nights. Then most nights. Until, at some point, it just became them. She loved him. He just about liked her.

She knew, of course. Not at first, not completely, but she must have suspected. The way his fingers lingered on the pages of books that weren’t his. The way he pulled away in the mornings, something unreadable in his expression when he stared at the chair in the corner of the room where a silk scarf—one that wasn’t hers—was draped over the backrest.

The first time she saw the bracelet, she said nothing. Just glanced at it in the dish on his nightstand and looked away.

The second time, she reached for it. Let it pool in her palm. Ran her thumb over the clasp like she wanted to break it.

“This is hers, isn’t it?”

He didn’t need to ask who she meant.

He barely looked up from his phone. “I’ll get rid of it.”

A lie.

She scoffed, but she didn’t argue. Didn’t snap at him, didn’t throw it at the wall like maybe she wanted to. Instead, she set it back down with too much care, like even she didn’t want to be the one to shatter it.

It wasn’t just the bracelet. It was the scarf still draped over the chair in the corner, silk pooling like a ghost had just slipped it from their shoulders. It was the row of books on the shelf, the ones with dog-eared pages and underlined passages, ones she had once traced her fingers over while leaning into his side, ones that weren’t his. It was the perfume in the bathroom, untouched but never fading, its scent still thick in the air long after she had gone.

It was the way he looked at all of it, not like objects, not even like memories, but like a wound he refused to let heal.

She should have left by now.

Instead, she stood by the bed, arms folded, breathing too carefully. “Do you even want to move on?”

Her voice was quieter this time. Uncertain. Tired.

Lando should have lied.

Should have reached for her hand, should have told her he did, of course he did, of course she was enough. It would have been easier. Kinder.

Instead, he exhaled slowly, staring at the bracelet, and said nothing at all.

She waited.

For a moment, maybe two, she stood there, arms still folded, waiting for something—an answer, a denial, a lie she could cling to. But Lando had nothing to give her. He just sat there, his gaze fixed on the bracelet, his silence stretching between them like an open wound.

Eventually, she exhaled, shaking her head, muttering something under her breath that he didn’t quite catch. Then she climbed into bed beside him, turning onto her side, away from him, pulling the covers up to her shoulder.

She wasn’t leaving. Not yet.

She never did, even though he half-expected her to.

She was the kind of girl who wanted to be enough, who believed if she just stayed, just held on a little longer, maybe one day he’d look at her like he once looked at the ghost she was trying to replace.

But she wasn’t her.

And he would never look at her like that.

She was gone by morning.

Not for good—just to work, or wherever she went when she wasn’t here. She left a mug in the sink, a damp towel on the bathroom floor, her perfume lingering in the air. A presence. A reminder that she was real, that she existed, that she loved him.

He should have cared more than he did.

Instead, he sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the bracelet, the indent of her head still on the pillow beside him.

He should have thrown it away by now.

That was what normal people did, wasn’t it? Moved on. Let go. Cleared the space in their lives for something new, something better, something real.

He reached for it. Just held it for a moment, turning it over between his fingers.

The clasp was a little loose. It always had been. He remembered fastening it for her once, standing behind her in the mirror, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder as he did. She had smiled at him then, one of those soft, effortless smiles that made him believe in things like forever.

Forever.

What a fucking joke.

He dropped the bracelet back into the dish, scrubbing a hand over his face.

Maybe tonight he’d tell her to stop asking. Maybe tonight he’d finally lie, say he loved her, say he was ready to move on.

Maybe tonight he’d even believe it.

But not this morning. Not yet.

He got up, stepped over the towel she left on the floor, and went to take a shower.

By the time she had returned that evening, Lando had poured himself a drink.

It wasn’t a bad habit. Not really. Not yet. One glass, maybe two, something smooth and expensive, the kind of drink that suited a man who was supposed to have his life together. But that was the thing about grief, wasn’t it? It didn’t care how much money you had, how many women warmed your bed, how many times you told yourself you were fine. It still sat in your chest like rot, eating you from the inside out.

The flat was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of whisky and something else—something heavier. The weight of the past, maybe. He leaned against the counter, fingers curled around the glass, swirling the amber liquid slowly, staring at nothing in particular.

She dropped her bag by the door, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor as she stepped towards him.

“You forgot, didn’t you?”

His fingers tightened around the glass. “Forgot what?”

She gave him a look. “We’re supposed to be going out tonight. Drinks with the other drivers. You said we would.”

Lando exhaled through his nose, tipping his head back, downing the rest of his whisky in one go. The burn in his throat was welcome.

She sighed but didn’t argue. Instead, she pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “I’m going to get ready.”

And with that, she disappeared into the bedroom.

He stood there for a moment, rolling his shoulders back, rubbing a hand across his jaw. He should have told her no. Should have said he wasn’t in the mood, that he was tired, that he had a meeting in the morning. But he didn’t.

Instead, he pushed off the counter and followed her lead.

By the time she reappeared, he had already changed—dark shirt, tailored trousers, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. A mask of effort, of normalcy, of a man who was trying.

She disappeared into the bathroom, and he barely paid it any mind. He sat on the edge of the bed, pulling on his watch, focusing on the way the leather strap felt against his skin. He could hear the faint sound of water running, the click of bottles, the rustle of fabric. Normal sounds. Domestic sounds.

And then—

Then he smelt it.

It wasn’t strong. Not yet. Just the faintest trace of something familiar, something he hadn’t smelt in a long time but would recognise anywhere. His muscles locked up before he could stop himself.

No.

It wasn’t possible.

The door opened, and she stepped out, smoothing down the hem of her dress. His stomach twisted as she walked towards him, as the scent followed her, as it wrapped around him like invisible hands, clawing at his throat.

That perfume.

Her perfume.

She came up behind him, looping her arms around his waist, resting her chin on his shoulder. Her voice was soft, teasing.

“Baby, I didn’t see the gift you left me in the cabinet.”

His blood ran cold.

The perfume.

The bottle he had bought months ago. The one he never got the chance to give her. The one that had sat untouched, hidden away, waiting.

It had always been hers.

And now—now it was on someone else’s skin.

His jaw clenched so tightly it ached. His hands curled into fists against his thighs.

He should have said something. Laughed it off, pulled her closer, kissed the side of her head and pretended it was nothing.

But he couldn’t breathe past the scent. Couldn’t think past the memory of her, of bare shoulders and laughter in the early hours, of soft kisses and whispered promises, of a love that had never been meant to last.

She squeezed his waist lightly. “Shall we go?”

Lando swallowed, forcing himself to nod.

“Yeah,” he said, voice hollow. “Let’s go.”

And just like that, he let another ghost haunt him into the night.

The bar was crowded, warm with bodies and the hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, the occasional burst of laughter from somewhere in the background. Lando was there, physically, but he wasn’t really there.

He nursed his drink, ice melting, condensation pooling against his fingertips. The others talked, joked, shared stories, but he barely listened. His responses were automatic, nods at the right moments, half-hearted smiles that didn’t quite reach his eyes. She was beside him, her hand resting on his thigh under the table, fingers curling gently, possessively. But he felt nothing.

The scent of her perfume was still clinging to her skin, drifting towards him every time she shifted. It was suffocating. Drenched in memories he didn’t want to touch.

At some point, she turned to him, nudging his arm. “You alright?”

He nodded, took another sip of his drink. “Fine.”

She frowned, unconvinced, but didn’t push. Not yet.

The night dragged. The drinks kept coming. Someone cracked a joke, and she laughed, leaning into him, her lips brushing his jaw as she whispered something playful in his ear. A private joke, something meant to tether him to her, to now.

But it didn’t work.

Because all he could think about was how she used to do the same. How she used to lean in close, her breath warm against his skin, whispering words that only belonged to them.

And now she was gone. And he was here. And none of it felt right.

They got home late.

She kicked off her heels with a sigh, rubbing at the ache in her feet. He went straight to the kitchen.

She watched him from the doorway as he flicked on the kettle, moving through the motions with quiet precision. Reaching for a mug, dropping in a teabag, waiting as the water boiled. She crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe.

“Are you going to tell me what your deal is?”

Lando didn’t answer straight away. He poured the water, let it steep, added just a splash of milk. Stirred slowly.

Her patience frayed. “You’ve been a million miles away all night.”

Still, he didn’t reply. Just reached for his mug.

It wasn’t just any mug. It was hers.

White ceramic, worn from use, their thumbprints pressed into the glaze in the shape of a heart—a stupid, sentimental thing she had made them buy at a tiny shop near the marina. He should have thrown it away months ago. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

He wrapped his hands around it, the warmth seeping into his skin.

She exhaled sharply, a scoff laced with frustration. “You don’t even care, do you?”

He lifted the mug to his lips, took a slow sip. The tea was still too hot, but he barely felt it.

She let out a huff, pushing herself off the doorframe. “Forget it.”

Her footsteps were sharp as she walked away, leaving him standing there in the dim kitchen, alone with his ghosts.

And he let her go.

Again.

The following morning, Lando had a meeting and then was set to play a round of padel with Max.

He woke early, the flat still silent, the weight of last night pressing into his skull like a dull ache. She was still in bed, turned away from him, her breathing slow and even. Asleep, or pretending to be. Either way, he didn’t wake her.

He showered, dressed, and grabbed a coffee on his way out, barely taking a sip before setting it down on the counter. His shirt and shorts matched, his watch fastened, everything in place. From the outside, he looked put together. Like a man who had somewhere to be, something to do, a life moving forward.

But his mind was elsewhere.

He barely remembered the drive to his meeting, barely listened as Zak spoke, nodding at the right moments, offering clipped responses. When it was over, he checked his phone, saw a message from Max confirming the padel court reservation. A part of him considered cancelling, but he didn’t. He needed the distraction.

So he pushed it all down—the night before, the scent of perfume that wasn’t hers, the weight of a mug he should have let go of long ago.

And he left.

She didn’t know what made her do it, but the minute the door locked behind him, she grabbed a bin bag and started throwing his ex’s things inside.

The scarf first. The one draped over the chair in the corner, untouched but ever-present. Then the books. The ones he never read but never moved, the ones with underlined passages that weren’t his. They went into the bag without hesitation.

Her pulse pounded.

She moved to the bathroom, yanking open the cabinet. The perfume bottle sat there, half-used, a reminder, a relic. Her stomach twisted.

She grabbed it, her grip tightening around the glass.

It should have been hers.

All of this should have been hers. The flat, the space in his life, the love he never gave her but still bled for someone else.

She hurled the bottle into the bin bag, the sound of glass hitting plastic sharp in the silence.

And still, it wasn’t enough.

She wanted to wipe her from existence. Wanted to strip the flat of every trace, every lingering ghost. She wanted him to have no choice but to look at her—to really look at her—and see what was in front of him, not what he had lost.

But no matter how much she binned, she knew.

She would never be enough.

She tied the bag, dragging it to the door, her breath unsteady.

And then she waited.

Waited for him to come home. Waited to see if he would even notice.

Waited to see if he would finally let go—or if, once again, he would let her be the only one left hurting.

The moment Lando stepped through the door, he knew.

The air felt wrong. Lighter. Emptier.

His gaze flickered around the flat, his stomach twisting before his mind even caught up. The chair in the corner—bare. The bathroom cabinet—door slightly ajar, something missing. The bookshelf—space where there hadn’t been space before.

His chest tightened.

Slowly, he set his keys down on the counter, his fingers pressing against the cool surface as he exhaled through his nose, steadying himself.

She appeared from the hallway, arms crossed, her expression tense. She had been waiting.

“You binned them,” he said, voice eerily calm.

She lifted her chin. “I—”

His jaw clenched. “Where?”

She hesitated. “Lando—”

“Where.”

Her eyes flicked towards the door. The bin bag sat there, tied up neatly, waiting to be taken out. Waiting to be erased.

Something in him snapped.

She started speaking again, her voice tight with frustration. “You can’t seriously be angry about this. I mean, for God’s sake, Lando—this is pathetic! You’re holding onto a relationship that doesn’t exist anymore. She left. She’s not coming back.”

His hands curled into fists at his sides.

“I’ve been patient,” she continued, stepping closer. “I’ve given you time, I’ve let you grieve, but I will not���”

“Get out.”

Her breath hitched.

“What?”

His eyes locked onto hers, cold and unreadable.

“Get. Out.”

For a moment, neither of them moved.

She searched his face like she was looking for something—doubt, regret, anything that would tell her this was just a knee-jerk reaction, something she could talk him out of.

But there was nothing.

Just silence.

Just the weight of the choice she had forced him to make.

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “You’re really doing this?”

He said nothing.

A sharp, bitter laugh escaped her lips, but it held no real humour. “You’re throwing me out over some rubbish?”

Still, he said nothing.

Because it wasn’t about the things. Not really. It was about what they meant. What they were.

The last remnants of something he couldn’t let go of.

She let out a slow, measured breath, her gaze dark with something between anger and hurt. Then, with a sharp nod, she turned.

No pleading. No final words.

Just the sound of her heels clicking against the floor as she grabbed her bag, yanked open the door, and stepped out.

The second the door slammed shut, the flat was quiet again.

Lando closed his eyes, exhaling slowly, pressing the heels of his palms against his temples.

The scent of that fucking perfume still clung to the air.

And he had never felt more alone.

Lando barely made it to the kitchen before his legs gave out.

His back hit the counter as he slid down onto the cold floor, his breathing ragged, his hands shaking where they rested uselessly in his lap. His throat was tight, unbearably tight, and he let his head fall back against the cabinets, squeezing his eyes shut.

But it didn’t help.

Because the moment he closed them, she was there.

Not the one who had just walked out.

Her.

Sat on the sofa next to him, knees drawn up, a book open in her lap. He could see the way her lips moved as she read under her breath, the way she twirled a loose strand of hair around her finger without even realising she was doing it. He could see the crease between her brows, the small frown she always made when she reached a part she didn’t like.

His chest ached.

He opened his eyes, but it didn’t stop.

She was perched on the countertop now, bare legs swinging, watching him as he pulled food from takeaway bags, her laughter warm and teasing.

"Did you really have to order this much?"

He could almost hear himself scoff, the way he’d rolled his eyes, handing her a container. "You say that now, but you’ll be the first to complain when I don’t share."

The memory hit like a punch to the ribs.

He turned his head, desperate to shake it, but she was still there.

In nothing but her underwear, sprinting down the hallway, shrieking with laughter as he chased her with a pair of dirty socks.

"Lando, I swear to God—"

He had caught her, tackled her onto the bed, their limbs tangled, their laughter dissolving into breathless kisses, into whispered I love yous against each other’s skin.

His vision blurred.

The flat was empty. Silent. Cold.

But he could still hear her.

Still hear that laugh, bright and unrestrained. Still hear the way she used to call his name, still hear the way she used to hum under her breath in the mornings, the way she used to say I love you like it was the easiest thing in the world.

The sob tore out of him before he could stop it.

Then another.

And another.

He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, but the tears kept coming, hot and unrelenting, his chest heaving, his whole body shaking.

She was everywhere.

In the walls. In the air. In him.

And no matter how much time passed, no matter how many times he tried to move forward, no matter how many people tried to take her place—

She was still his.

And he would never, never be hers again.

the end.

taglist: @lilorose25 @curseofhecate @number-0-iz @dozyisdead @dragonfly047 @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @sluttyharry30 @n0vazsq @carlossainzapologist @iamred-iamyellow @iimplicitt @driverlando @geauxharry @hzstry

[comatosebunny09]

sensitive | sylus

— summary: sylus gets his ears pierced. — cw: reader is not mc, fluff, silliness, self-indulgent, a little suggestive, romantic dribble, inspired by the ear-piercing scene from loveless — wc: 1.8K

You’re surprised he can even get his ears pierced, given his rapid healing ability. 

Still, they look good on him—the onyx studs that take up most of his earlobes, matching his cufflinks. 

You stifle a quiet laugh behind your fist as the twins crowd around him, stars in their eyes. Their body language is animated as they praise Sylus and his fashion sense. He stands amid them, akimbo, smirking like a proud dad, a chuckle in his throat.

You wonder what influenced his decision to pierce his ears. 

That is until a pretty hunter pops her head into the front door behind him, her eyes creasing with mirth. 

She sidles up beside you, beaming like the cat who got the cream. Pats your shoulder, and you smirk at her in your periphery, shaking your head.

Of course.

“Let me guess: this was your idea, wasn’t it?”

“I know. I’m pretty awesome, right?”

You snort over folded arms. Leave it to Emcee to manipulate your boss into doing something so drastic.

—

You can’t keep your eyes off them—his ears.

One, because you’ve always found them to be one of his most adorable features. Two, because they’ve looked more irritated than usual, burning an angry red beneath the heavy gems in his lobes.

He seems uncomfortable with them, too. Wincing in meetings when he positions himself a certain way in his seat. An occasional, barely-there sound drawn from his throat when his hair scrapes his ears. And he’s more irate than what’s typical of Onychinus’ kingpin, lashing out unprovoked or being more quiet and reserved than you’re accustomed to.

You offer him painkillers to ease the ache. Even suggested he take the earrings out a few times; his ears are clearly sensitive, and perhaps the studs are too much for them to bear. 

But he waves you off with a tired smile. Reasons that they’re still healing, so he’ll just have to put up with the discomfort until then. 

—

“I feel terrible,” says Emcee for the umpteenth time, fiddling with the strap of her bag as she walks beside you through the mall.

“It’s alright,” you assuage, “you wouldn’t have known. I don’t even think he knows he can’t just wear anything. You know he’s bourgeois.”

She studies her feet, remorse twisting up her features. “I know. But I picked them out, ya know? And I’m the one who talked him into getting them pierced in the first place.”

You squeeze her shoulder, a reassuring smile curling your lips. “You did good. They look good. Maybe we can find something a little less gaudy, though. Something that won’t make his ears fall off.”

Emcee snorts, nudging you. She seems to be in better spirits, taking you in with those big eyes. “Yeah. Well, hey! Let’s stop here first!”

You don’t protest when she comically drags you into a jewelry store, her somberness an afterthought.

—

You’re as quiet as a secret, thanking your years of training for making you so. 

You slink into Sylus’ study, clutching a palm-sized, black box behind your back. He’s out conducting business, leaving the various trinkets and adornments of his office unprotected.

Giving the room another once over to ensure he won’t appear from the shadows—and that Mephisto isn’t around—you pad over to his desk, strewn with various papers and fountain pens.

Discreetly, you place the box on the edge near his chair where he’ll easily find it, the intricately curled scarlet ribbon catching in the ambient light. You try to make it look inconspicuous. Arrange some papers around it, fussing over its positioning before giving up.

You don’t know why you’re so nervous—it’s just your boss. Sylus, the man who isn’t afraid to sing like a metal pipe dragged over concrete in public. You’ve given him gifts before. Though you don’t think you’ve ever given him something so…personalized.

With your heart in your throat, you flee his study, praying to the powers above that he likes your present as much as you enjoyed picking it out.

—

“I wouldn’t put it past you to plant a bomb in my office,” Sylus teases.

You scoff from the opposite side of his desk. “If I wanted to kill you, I would’ve done it four years ago, bossman.”

He quirks a brow, studying you from the safety of his leather, high-backed chair. Seems to consider your words before you give him an exasperated look. 

He summoned you to his office a few hours after you’d snuck in. Of course, his security system picked up everything. You should’ve known.

You watch him fiddle with the box, your chest swelling with anxiety. 

“Just open the damn thing. It’s not a bomb.”

He taps his temple in that customary way, humor tugging at his lips. “That’s something that someone trying to kill me would say.” 

You roll your eyes, growing impatient.

Sylus doesn’t make you wait much longer, and you watch him tug at the ribbon with bated breath. Your heart seems to stop beating as he peels the box open, and he’s stock-still when he beholds what’s inside. 

He appears considerate. Quiet as his expression softens, eyes wavering between you and the box.

“Are these for me?” he queries hoarsely. Almost disbelieving.

You nod rigidly, fear and rejection coiling around your spine. You picked out hypoallergenic studs to hopefully curb his sensitivity. They’re modest yet stylish enough to complement his style.

Does he like them? Shit, does he hate them?

He chuckles something low. Something fond, and you feel it curdling in your stomach. He suddenly pushes away from his desk, and you blink rapidly, alarmed.

Sylus peers at you with a rare tenderness shining in his eyes. Expectant. “Would you like to do me the honor?” 

You gape like a fish out of water, owlishly blinking before you pick up what he’s talking about. “Uh, sure?” 

You inwardly kick yourself for how small you sound, how your voice cracks, and you awkwardly round his desk to stand before him, nerves wound tight. He leans back in a casual slouch, the soft mirth never leaving his handsome face whilst his eyes slide shut.

You step between his splayed legs, heat surging like molten liquid through your body. You pluck the matte box from betwixt his fingers, and you shudder when your skin meets. It’s strange; you’ve been close to him before. So why does tonight feel so…intimate?

Determined, you wet your drying lips with your tongue, pushing out a breath and resigning yourself. You bend slightly at the waist, fingers cautiously grazing over his skin to clasp one of his earlobes. You flinch when Sylus winces, a strained sound torn from his throat. 

“Sorry.”

“No, no. It’s alright.” He turns his head, offering you his ear, pretty lashes fluttering beneath a slightly furrowed brow. “Keep going.”

You swallow thickly past the sand in your throat. Try again, his fingers tightly gripping the armrests of his chair in your periphery. 

You feel awful. Know that his ears are still a little sensitive. But they’re soft and elastic beneath your fingers, and you’re hyper-vigilant as you remove one of his earrings.

His body tenses, legs threatening to lock around your hips as you stand between them. But he stops himself, instead giving you his other ear to repeat the process. 

He seems to relax once you’ve removed both earrings, lips slightly parting with a relieved breath out. You can’t help wanting to run your fingers along the cartilage. Want to rub the pain away. Maybe sink your teeth into it. 

“You’re sure this is alright?” you caution, plucking one of the studs from the box and setting said box on his desk behind you. 

He nods, holding his breath, brows knitting together. You feel like you’re doing something you shouldn’t be. Touching him in intimate places with the way he bristles and lightly gasps as you carefully slot each new stud in his lobes.

You’re grateful it’s over, taking a step back to appraise your work. And dammit it all, if he didn’t look good before…

“How do they look?”

“Hot,” you reply before you can think. 

Sylus chuckles at your brazenness, and the air seems to shift. An arm creeps around your waist, his massive hand finding the small of your back, its warmth bleeding through your blouse. Without warning, he tugs you closer until you stumble into him, your knee propped on the chair between his thighs. 

The look he wears is predatory. His eyes shine like dwindling coals, falling to your mouth before easing up to drill into your soul.

“Wouldn’t you like a closer look?”

His warm breath fanning over your face is dizzying. The proximity of his body to yours, his chest so pleasantly rigid and hot beneath your palms, and that devastating scent he carries is a recipe for disaster. There’s no mistaking his body language, the languid stir of his eyes. 

But you’re you, and this is your boss. Sure, you’ve been attracted to him for a very long time. But you’ve never acted on your infatuation, figuring he would reject you in favor of someone else. You didn’t want to muck up the relationship you’d worked so hard to construct. 

So, you laugh off his flirtations, attempting to quell the thumping of your heart in your throat. “Did Emcee talk you into doing shrooms, too?”

His voice crackles like a hearth fire. “Why? Do I look like I’m under the influence?”

You catch your breath, unaware you were even holding it. “No, but you’re acting kind of…strange.”

“Am I?” His hand makes several expeditions up and down your back, his free hand falling to your waist. 

You gasp, lips quivering, eyes hooded.

“If I’m making you uncomfortable, sweetheart,” he murmurs, enamored by your mouth, “feel free to tell me to stop.”

How could you when he makes you feel like this? Witless, confused, hot? The English language eludes you when a slender finger crooks under your chin, slightly tilting your head back.

Your body is under his command as he lures you closer, fully intending to kiss you. Pleasant tingles ricochet through your bones when his lips graze yours, and you’re about to abandon your inhibitions and just kiss him.

Until the door of his study flies open, the heavy oakwood cracking against the wall, and you don’t think you’ve ever moved faster, scurrying away from Sylus to stand rigidly at his side.

“Hey, bossman,” says Kieran, oblivious to what he just interrupted. “Your guest is here.”

You don’t miss the growl roiling in Sylus’ chest, and if looks could kill…

You take the opportunity to slip out of his office while he’s giving Kieran an earful about manners, and you slink against a wall in the hallway once you’re out of earshot. A lovestruck smile crests over your face, your heart pounding beneath your fist curled to your chest. 

Perhaps you should invest in these heartfelt gifts more often if it means having more close calls like that with the object of your quiet pining.

[hel1nn]

Satoru gojo fic recommendations !

— he fell from the sky! By @satorunigojaloo

It's a really beautiful series ugh what do i say now. satoru drops *crashes* Infront of reader and reader decided to help him recover from his injuries and during all of that a strong bond forms between you and toru.

Note : make sure to check @/satorunigojaloo 's masterlist,more excellent works of her are there ♡

— double trouble by @moon-catto

Because of a curse satoru is teleported back in time ^.^

— in a few years : part 1 | part 2 by @noroi1000

This one is also about time travel:3

Note : make sure to check @/noroi1000 's other works by scrolling through her blog,more excellent works of her are there ♡

— gunshot of love by @faevi

Smutttttt,dark content and gun play but nothing dangerous and fluff

— Lonely together by @/satorunigojaloo

Roommate toru,bsf to lovers.

— come with me by @/satorunigojaloo

Fluff and lil angst,roommate toru

— belong with me by @chuluoyi

Reader is megumi's sister here and is practically raised by satoru,at some point reader falls in love with toru . And satoru is like 10yrs olders than reader maybe

— heartbreak hotel by @/chuluoyi

Exes of one week to lovers ^.^

— fear by @/chuluoyi

Yeah this one made me cry but angst with a hapi hapi ending ^.^

— everything,but not anything by @/chuluoyi

Angst with a little comfort in the end

— found you by @/chuluoyi

Part two of "everything,but not anything" , comfort/no angst

— between us by @feelstora-quotes

Angsty:( but i love teacher toru ^.^

— older bf!toru by @sttoru

HELL YEAH I LOVE OLDER TORU

— satoru gojo x oc ! reader by @asdfghjklmals

This one is such a unique series,i love it.

— the devil's hour by @sltoru

A fic inspired by a manhwa called "tears on a withered flower". Reader gets cheated on by her husband but satoru saves reader and later she founds out satoru was a boy she met when reader was a small girl:3

— teacher satoru x student reader

Smutttttttttt aghhhhh Idk who's the owner of this drabble but all credits goes to them. I lovveeeeeeeee older toru.

— tell me you don't want me by @awearywritersworld

Satoru falls for his dead best friend's sister,you. Angst to fluff

— step on me by @/sttoru

Angst to fluff ! its always satoru who snaps at reader but this time reader snaps at satoru

— but daddy i love him by @jeankluv

A mini series where you meet satoru at a library, later your parents warn you about how much of a bad person satoru is but satoru proves their words wrong.

[pukefactory]

✦ ─ ˗ˋ FLIRT WITH THE AIR ˊ˗ ─ ✦

⬨ Summary: A Compilation of Headcannons Featuring Black Sapphire Cookie Flirting With An Oblivious Reader

⬨ Character(s): Black Sapphire Cookie (Cookie Run Kingdom)

⬨ Genre: Headcannons, SFW

⬨ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

⬨ Image Credits: @/royalmargarines30thfan_ on Pinterest

★ Black Sapphire Cookie is nothing if not patient. He spins compliments like golden threads, weaving them into his usual smooth-talking banter. “Oh, sweet listener of mine, your presence makes the world dazzle in ways even I couldn’t fabricate~” And yet… nothing. Not a blush, not a stammer, just a polite nod and a “That’s nice! Anyway, did you hear about—” He swears, he’s going to need a whole new broadcast just to document your sheer obliviousness.

★ He’s draping himself over your shoulders, whispering in your ear with that velvety voice, his breath just brushing your skin. “If you’d only lean just a little closer, darling… I’d let you in on a very exclusive rumour~” You lean in. He smirks. “Mm, it’s about you and me, actually.” And yet, instead of catching the meaning, you just ask, “Oh? Is it good press or bad?”

★ He loves the game, the chase, the push-and-pull… but this is ridiculous. How can one Cookie be so blind? He finds himself watching you more than he intends to, microphone twirling in his hand, muttering under his breath. “At this point, I’d need to shout it live on air to get through to them…” Candy Apple Cookie overhears and laughs so hard she nearly drops her lollipop.

★ When Shadow Milk Cookie asks why Black Sapphire Cookie seems more exasperated than usual, he just sighs, leaning back in his chair like a tragic performer at the end of an act. “Master, I have spun lies so grand they shape history itself, but convincing them that I am flirting? That, that is the one tale they refuse to believe.” Shadow Milk Cookie just stares. “…I see.”

★ He’s a master of getting the spotlight, but you? You’re maddening. You’ll listen, sure, but you’ll also get distracted by some trivial thing—like another Cookie passing by or an interesting rock on the ground. “Darling, I could weave a tale so thrilling it makes kingdoms crumble—” “Oh wow, look at this! The pattern on this stone is so cool!” Black Sapphire Cookie clutches his microphone like it’s his last shred of sanity.

★ At this point, he’s not above using a little… sarcasm. “Ahh, my dear, your ability to completely ignore my every advance is truly inspiring. Have you considered taking up a career in resisting temptation? You’d be phenomenal.” Of course, you just laugh and say, “Oh wow, really? I never thought about that before.” He stares into the void.

★ Candy Apple Cookie, ever the chaos gremlin, is having way too much fun watching Black Sapphire Cookie struggle. “He’s so into you, y’know,” she whispers one day. “He even calls you ‘darling’ and everything!” You just shrug. “He calls everyone darling.” Black Sapphire Cookie, standing nearby, physically reels.

★ He’s not jealous. Nope. Not at all. He totally doesn’t get irritated when another Cookie gets a little too close, even if they’re just talking to you. And he absolutely does not go on air later to spread a mildly exaggerated rumor about that Cookie, just to keep them away. Nope. Purely professional.

★ One day, he does make it official. No games, no riddles, no sultry suggestions. He just looks at you, dead serious, and says, “Darling. You. Me. Dating. Do you understand?” You blink. “…Ohhh, that’s what you’ve been hinting at?” He nearly drops his microphone. “YES?! What else—” He groans, but he’s also grinning. Maybe it was worth the wait after all.

★ When it finally clicks, you try to flirt back. The problem? You’re terrible at it. “So uh… you’ve got nice… um… microphone-handling skills?” Black Sapphire Cookie just laughs, deep and rich, the sound curling like smoke around you. “Oh, darling~” he purrs, looping an arm around your own. “You are so lucky you’re cute.”

[julymusings]

i could be yours part one

i could be soft and sweet, i could be hard and loud, i could be anything you ever need somehow.

prequel to simplicity!!!

or; an entire summer of chance encounters with the so-called prince of gotham [9.5k]

Jason todd x f!reader warnings: intoxication & vomiting (w/ description), suggestiveness, discussions of toxic relationships (cheating, emotional manipulation, misogyny); special dedication to @fluffy-anna who inspired this au with the ask that started it all‼️‼️😳

part one | part two | series masterlist

June 12th

Jason finds his brother at the entrance of the event, waiting for him with crossed arms and looking displeased.

“You are very late, Todd.” Damian looks up at him. His face is shadowed in front of Jason, whose head blocks the sun from Damian’s view. He wears a t-shirt with the Wayne Animal Sanctuary logo printed across the front and a name tag on the left side of his chest.

“Sorry, kid,” Jason says, and he means it. “Traffic.”

“No matter. I have a job for you.” Damian turns toward a table with a sign that reads, ‘Volunteer Sign-in”, but Jason stays rooted in place.

“What? No, I’m not letting you put me to work,” Jason scoffs.

“Why else would you be here?” Damian asks, looking affronted.

“You asked me to show up, I showed up. Isn’t that enough?”

“It is not, Todd. All you have to do is sit in a chair and ensure no one steals a dog. Is that too much work for you?”

“If someone manages to steal a dog from you of all people, they deserve to keep it.”

“Flattery is not going to get you out of doing work. Do not push me.”

Jason snickers. “Don’t push you? Or what? You’re half my size. I’m so scared.”

Damian huffs. His bright eyes narrow to something more menacing. He takes a sharp breath in for what Jason thinks is an attempt at puffing his chest and appearing intimidating— he’s wrong.

“Wow, Todd,” Damian bursts out loud enough for the surrounding tables to turn their attention. “You think we should send them to a kill shelter? Shame on you!”

Jason can feel the scathing stares shot at him without breaking his glare at Damian. “Funny. That’s really funny, Damian.” Jason says, sarcastically. “I’m leaving now.”

“You think we should abandon them on the side of the road?” Damian shrieks. “That’s low even for you.” He shakes his head disapprovingly.

Jason doesn’t engage, only turning around to walk back to his bike. He stops short, however, when he sees a little boy looking up at him with widened eyes. He's frowning, one tiny hand fisted in the hem of his cat-decorated shirt. The other is wrapped around the fingers of another man, presumably his father. Though Jason towers over him, the father looks at him with disgust.

He stifles a groan and turns back to Damian, who sports a brilliantly cheerful smile. Jason drops his head and sighs. “Where do I go?”

“You have to sign in, first.” Damian leads him to the center table, and Jason accepts a pen from the stink-eyed woman behind it to add his name to the list.

“Will you be making a donation?” Damian asks. When Jason hands back the pen, the woman purses her lips in contempt. Jason glares at Damian, but he is unmoving in his fake oblivion.

Jason reaches for his wallet.

“You could at least pretend you’re excited to be here.”

You hold your hand in front of your face, shielding it from the brightness of the afternoon. “Why?” You grumble. “I doubt the animals care.”

“Of course they do!” Your friend is much too bubbly for someone who stayed up until early morning drinking wine and watching reruns of nineties sitcoms on cable. “They can literally smell your emotions. They’ll know if you hate them.”

“I don’t hate them.” You roll your eyes, though it’s blocked by your large sunglasses. “I would just really rather be in bed right now. And I’m surprised that you wouldn’t. How are you not hungover?”

“Um, maybe because I didn’t drink an entire bottle all on my own.” He takes your hand and leads you through the throngs of people gathered around playpens of cats and bunnies.

“Did I drink that much?” You say it quietly, more to yourself than to him, but he picks it up anyway.

“Yeah…I only drank, like, two glasses? You didn’t notice?” He’s stopped at the end of a line leading to a pen of small rescue dogs.

You tilt your head, squinting at him through your sunglasses. “Does it look like I noticed?”

The line moves up as others clear out, having had their fill of playing with the dogs. The late spring sun beats down on your neck and arms, the light and sounds intensifying your headache, and you can’t help but sigh.

“Oh, what now? I planned this for you. I thought you wanted to adopt a dog.” He says, lifting up your sunglasses to get a peek of your eyes before you swat his hand away.

“To adopt a dog, you need a place to live.” The two of you move up forward in the line. “I’m sleeping on your couch right now.” Your stomach twists, and you’re not sure if it’s from the hangover or the reminder.

“Right now,” he reminds you. “But you’ll find a new place, and a new guy, and then you can take it on walks to your old place and make it poop on the lawn.”

Your forehead crinkles as you draw your brows together. “The guy or the dog?”

“Whichever one you want.”

This earns your first (sober) smile all week, and he brightens up.

“I don’t think I want a new guy just yet,” you say, crossing your arms.

“Well, you don’t need, like, a serious guy,” he says. “Just, like, a rebound.”

“A rebound? Seriously?” You scoff at the idea.

“Yeah, seriously. Just to get back out there, you know? Take your mind off of…” His voice fades out, both of you already knowing where he was going.

“I don’t think a rebound is what I need right now,” you say, avoiding his eyes. “I just need to find a new place to live.”

“Not even if it’s him?”

You follow his gaze to the person manning the area, his face coming into view as more patrons clear out.

“Damn.” Your friend fans himself as he comes into full view.

“You are so dramatic,” you say, but you can’t stop your gaze from sliding across his broad shoulders.

“Oh my god, I think I’m about to pass out. He looks like marble.” He grips your arm, pushing his weight onto you with a pleading cry of your name. You swat him away. “Please. Please. If not for you, for me.”

The man is…well, he really could pass as marble. His face is composed of sharp angles and rigid features, with a hard facial structure and crooked nose stolen from David himself. He sits in a chair next to the playpen with a relaxed posture, his arms crossed and legs stretched out in front of him. He looks indifferent to the noise around him—lazy, even—but there’s no mistaking the alertness of his eyes, the way they scan along the length of the park, surveying each passing patron with mechanical precision; as the line moves up and people speak to him, he studies their faces, eyes falling to their hands, their pockets, and their shoes. It earns him some uneasy glances— the discomfort his probing, baring gaze causes, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he does, and he just doesn’t care.

By the time it’s your turn, the crowd has lessened. The sun is just past its peak, and the late-afternoon drowsiness has set in for most people. The dogs are romping around in the shady grass underneath a tent to protect them from the heat, and you’re grateful to get a break from the harsh sunlight when you approach, finally able to lift your huge sunglasses and rest them atop your head.

The man—Jason, the sticker on his shirt reads—takes your tickets and you let yourselves into the playpen. He looks you up and down with the accusatory eye of a trained spy; you begin to feel guilty for things you never did, every small mistake you’ve ever made coming to the front of your mind. He looks at you like he can sense it. Now that you’re seeing him up close, there’s a small tuft of white hair at the front of his hairline that, from afar, looked like a reflection of sunlight. It’s a bit jarring, making someone so young-looking stick out in a crowd. You catch yourself staring, and so does he. His jaw tenses and he looks away.

“Five minutes,” he says.

Immediately, you and your friend are overrun by small and medium-sized dogs jumping onto your legs and climbing over each other for your attention. 

“Okay, wow. Hi there!” You squeal, kneeling on the ground as they crowd around you and your friend. All the dogs have tags on their collars with their names and the Sanctuary logo on the front. Your friend zeroes in on an excitable retriever puppy who jumped into his lap and is licking all over his face. 

“Lucy,” he reads from her name tag. The dog’s tongue lolls out, teeth baring in a smile as he scratches under her chin.

“Cute,” you say, watching their interaction. Lucy jumps into his arms and he coos, attacking her with kisses.

“Isn’t she?” He scoots closer to you. “Aren’t you feeling better?”

“I guess so,” you sigh, patting another dog's head before it notices two other dogs fighting over an enticing twig and scampers away to join.

“You know what would make it even better?” He asks, and you raise your eyebrow, though you know where he’s going.

He jerks his head towards Jason, eyes widening suggestively. When you stare at him, unamused, he scoffs and smacks your arm with the back of his hand.

“Come on, he’s perfect!” He whisper-shouts. “Just look at him. God, if I were single…”

You roll your eyes but look at him anyway. He looks flushed from the sun. That, or his decision to wear jeans and a leather jacket in this weather.

“I’m not sure I trust someone who dresses that warm in June,” you reply.

“Why worry about how he’s dressed? Just worry about un-dressing him.” Your friend snorts at his own joke, and Lucy startles at the sound, sniffing around his face for the source.

“Besides,” he continues, “I’m not sure you’re in the place to judge what he’s wearing.” His gaze drops to your shirt. “Like, I get the whole ‘putting-in-no-effort-post-breakup’ thing, but what is that shirt? Why is there a cockroach on it? And why is he holding a briefcase?”

You’re a little offended by that. “It’s…it’s The Metamorphosis. We read it in high school. Together.”

He narrows his eyes. “You know I blocked out everything from before I turned twenty-one.”

You press your lips together. “Fair enough.”

You spare a quick glance back to Jason, but he’s busy staring down someone walking by. Near his chair, in the corner of the pen, you notice for the first time a slightly older dog sleeping under small streaks of sunlight that seep through holes in the corner of the tent. It’s almost silly how it mirrors Jason— dark, furry legs sprawled out in the grass against black denim doing the same. Its ears flop open, just like the black waves that stick up in some places. The dog is even graying around its nose, white whiskers stark against the expanse of black fur.

You shuffle over on your knees, and the dog’s ears twitch, brown eyes opening to peer at you.

“Hi,” you murmur, palm outstretched for him to sniff. His tail thumps against the grass. You rub his belly and he rolls completely onto his back, tail wagging harder. 

You can’t help but giggle. “What are you doing all the way over here? Didn’t want to play with your friends?”

“Senior dogs aren’t as popular.”

You look up; Jason’s gaze is fixed on you, calculated, yet unreadable. You feel warm under his stare.

“Sorry?”

“He’s a senior dog. Most people prefer the puppies. More energy. Cuter.” He looks across the pen, to where your friend is holding multiple puppies in his lap. “Easier, emotionally speaking. ‘Cause they’ve got more life left.”

Your heart sinks as you look down at the dog in front of you. He pushes himself onto his legs, and it's clear he moves much slower than the younger dogs, but he’s just as adorable. His nose pushes at your hand— a request to keep petting him.

“That really…sucks.” You scratch behind the dog’s ear and his back leg twitches.

“Not much we can do about it.” He sounds aloof, but he rubs at a spot over his chest as he says it.

“Well, I’d adopt him if I could. Little…” You check the tag hanging from his collar, leaning closer to make out the engraving. “…Monster…Truck?”

Jason’s brows knit together. “Seriously?” He turns toward you, and you show him. He laughs— it surprises you. He looks so different when his face is broken into a smile. Nothing like the guarded, indifferent look he wore until now.

Jason looks behind you, squinting. “He seems…eager.”

Your friend is lying on his back, laughing as the dogs climb over him.

“He is.”

“Good idea to come here,” Jason notes. “Seen a lot of couples around; fun place for a date.”

Your lips quirk up and you shake your head, opening your mouth to correct him when you’re interrupted.

“NO!”

You both whip around and see your friend bolting upright. The dogs skitter away from him, and he crawls over to you.

“We are not a couple, I guarantee you.” Your friend is close to shouting. “I’m actually—” He flicks his wrist down, and you stifle a groan. “And also taken. So this—” He gestures between the two of you. “Not happening.”

Jason nods. “Oh, okay. Um…sorry.”

He points to himself. “Not single,” he says, then points to you. “Single. Not single,” he points to himself again, then back to you. “Single.”

“I think he got it.” You keep your eyes locked on the ground in front of you.

“Just making sure! You know, we’re in the middle of a misinformation crisis. So, you should always be fact-checking.” He pats you on the back and looks Jason right in the eye. “She is single.”

You face him, eyes wide with pursed lips. “Thank you,” you say, through gritted teeth. “For that.” 

“Anytime,” He flashes a bright smile and shuffles away.

You take a steadying breath and slowly turn back to Jason. He looks confused more than anything else.

“Sorry.”

“No—no worries.”

You stay silent, patting ‘Monster Truck’ on the head.

“Nice shirt, by the way,” Jason says, after a minute of silence.

“Oh! Thank you,” you grin. “Do you…like Kafka?”

“Yeah, I do. Is The Metamorphosis your favorite?”

“Definitely. Although I might be biased; I have a preference for tragedies.”

Jason leans closer. “You think it’s a tragedy?”

You tilt your head. “How is it not? Gregor never wanted to become what he did, but his parents still blamed him for it. They hated him, hurt him, and were relieved when he died when all he wanted was to keep being their son.” The dog rests his head on your knee, and you move your scratches to his back. There’s a quirk in Jason’s cheek, like an almost smile. “But the tragedy is that, in their eyes, he stopped being their son the second he changed. He was a monster to them, and he stayed that way until he died. He hoped that they would love him again, but he was doomed from the day he changed.”

“You don’t think Gregor was a monster?” Jason asks amusedly; you didn’t mean to get so passionate about Gregor Samsa today, but he’s clearly not complaining.

“Of course not,” you scoff. “Do you?”

“No, not at all.”

“Good. I’m surprised you don’t think it’s a tragedy. What is it to you?”

He shrugs. “Horror?”

You narrow your eyes. “Okay, sure.”

He chuckles. “You don’t agree?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Seems like you don’t,” Jason teases.

“Please don’t put words in my mouth, Jason.”

He laughs again, louder this time, and it sounds like music. You can’t help it; you break into a grin—something about his laugh is so contagious. You want to swallow the sound and be drunk on it for days.

“Seems unfair that you know my name and I don’t know yours,” Jason says.

A high-pitched squeak sounds from behind you, followed by a gruff throat-clearing, and a mumbled Sorry. You ignore it, eyes squeezing shut in a silent prayer that he can’t sense the sheer amount of heat radiating off of you.

You tell him your name, and he repeats it quietly to himself. Like it’s something special to be held close.

He tears his eyes away from you when more people approach the pen, a line beginning to accumulate. You realize you’ve been here way longer than five minutes, and stand, brushing grass and dirt from your knees.

“We should probably…” You nod towards the people waiting.

“Yeah,” Jason agrees, sounding disheartened.

He stands, offering a hand so you can step over the playpen walls. His skin is rough, but warm, and your skin buzzes under the contact. As you swing your legs over, Monster Truck whines and paws at the walls of the enclosure.

You frown, leaning down to give him one final scratch under his chin. “Sorry buddy, I’ll miss you.”

Your friend climbs out after you, but steps away, giving you some distance.

“Maybe, um…” Jason’s hand comes up to rub the back of his neck. “I’ll see you later?”

You nod, smiling. “Definitely.”

The sun is setting, and you’re drowsy and sun-tired from spending the day walking around the park. At every table and tent you visited, application forms for adoption and fostering taunted you from their piles, and you thought about little Monster Truck, old and lonely in his cage at the shelter, while there’s nothing you can do about it. Then you thought about Jason, his interesting views on literature that you’d love to hear more about, and how good he looked under the dappled sunlight shining down on him through the trees. Maybe he could be a good rebound, you think as you walk around the park, stealing glances at where he sits in the hopes of catching him as he leaves. But the more you think about him, the more your traitorous mind, too romantic for your own good, spins ‘rebound’ into possibilities of ‘casual’ into ideals of ‘relationship.’

Your friend is pulling the car around when you spot him a few tables down, an easy smile on his face as he talks to a beautiful woman with red hair and glasses.

He’s standing so close to her, you notice. He laughs at something she says. It’s the same laugh he gave to you. It leaves a bad taste on your tongue.

How much do you even know this guy? One conversation isn’t enough to gauge his character. You were presumptuous to assume he was flirting with you; there’s no way someone like that is single. Looking at him now, you’re brought back to days as a bright-eyed tween girl with a crush on the pool’s college-aged lifeguard. In other words— delusional.

He leans down and kisses the top of her head.

‘Relationship’ suddenly follows a thread of lies, manipulation, and excuses, all woven into a tapestry bearing nothing but three wasted years.

And for what? Ideals?

Shame sinks into your stomach, burning through to the surface of your skin. It’s like he can feel your stare because he looks up and his eyes immediately find yours. Frustrated tears prick at your eyelids as he squeezes the woman’s shoulder in goodbye and makes his way over.

Two seconds too late, the car pulls up to the park's edge. Your friend waves you over, and you’re half-tempted to make a run for it. But Jason calls to you, and on instinct, you turn.

“Hey, I was looking for you.”

You manage a strained smile, unable to form any words.

“Are you leaving?”

“Mhm.” You give him a nod.

The minute tilt of his head tells you he knows something is off.

He rubs the back of his neck. “Okay, well, there’s a good place for coffee not far from here. If you’re interested.”

“I’ll be sure to check it out.”

There’s a shift in the air. You both feel it.

“Actually, I meant…if you wanted to go now,” he says.

The fucking nerve of this guy.

“Why would I want to do that?”

This gives him pause. He looks at you with those calculating eyes, searching for something you refuse to give him. After a few too many seconds, he responds.“I thought you maybe wanted to—”

“Oh my god, Jason, no!” You spit. The force of it catches both of you by surprise.

He clears his throat, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Okay. Sorry to bother you.” He walks away before you can say anything.

Your legs carry you through your haze of indistinguishable emotions and into your friend’s car.

“What was that?” He asks, as soon as your seatbelt clicks into place.

“I don’t know.”

You spare one last look at the park. You have a clear view of Jason through the crowd, back with the same woman and now joined by another man. He’s shorter than Jason, and a little more tanned. He claps Jason on the back in a warm, familiar fashion. He and the woman’s hands are interlaced, and from the way she looks at him, it’s clear you made a mistake.

“Oh, fuck me.” You lean back against the headrest, taking a deep breath to soothe the stabbing pain in your chest.

“Do you want to go back?” Your friend offers. He peers at you sympathetically, and that only makes you feel worse.

“No. No, please just drive.” You drop your face into your hands, voice cracking.

His palm finds your shoulder. “Maybe it’s for the better. Like, everything happens for a reason, you know? For all you know, he could be a murderer. Or something.”

You want to find comfort in his attempts, but you just can’t.

“Drive. Please.”

“Things are gonna get better for you. I can feel it.” He shifts gears and peels away from the curb. The park disappears in your rearview mirror, and you can only hope he’s right.

June 30th

Things got worse.

On one particularly difficult day, you drag yourself back to the animal shelter because you just couldn’t get Monster Truck out of your mind.

“For the record,” the employee says as he leads you to his enclosure, “We just call him Monty.”

Monty, having already heard your voice as you approached, was waiting at the gate with wide eyes. His tail swung from side to side, and the sight of him had you melting.

The employee unlocks the gate and Monty lumbers out, panting happily and jumping onto you as you kneel.

“Hi, buddy!” You smush his face between your hands. “I missed you.”

“Have you filled out an application?” The employee asks.

“Oh.” You flush. “I’m sort of…in the process of moving right now. So…no.” It’s a half-truth. Your stuff is all in boxes and ready to be moved. You just don’t know where yet.

“That’s okay, you can still fill one out now! The process might take some time, anyway. Where are you moving to?” He has an unsettlingly bright smile. You feel like he’s already judging you.

“I’m…not sure. Yet.”

“I see.” He smiles even wider, somehow. “Then where are you living now?”

You blow out a sigh. “At a friend’s.”

“So, you’re essentially homeless?”

“Woah, dude.”

“If you aren’t planning to adopt, then you can’t visit the animals as you please. This isn’t a petting zoo.”

You share a few choice words with the employee, including a not-so-whispered ‘jackass’ (to which he says, ‘I heard that’ and you shout a ‘You were meant to!’) on your way out the door.

Later on that month, you heard about a modest one-bedroom apartment from a friend of a friend, whose friend knew the landlord; a little above your price range, but you could manage. You went through all the proceedings— references, background check, credit check, coming up with the money for a deposit—you were all ready to sign the lease and move in when you got the call.

These things fall through sometimes, the landlord said. Sorry it didn’t work out.

So tonight, when your friend, sick of your week-long pity party on his couch, hauled you into his Uber to join his date night, you thought, what the hell. Sure. 

Your friend and his boyfriend are insufferably cute. Normally, you’d smile at the way they’re all over each other on the drive to the club; kissing each other’s palms and stroking one another’s hair. 

Now it feels gloating.

Although this, you suppose, is your normal now, and while you can bear their playing footsie in the Uber, bear the hands in each other’s back pockets while waiting in line, bear playing photographer for them over the first round of shots, you draw the line at the sensuous, touchy dance moves happening three feet away from you. Not wanting to be the jealous and bitter third-wheel, you manage to grab their attention long enough to point to the bar and make your escape.

Still fairly early in the night, most of the stools are empty. You slide into one, and the bartender, a dark-haired woman whose name tag reads ‘Luisa’, approaches with a smile.

“What can I get you?”

You order a shot and, after a quick glance back to your friends (they’ve escalated to full-on grinding), you add a cocktail.

You throw back the shot with barely a grimace and start downing the cocktail. Luisa whistles.

“Everything okay?”

You merely shrug, not bothering to remove your mouth from the glass. Or breathe. The liquid level lowers at a steady speed until you’re left with only a few ice cubes.

Someone from a few chairs down scoots over to the seat next to you. 

“Wow.”

You don’t look at him, but the voice sounds male.

"I like a girl who can handle her liquor. Can—"

“No,” you say, not lifting your eyes from the counter.

You hear him scoff from beside you. “You could at least—"

“Nope.” You swish the straw around in the glass, pushing the ice cubes about. They clink against the corners of the cup.

“There’s no need—“

Something about this guy, and every guy to ever exist, fills you with exhaustion and rage. You drop your head into your hands, and groan. Loudly.

You hear his footsteps receding, as well as some curses flicked your way, but take an extra minute to hide in your hands. You think to yourself, when did men get so much audacity?

Another glass is set down in front of you. You look up; it’s Luisa. She wears an understanding grimace.

“Thanks,” you mumble.

“Break-up?” She asks, and you nod. “This one’s taken care of.”

“By who?”

“Don’t worry about it. Though, I do expect a generous tip later.” She winks, and you crack a smile for the first time that night.

“Why are men so…” You pause, searching for a word that adequately sums up what you’re feeling, but come up with nothing. She seems to get the point.

“Trust me, I know.”

“Yeah? What happened to you?” You sip the drink; the glass is cold in your hands, and it feels good against the humidity of the packed club.

She sighs, resting her forearms against the bar counter, fingers playing with the edges of her apron. “What didn’t?” At your sympathetic look, she continues. “I was with this guy for a few months, and everything was great. He was so sweet and loving. I thought he was, like, the one. Met each other’s families and everything. He started talking about moving in together…I was worried we might be moving too fast but he kept pushing it, saying stuff like ‘I want to be with you for the rest of my life, and I want the rest of my life to start right now!’” She accentuates her imitation with finger quotes and a high-pitched voice.

You squint at her with furrowed brows. “Isn’t that…When Harry met Sally?”

She laughs dryly. “Yeah. I hadn’t seen it. You want another?” She nods toward the glass you set down, now empty.

“Please.”

While assembling yet another cocktail for you, she resumes her story. “So I agreed, and he moved into my place, and then…” Luisa trails off, muddling mint and lime juice at the bottom of a shaker.

“Then…?” You prompt.

“Well, I found out that the day he started pressuring me into moving in together…that was the day he got his first eviction notice.”

“No.”

“Yes.” She pours your drink into a fresh glass and adds a straw, then slides it over the counter to you. “And I found out because he was four months behind on rent, and the landlord came to my place looking for him.”

“Oh my god!” You gasp, your chest burning with anger on her behalf. “What did you do?”

“I called my sisters. While he was at work, we changed the locks, packed up all his stuff, and left it on the curb.” She smiles at the memory. “Then I never saw him again.”

You snort into your hand. “So…you evicted him.”

“Essentially,” Luisa shrugs. “What about you?”

You huff. “Cheated,” is the only word you can get out, shoulders sagging as you fiddle with the straw.

“I’m sorry,” Luisa says.

"S'not your fault," you slur. Your three drinks are catching up to you. That doesn't stop you from ordering another.

Later into the night, when the crowd density around the bar has almost doubled, Luisa excuses herself to tend to the rising drink demand. You miss talking to her as soon as she leaves, but it's no matter because you're not sure your speech is even intelligible at this point. You're left with a grand total of three cocktails and two shots, the empty glasses surrounding your personal pity party at the bar. You're entertaining yourself by stacking the glasses atop one another when you hear a second set of footsteps behind the counter, though you're in no condition to comprehend the exchange.

"Hey, have you gone on break yet?"

"No, not yet."

"Okay, go. I'll cover you."

Your phone vibrates, and it takes a few tries for your clumsy hands to wrestle it out of your jeans' minuscule front pockets.

Unknown Number hey i want to fix this we can't throw away three whole years just because of one silly argument

You sho is yhid

Unknown Number i had to get a new number because you blocked me

You new nuumbrt who ids oj

Unknown Number wait are you drunk right now?

You y7es

Unknown Number i can't believe you, i'm trying to fight for our relationship and you're out drinking?

You fuvk ogg twat

"New number my ass. D'you see this shit?" You hold the phone up, facing the screen to Luisa. "How much you wanna bet he jus' borrowed— oh."

When you look up to where Luisa's face was, you're met with...nothing. A black void encapsulates your entire field of view.

"Am I passing out?" You ask, to no one in particular.

"What?"

The sound comes from above the black, and you follow it.

"Oh, shit."

You find a pair of green eyes narrowed at you, scanning you up and down. If you were more sober, you might feel somewhat intimidated by the burning stare. But any hint of sobriety has been thrown out the window and apparently took your filter along with it.

His face is somewhat blurry, but the unmistakable streak of white hair has you ninety percent confident that it’s...him in front of you.

Jason. From the animal shelter. Who you got along with, and then treated like shit.

“Woah! What’re you doin’ here!” It comes out as an exclamation more than a question and your words blend together, the alcohol making any speech require ten times the usual effort.

“What am I doing here?” It’s not accusatory, but rather genuinely confused. His voice is even, distant. Not a trace of the warmth you had last time to be heard.

You mimic his expression. “Do you, like…work here or something?”

He stares at you, dumbfounded. His face reads, this must be a prank. His mouth reads, after a moment’s pause, “…Or something.”

You sweep another look down his body. A black, short-sleeve T-shirt, well-loved jeans, and a pair of work boots grace his deific figure. You linger on his arms for a few seconds.

He clears his throat, and you’re drawn back to his face. He raises his eyebrows, unamused. The morning will be clouded by a haze of regret for how openly you check him out. But the morning’s not here just yet.

“You’re the barten—the bar…bar-man?”

He opens his mouth to respond, but you answer your own question.

“Nah, you’re…you are…can’t be bar-man. You don’t gotta apron!” You point at him, jabbing your finger so aggressively it shakes your whole body—a clear mistake from the way it makes the alcohol slosh in your stomach.

He says nothing and steps away to deal with the other customers. You return to your cup-stacking but, a moment later, the glasses are pulled from your reach. Your arm follows them with a whining protest, and a tall glass is placed in your hand.

“I didn’t order any more rum.”

“This is water.” Jason begins to turn away, but stops. “Did you think I brought you a full glass of rum?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I’m kinda drunk,” you mumble. You take a few sips, and then place it back on the table. 

“Oh, are you?” His tone has a bite to it. You look down at the cup, tapping your nails against the glass. You don’t give yourself the right to be offended; you deserve it, you think, as the events of that day replay in your head.

“Sorry for being such a bitch.” It comes out quieter, scarcely audible over the raucous sounds of the club.

“All you said was, ‘You’re not wearing an apron’.”

“Not now. Before. Last time.”

He doesn’t say anything. Then, “Just drink the water.”

“No, I’m gonna go throw up.”

“Wait—”

You jump from your stool, threading through the hordes of sweaty bodies to round the corner and bolt for the bathroom. You barge through the first door marked ‘vacant’ that you see and hurl in the toilet. Several times.

When your stomach is finally empty, you sit back against the wall, head hitting the tiles. A mixture of vomit and spit dribbles down your chin and onto your top. You take a deep breath, but the air stinks of sweat and smoke and you retch, but there’s nothing left for your body to purge.

The cold tiles do little to soothe your damp, heated skin. You need water. Water and fresh air and maybe a time machine, so you can go back and warn yourself to eat something before going out, or to pay more attention to what’s right in front of you, or maybe just go back and make sure you never say yes in the first place to that fucking—

“You in here?”

A swift knock on the door. Stern enough to knock you to your senses, and also rouse some shame. The amount of times you’ve embarrassed yourself this month alone— it brings another wave of nausea.

You don’t answer—you can’t, not with the acid and bile burning your throat and your head spinning from the glaring fluorescent lights. The door handle is pushed down achingly slowly, rusty hinges screaming in protest as the door is cracked open. Jason peeks his head in, the familiar tuft of white poking out from behind the door first, followed by the rest of him.

“Can I come in?” 

You nod. He leaves a crack in the door and approaches carefully, as if you’re a wounded animal in the wild, ready to bolt at the first sudden movement. He squats down to eye-level, careful to avoid touching his knees to the floor. Smart, you think, becoming acutely aware of your shoes sticking to the ground by way of some mystery substance.

“Sorry ‘bout this,” you croak, closing your eyes in the hopes that it will relieve some of the ache.

“It’s fine.”

“No,” you slur, “’s not. Can’t stop embarrassing myself.”

“Believe me, I’ve seen much worse.”

“Doubt it.” You open your eyes to look at him. He remains a respectable distance from you, so his features are still a bit fuzzy, but you can make out the thin line of his lips pressed together. He’s indecipherable, and you wonder if it’s on purpose that he hides himself, or if that’s just his face.

“Can you stand?” He asks, rising back to his full height. Still delirious, you manage a soft groan from the back of your throat and extend your arm to him. He gets the message, taking ahold of your elbow and pulling you to your feet with ease like you weigh nothing.

You hobble over to the sink and splash cool water on your face, wiping at your mouth and neck and cursing at the stains on your shirt.

“Do you need a new one?” 

It almost doesn’t register over the ringing in your ears, which is only compounded by the loud bass that bleeds through the walls and reverberates through your skull.

“You…hm?” Your voice crackles as you turn to face him. He’s oddly relaxed in his stance where he leans against the door, hands in his pockets and watching you intently. 

“I can give you a shirt. If you want one,” he says. His voice is soft, but whether it’s from sympathy or pity, you can’t tell. 

“Yeah, sure. Fine,” you reply, breaking eye contact to stare at the grimy wall behind him. More than anything else, you want a break from the way he looks at you; as if he’s peeling back your layers and staring right into the center of you. It makes you feel like a scolded child, walking to the principal’s office with a pit in your stomach and no idea what you did wrong, but knowing there must be something.

Your hands feel cold, suddenly, and you flinch at the unexpected sensation. Looking down, you see Jason pressing a bottle of water into your hands. You hadn’t even noticed he stepped closer.

He slips out the door, closing it behind him. You rinse out your mouth a few times, but the dry, acidic burn in your throat remains, so you go for the water bottle, but your fingers are too weak and shaky to remove the cap. You set it down forcefully on the sink’s edge and lean your weight against the sink, hands gripping the porcelain so hard your knuckles turn white. You stare at them, unable to bear your own reflection. You can feel the pressure building behind your eyes and screw them shut, clamping a hand over your mouth to muffle the choked-out sob that breaks from you.

“Fuck,” you mutter to yourself, wiping away at the moisture. “Get it together.”

You’re trying to steady your breathing when he knocks on the door, his request to come in muffled through the wall.

A stiff “Yeah,” is all you can manage; it’s so quiet you don’t think he heard you, but a moment later the door creaks open again and Jason’s head peeks in. You steal a quick glance at him in the mirror, and that’s all it takes for him to notice the shine of your red-rimmed eyes. He freezes, hovering halfway into the bathroom, unsure if he should come in or give you your privacy.

“Here,” he says quietly. You turn around at the light rustle of him holding out a large, light blue t-shirt, and a plastic grocery bag. “I’ll let you—”

“Wait,” you say, without thinking.

He looks at you expectantly, and after a few seconds of silence, you realize you need to say something.

“Can you—” You fumble for the water bottle that sits on the sink and hold it out to him. “Can you open this?”

He twists the cap open and hands it back to you. You take a small sip. The two of you stare at each other.

“Is there…anything else?”

“I, uh…”

There is something else. But you’re not sure what it is. The only thing your drunk—and clearly stupid—mind can think about right now is how much you want him to stay.

“You remember Monty?”

“Monty?” Jason raises his eyebrows.

“Yeah, you know. Monty.” You lean against the wall, resting your head on the tiles that are definitely carrying some kind of virus. At least they’re cold.

“No, sorry.” He shakes his head.

“Jason.” You cross your arms. “Monty!”

“I don’t…know who that is.” His ears are turning pink as he looks you up and down, likely wondering if the bacteria in this bathroom can cause hallucinations.

“Monster Truck. The dog.”

You can see the gears turning in his brain, and the moment the light bulb flickers on. “Oh,” he sighs. “Yeah.” His shoulder leans against the doorframe, and he pushes the door open a few more inches.

“Y’know I went to see him?” 

He hums in response and tilts his chin up, signaling for you to continue.

“Motherfuckers kicked me out.”

At this, his mouth falls open. “They…what?”

You nod vigorously, grateful that you’re not alone in your outrage. “Said if I don’t have a place to live, being there’s basically loitering.”

At his silence, paired with his microscopic frown, you wonder if he agrees. It occurs to you that this is the first he’s heard of your living situation—you rush to defend yourself.

“I had a place to live. Then I moved out. Was about to move into this new place, literally jus’ had to sign some shit, but this old bitch pulled it out from under me. Worst part is, she’s not even gonna live there. Just wanted it ‘cause it was around the fashion district, an’ I guess she just wanted a place to, like, put her feet up or something after a long day of shopping.”

If Jason wants to cut in, you don’t notice. You’re fully aware that you’re rambling, but can’t bring yourself to care; it feels nice to finally get all this out. Even if it is making you look even worse in his eyes.

“And you wanna know the worst part? I had the apartment. Was basically mine already. But then she had to go and bribe the damn landlord with all her…damn rich lady money!” Your volume increases as you go on, getting angrier at the injustice. “And then he lied to me about it! Said it just ‘fell through.’ Then I showed up to talk to him in person about it, and he broke like a…like—like something that breaks easily, I don’t know. Like, if you’re gonna fuck people over, at least be good at it. Don’t be a snitch!

“And, apparently, the lady—she said that she wanted that apartment because it was ‘the safest she could find’ and she didn’t wanna ‘get mugged,’” you say, using air quotes. “Bitch! If you wanna live somewhere safe, get the hell out of Gotham!” You’re practically yelling now, and Jason suppresses a smile. You know it’s probably mocking, but still, he listens patiently to your rant.

“But, actually, she was kinda right. It was a nice place. On Tyler Street. Totally bougie—the muggers don’t even come out ‘til after midnight.”

He actually snorts at this, and you feel yourself smiling at it.

Your eyes fall to the shirt in your hands. You hold it up to get a good look. It’s an icy-blue color with a monocled cartoon penguin in front of an iceberg. Underneath is written ‘The Iceberg Lounge: Gotham Waterfront.’ 

It’s so cheesy, you can’t help but laugh. “Why do you have this?”

“From the gift shop.”

“What kinda club has a gift shop?”

Jason shrugs. “This one.”

He steps out, shutting the door behind him. You peel off your old shirt and stuff it in the plastic bag before tugging on the new shirt; it’s soft and surprisingly good quality. After a few moments of deliberation, you decide to stuff the plastic bag in the trash—it’s not like you’ll miss it.

You open the door, startled when you see that Jason is waiting outside.

“I’m good, you can go back to work,” you tell him.

“How are you gonna get home?”

“‘S fine,” you mumble. “I’ll jus’ call an Uber.” You drag yourself out of the bathroom, leaning one hand against the wall for support. Jason follows, hovering like an anxious parent. You shoot your friend a text letting him know, and he replies telling you to call him from the car.

“That’s—” He rests his hand on your back and maneuvers you around a flock of drunk dancers whom you’re too absorbed in your phone to notice. “I can give you a ride.”

“It’s okay. You’re working.” You don’t listen for his answer, making a beeline for the exit. He stays on your tail, and you realize as he guides you in the opposite direction that you don’t actually know your way around this place.

“Not anymore.” He pushes open the front door and holds it for you.

“You can’t just leave in the middle of your shift, Jason.” The door swings shut behind you, and sounds of traffic and light chatter replace the ear-splitting music. Jason nods to the bouncer at the entrance before turning back to you.

“I wouldn’t worry about it.” He leads you around the side of the building.

“No, I will worry about it. You already hate me enough. I can’t be the reason you get fired.”

Jason stops walking. “You think—”

“I’m calling an Uber.” He tries to interject, but you don’t let him. “Look! George is three miles away, and he has a five-star rating.”

“I don’t want you getting into some rando’s car. I can take you home.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “What’s your problem? You don’t like George?”

“I don’t trust anyone in Gotham this late, and neither should you,” Jason says firmly.

“Then why should I trust you?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it. You scroll through your recent messages, surprised to see your ex’s ‘new number’ has called you four times in the last hour. Two of those calls have voicemails.

You skim through the voicemail transcripts. “Fuckin’ weirdo,” you seethe.

“What’s wrong?” Jason asks.

“Nothin’.” Your shaky fingers try to navigate to the ‘block’ button, but the screen shifts to an incoming call. It’s him. Again. You decline it. Not even a moment later, he calls again.

“Leave me alone,” you mutter, rushing to press ‘block’ before he can call again.

Releasing a heavy sigh, you drop to the curb, head falling into your palms. After a moment, you hear Jason sit down next to you.

“Is someone bothering you?” His tone is rigid, and it’s a shocking switch, abrupt and cold enough to send a chill down your spine. You lift your head to look at him. “If you don’t feel safe—”

“No, it’s just my stupid ex. Probably only calling ‘cause his fuckin’ mistress finally left him. Good for her, I guess. Bad for me, though. Now he’s lonely and won’t leave me alone.”

“How many times has he called you?”

“I don’t know, five? It’s fine. He’ll give up.”

“Are you sure?”

You nod. His shoulders relax. Barely. You don’t miss the way his jaw tightens, or how his hand flexes as he stares at your phone.

“If he keeps harassing you, tell someone.” At the way he speaks, you almost fear for your ex.

“I…don’t know if I’d call it harassment. He’s just an idiot.”

Jason looks you in the eye. “That’s not an excuse.” His gaze is sharp. You look away, something burning in your chest.

Quiet settles in the space between you.

“Feels like you’re judging me,” you murmur.

“I’m not judging you,” he says gently. “Why would I judge you?”

“I don’t know, just…for being with someone like that.”

It takes him some time to respond.

“People change.”

“And what if I told you he was always like that?”

“I still wouldn’t judge you.” This time, his reply is immediate.

“Maybe you should. I was with him for three years.”

“Why?” He asks, but it’s not critical; it’s curious.

“We were friends for a while first. I guess I was kind of a late bloomer if you wanna call it that. Never got much attention from…whatever.”  The alcohol’s lingering effects weigh heavy on your tongue, making all your admissions come too easily. “Then one day, that changed. He was the first guy who asked me out. Claimed he’d ‘always had a crush on me’. Guess I got excited, or something. I was so high on the feeling of being…wanted. Never noticed how selfish he actually was.”

“What did he do?”

“It was subtle. He wasn’t the only one who started noticing me; I started getting approached more. But it felt worse, almost. ‘Cause it’s like…I don’t know…I didn’t even change anything.” You hug your knees closer to your chest. “But then all of a sudden I was getting all this attention. And I didn’t know why, and he was like, ‘you really don’t know? You got super hot over the summer.’”

You hear Jason wince next to you. You tilt your head back and take a deep breath, filling your lungs with fresh air when all the remembering brings a familiar pressure to your chest.

“And I know it was supposed to be a compliment,” you continue, feeling yourself sobering at the memory. “Every time it happened, I would tell him about it, thinking we could laugh, but then he’d say some shit like, ‘Well they only like you now. I was the only one who liked you even before.”

“So, until now, you…lived with him?” Jason’s eyes are on the side of your face, you can feel it, but you don’t dare to look at him.

“Yeah. Moved in together after graduation with a lease in his name ‘cause I didn’t know any better.” You chuckle self-deprecatingly. “Found out in the spring that he’d been cheating on me for months, so I moved out. Been moving between friends’ couches ever since.”

A bout of heat runs through your veins as the gravity of everything you’ve told him settles in. You breathe out a long sigh, keeping your eyes trained on the sky above. There are no stars in Gotham, not since the sudden boom in factories and highways and airborne bio-weapons, and the moon is barely visible, waxing on the edge of a new moon. The sky is an endless expanse of gray.

“What about you? Don’t make me the only naked one here.”

The blinking light of an airplane catches your attention, and you track it across the sky. The alcohol has slowed your cognition; it’s nearly a full minute before you realize Jason hasn’t responded. You finally look at him—his lips are parted, eyes narrowed.

You frown. “What?”

“…Naked?” He asks.

“Yeah.” You shrug. “Never heard that before? It doesn’t mean naked naked. It means, like…naked.”

His face remains blank.

“C’mon, Jason, I have no interest in seeing you naked naked.” You look him up and down with distaste, hoping to support your statement, but get caught—again—on his arms. But who can blame you? You’re drunk, and lonely, and his sleeves are hugging his biceps like that, and they look big enough to crush your head.

When your eyes find his again, his jaw is tensed.

You dart to your feet, too quick to help your dizziness and burning with embarrassment.

“Whatever, can we go?”

“Please,” he says, and leads you down the street.

You stumble, tripping over your own feet as you walk and almost crashing into him. Jason huffs and reaches out to wrap his hand around your upper arm. His grip is firm, but not painful, and it holds you upright for the remainder of the walk. In the back of your mind, you wonder if he’s holding up your entire body weight in one hand.

“Wait a second–wait.” You freeze in the middle of the sidewalk, and he jerks to a stop. “That thing? ‘M not gettin’ on that.” You swallow back the lump forming in your throat as you stare at the massive motorcycle parked at the side door.

“Why not?” You can tell he’s getting antsy now, having to look after you like a babysitter, but not even the fear of being a burden can outweigh the uneasiness that comes from…that.

You take a step back. “That’s—you know how dangerous those things are?”

He looks to the sky, taking a deep breath. “Only if you don’t know how to drive them. I do.”

“Look, I get it, you got that whole thing goin’ on, with the bike, and the leather, and the big muscles—” His eyes widen a bit at that last part. “—But do you know what the chances are of being injured when you’re in a motorcycle accident? Do you, Jason? Ei—”

“Eighty-two percent,” he cuts in.

You jerk back, narrowing your eyes. “How’d you know that?”

He scoffs. “How did I know that? You don’t even have a motorcycle!”

“You don’t know that!”

“I do,” he snaps. “Because if you did, you wouldn’t be throwing a fit right now. So please, just get on the bike so I can take you home.” Jason shoves the helmet out to you, his expression fiery and pleading in a way you’ve never seen before. Still, you hesitate, chewing on your bottom lip and looking between him and the helmet.

Your eyes meet, and he sighs. “I’ll drive slowly.” He speaks softer, and somehow, it settles some of your nerves.

You take a deep breath and take the helmet, sliding it over your head. Jason tightens the strap below your chin, and his fingers brush against your neck. You feel dizzy again, your eyelids drooping with sleepiness. With him standing so close, you can smell the cologne wafting from him, layered on top of something deeper; a mixture of fresh soap and natural musk. 

“You smell good,” you murmur.

He snaps your visor shut.

“Good?” He asks.

“Good,” you say, though it’s muffled through the helmet, so you nod.

Once you’re both on the bike, you wrap your arms around his waist, squeezing tightly for fear of falling off. You feel his body vibrate as he says something, but you’re too tired to worry about what it is.

He revs up the bike and takes off, circling back to the front of the building and merging onto the main road. And yeah, he’s not going that fast, but it’s fast enough to leave your stomach a few feet behind. You cling to Jason, pressing yourself impossibly tighter to him.

Your eyes are closed the whole way, but the cold wind blowing against you feels nice on your skin. You’re so lost in the hum of the engine sending relaxing vibrations through you, how soft Jason feels, and the helmet drowning out the sounds of Gotham traffic that you don’t even notice when he stops in front of your friend’s building and takes off his helmet. When the light taps to your knee don’t work, he squeezes your leg with a stern call of your name. You jump in surprise, knocked out of your reverie, but pry yourself off of his back.

He gets off first, holds his arm out to offer stability as you clamber off, then undoes your helmet. By now, you’ve sobered up considerably, but you still lack just enough of your senses to stand on your toes and throw your arms around his neck. It’s a split-second embrace, so quick that you barely catch the fresh earthiness of his scent before pulling away. You swear the air feels heavier on your lower back, warmth bleeding through fabric where a hesitant touch hovers, but when you step back his arms are firmly at his sides.

Looking up at him, the tips of his ears are dusted with pink, and his eyelashes flutter in a gust of summer wind. 

“Thanks for putting up with me,” You mumble through a drowsy grin. “‘Specially after I fumbled you that badly.”

Jason blushes harder. “Get some rest,” he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “And call your friend,” he calls as you climb the steps. You wave goodbye, and he just nods, waiting until you get through the door to mount his bike again. 

He’s just about to kick it into gear when he pauses. He stares at the door for several seconds, fighting with himself, before groaning out a string of curses, pulling out his phone, and searching up Tyler Street.

divider

there are so many notes bc this was so long omg. it ended up being longer than i anticipated so i split it into 2 parts don't hate me🫥

omg...the birth of an au...i still can't believe so many people liked the first part, this is a prequel for how they met. ty for reading my writing🤭i looove writing iceberg lounge jason!! part 2 of this fic and more parts coming soon!!!

so uh...maybe i'm going crazy but i could've sworn that wayne animal sanctuary was a canon thing when i started this, but then i tried to look it up and couldn't find anything :/ but then i included it anyway bc i'm The Author and i can do whatever i want!

the metamorphosis shirt is based on this "working bug" design that i ❤️ (i have the sticker!).

the motorcycle accident stats were for 2013-2017 from the new jersey division of highway traffic and safety website- basically if you were in a motorcycle accident in those years you had an 82% chance of sustaining injuries from it. wasn't sure if it was clear😬

[bbyg4rl]

maybe.. jj with a breeding kink?

make you a real mama

cw: bf!jj x reader, established relationship, smut !

summary: you joke about having a food baby, so JJ gives you a real baby. Inspired by request ! MDNI.

< oral f. receiving, little slap on thighs, unprotected piv, creampie, breeding kink, praise >

a/n: sry this took so long anon! hope you like it <3

“Ugh, it’s like I have a food baby” you joked to Sarah, grinning as she chuckled in response. It was meant to be nothing more than a lighthearted comment, just a silly remark about overeating. But little did you know, that one simple joke would change everything.

Your words reached JJ’s ears, pulling his attention away from whatever conversation he was having with Pope. The moment you referred to yourself as a mother, even if it was just to a “food baby,” something in him shifted.

The idea of you pregnant, carrying his baby, sent a wave of arousal through him. His mind spiraled, suddenly consumed by images of you swollen with his child, glowing, utterly his. He swallowed hard, shifting in his seat as he tried to focus on anything else—but it was too late. The thought had taken root, and there was no pushing it away now.

By the time you both had retreated to his room at the Chateau, the tension in his pants was unbearable. Every brush of your skin against his, every glance exchanged had only fueled the fire burning inside him. He could hardly think straight, overpowered with the need to have you.

The moment the door shut behind you, his restraint shattered. He couldn’t wait any longer. All he wanted was to push you onto the bed and fuck a baby into you. “Fuckin' got me losing my mind all day” he whispered, his voice low and rough. His arms wrap around you, pulling you in as he buried himself in the crook of your neck.

“Oh?” You giggled at the sudden attention, but the amusement faded the moment he lifted his head and locked eyes with you.

His baby-blue irises were blown wide with desire, dark and hungry, sending a shiver down your spine. The look on his face was almost terrifying—pure, unfiltered need etched into every feature, the kind of look that sent heat pooling in your stomach.

“Want me to make you a real mama, baby?” he coos, his voice soft yet laced with something darker, something possessive.

His hands slide down to your stomach, fingertips pressing gently into your abdomen. The touch is subtle but deliberate, sending a shiver through you. When he applies the slightest pressure, a soft moan escapes your lips. His eyes darken even more at the sound, a slow smirk tugging at his lips as he watches you squirm beneath his touch.

His hands find your hips, guiding you backward until the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed. The air between you is thick with tension, every step making your pulse race. With an effortless motion, he roughly pushes you down onto the mattress, following closely as he climbs over you. His hands fall down to your thighs, gripping them as he pulls your legs around his waist. He trails slow, teasing nips from your lips down to your navel, undressing you along the way, his touch teasing and unhurried.

“Jay, please” you whine, squirming beneath him as his hands hover over your pussy, barely touching—just enough to drive you crazy. A low chuckle rumbles from his chest, clearly enjoying how easily he has you begging.

“So pretty” he whispers as his mouth finds purpose in between your legs, he licks a long stripe along your slit. Making you moan loudly at the sensation. He slides his thick fingers into your sobbing cunt, curling them just the right amount to send ripples of pleasure through you at every thrust. Pride blooms in his chest as you come undone around his fingers.

“Pretty, pretty pussy” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. The vibrations from his voice send a wave of heat through your body, every syllable sinking deep into your nerves.

A gasp slips from your lips as he blows cold air onto your clit before circling his tongue around your pulsing, swollen bud. He latches his lips onto it as he sucks, making your back arch from the feeling. You can practically feel the pride smirk he has on, Sucking and licking as he moves his head side to side.

The combined feel of his fingers thrusting into you and his attention on your clit has an orgasm bubbling through you in no time. A sharp, loud moan leaves your mouth as you reach your high.

“Such a good pussy eh? beggin' me to fill it up” he murmurs, the filth he's spewing shoots straight through you, sending a shiver down your spine. Your thighs instinctively tighten around his head, your body trembles from the overwhelming pleasure.

He finally pushes himself up, his movements slow and deliberate as he climbs on top of you again. His shark tooth necklace hovers over your face, the warmth of his skin radiating against you as his face inches closer. He lifts your legs up, hooking them over his shoulders.

His strong arms hold your legs up as he leans down to kiss you, folding you in half in the process. He reaches one hand down, index and middle finger on either side of your folds, stretching your sticky hole as he bullies himself in, inch by inch.

Your back is arched like a bow string drawn too tight, your walls pulsing, struggling to adjust to the intrusion. He doesn't let you adjust fully, he needs you now. He pulls out, only to thrust back in quickly, setting in an unrelenting, almost punishing pace. His arms flex around your legs, tasty biceps tense around you as he pushes your legs up even higher, making space for his dick.

“Gonna fuck a kid into you, mama” he whispers, his breath hot against your skin, each word laced with intent. He gives your ankles a kiss as his thrusts grow harder and harder. pulling out until only the tip is in you, only to slam back in with full force. He's splitting you open as if you were a pistachio. His dick twitches in you with every moan that slips out of your mouth.

“You gonna have my kids?” he rasps between heavy breaths, his voice low and teasing. You nod at his words but you're quickly met with a smack on your thigh as response. “Use your words” He orders, rubbing a soothing hand over the skin he had just smacked.

“Y-yes, I'm gonna have your kids” You stammer out as your brain threatens to turn into mush, the pleasure flooding your senses.

He gives you a kiss on your forehead as his thrusts grow needier. His pace is frantic as he nears his release. “So good f'me” He says against your forehead as his hand reaches in betwen the tangled mess of limbs to find your clit.

He rubs tight circles on your bud, putting enough pressure to make your eyes roll back into your head and push your hips up in need for more. “Have all my babies, darlin” He pants, “Wanna see this belly all full” his grip tightens on your legs as a lazy smirk tugs at his lips, eyes locked onto how your face twists in pleasure.

His whispers are enough to push you to orgasm again, your walls clench and spasm around him as your release hits you, your vision turning spotty as he fucks you through it, chasing his own release.

A loud moan erupts from JJ's throat, “Take all of it- Fuck” he whimpers, burying himself as deep as he could go, filling you up with spurts of his sticky cum. Thick, hot ropes of sperm shoot so deep into your womb that you could swear you felt in your stomach.

He pulls out slowly, the loss of warmth leaving a shiver in its wake, before pushing himself off the bed. His movements are hurried as he runs a hand through his messy hair, glancing around the room. Spotting your scattered clothes, he picks up your panties, tossing them onto the bed with a smirk.

He strides toward you with slow, deliberate steps, his gaze locked onto you like a predator closing in on its prey. He takes your lacy panties and shoves them into your sensitive, leaking cunt. The unexpected feeling making you whimper.

He laps up all of his cum that had already leaked out with his fingers, smearing it around your pussy.

“Can’t let anything go to waste” he chuckles, slipping back into bed beside you. His arms wrap around you, pulling you close, his fingers reach back to rub circles on your clit. With a satisfied sigh, he presses his face into your neck, giving you featherlight kisses along the sensitive expanse of skin. He wasn't done yet.

check out my other works ! masterlist

tags : : @maybejj @glitterybombshell

[delilahsturniolo]

— ୨୧ like i do . . . c.s

in which . . . you come to realize that chris is slowly falling out of love with you. he doesn’t love you the way you love him.

warnings . . . unresolved angst, no use of y/n, use of pet names, toxic relationship, hinting at cheating but not actually said, sorta suggestive ?

written by @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)

SO CLOSE TO WHAT WRITING MARATHON . . . fic #10

you sit on the edge of the bed, fingers gripping the sheets, heart pounding in your chest. the room feels colder than usual, or maybe it’s just the space between you and him that’s making you shiver.

he’s late. again.

you told yourself you wouldn’t wait up, but here you are, watching the door, waiting for chris to come home like you always do. when it finally swings open, he walks in, looking too good for someone who’s been ignoring you all night. messy hair, lips slightly parted, the scent of his cologne mixing with something else—something unfamiliar.

your stomach twists.

“where were you?” your voice is soft, but there’s a sharpness laced to it. chris exhales, running a hand through his hair. “just out.”

just out.

you stand, crossing the room until you’re inches from chris. his body is warm, so close you could reach out and grab the collar of his jacket, pull him into you, make him forget whatever has been pulling him away. but you don’t.

“you don’t kiss me the same,” you whisper, watching his jaw clench. “you don’t touch me the same.” his hands flex at his sides, like he wants to touch you now. “that’s not true.” his voice is low, rough. your breath catches. “prove it.”

chris’s eyes darken, fingers twitching, but he hesitates. and that hesitation? it says everything. you shake your head, stepping back. “that’s what i thought.” his fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling you back against him, his breath hot against your cheek. “baby, don’t do this.”

your body reacts before your mind can catch up, pressing into him, feeling the way his chest rises and falls. it would be so easy to let this moment swallow you whole, to let him press you against the wall, to let him remind you how good it feels when you’re tangled up in him.

but that’s the problem, isn’t it?

it’s always just this. heat, tension, bodies moving in sync—but what about everything else? what about the way he used to look at you like you were his entire world? what about the way he used to touch you just to touch you, not just when he wanted something more?

you tilt your chin up, lips barely brushing his. “you don’t love me like i do.” he stiffens, fingers loosening. “i’ve given you everything,” you whisper. “my body, my heart, my love. but you? you’re not all here anymore.” his breath is shaky, and for a moment, you think he might say something—might fight for you.

but he doesn’t.

and that silence? it’s louder than any confession could ever be. so you step away, and this time, he doesn’t even bother stop you.

© delilahsturniolo do not copy, re use, or modify any of my works.

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[isaspsp]

What if twilight never managed to unswap their cutie marks? What if they adapt?

Personally, I don't think they'd change their personalities much, and they certainly don't have to swap jobs with each other. Your cutie mark is what you make it to be! Though, I do think it would impact them, of course. SO pardon the simple doodles, but I've been thinking about this for a while now! I'll leave my headcanons under the cut!

APPLE JACK - Rarity's cutie mark represents her inspiration and creativity, not that she can sew! Apple Jack would still very much work the farm, still living with her family! She just now has a new hobby. She now does sculptures from dead tree's wood and incorporates gemstones into them. And they are GIANT. Her main method for carving is bucking off pieces. She cut her hair shorter because she was tired of having so many splinters and debris getting caught in her hair all the time (and just cus I think it's cute!)

FLUTTERSHY - Pinkie's cutie mark represents her talent for entertaining and making people happy! I don't know how much Flutter's cutie mark impacts on her connection to animals, but I do think she'd have to pivot on her profession a lot. It's shown in the Halloween episode (season 5) that Flutters draws anime, so I think she'd get joy out of entertaining through stories! So she can still cause joy, but doesn't have to leave her home all that much. Put a pencil in her hair just cus, and we know she likes to wear her hair up from her finale design so.

Rarity - RD's talent is... going fast ig, and like,,, trying your best? idk. But in the swap ep, we see that Rarity now has weather magic, which presumably, she didn't have before. Rarity still sews, but she sees an old love of her calling: theater! She now has this ability to control weather that does not involve physical connection to the elements, so she goes into theater tech work to make the experience more immersive. She ties her hair just for the aesthetics~

PINKIE - Aj's cutie mark represents her connection to her family. I think Pinkie would connect to the "rock" aspect of her family much more. She bakes as a hobby already, and we know she makes rock candy with Maud, so now she dives head into rock candy making. And since the Apples are her family as well, her most perfected recipe is apple flavored (and shaped;) rock candy. I put a rock candy hair tie on her hair just because it is cute :3

RAINBOW DASH - Flutter's cutie mark represents her connection to animals and her ability to deal with them. That wouldn't dampen RD's sense of adventure though! So she decides to use this new animal connection to help them out while still getting her fair share of adventure! So I thought: firefighter! With a specialty in animal rescue here. For funsies I drew her in her uniform, but aside from maybe getting her hair cut, RD wouldn't change her appearance that much.

[carawenfiction]

So...remember how I said in that update post how I might MAYBE do a TSS rewrite and post it for free?

"Maybe" quickly turned into "definitely happening". Instead of making it outside of COG, however, the finished product that's already published will be updated with the rewritten files. This means that if you've already purchased TSS through COG, you'll have the rewritten version available. That's how I originally intended to go about things with the old rewrite and is the better option here to avoid potential complications.

I've been in contact with COG and they've let me know that I'd be able to do what I have in mind even if this results in a different wordcount and very different scenes/plot points and a different kind of main story.

I realize that this announcement is probably pretty jarring since my last post stated that I wasn't sure about doing a rewrite but that I wanted to if I had enough time. After making that post, I started creating an outline for the rewrite mostly for fun...and one thing kind of led to another. I want you all to know that I wouldn't be making this post at all if I wasn't sure about this. It's because I've already begun the process and feel incredibly motivated and inspired that I can do this that I'm making this announcement.

This rewrite is not going to be like my old attempt at a rewrite, though. It's an entirely new one that I feel much more confident about.

So far I've written the outline for the rewrite and started reworking already existing scenes from chapter 1 as well some new ones. I'm happy to say that the difference between how the rewrite process felt years ago compared to now is like light and day. It seems like those years I've taken away from TSS were very healthy and helpful in giving me some distance and letting me figure out what kind of story I really want to tell.

My plan is to rewrite book 1 and then make 1 full continuation after that. Instead of a trilogy, it looks like this version of TSS will be 2 volumes, but that doesn't necessarily mean that it'll be shorter than originally intended. I think it's more doable for me to rewrite the first book (starting from scratch while also using some already written scenes, since I've been assured I'm allowed to do so) and then make 1 complete continuation of it rather than trying to fill stuff out over 3 different entries, and I think it'll serve the plot and story as a whole to do it that way.

That being said, I fully understand that some - or most of you - might have trouble trusting my word after me failing to do the rewrite I wanted to years ago and not delivering a second book. That's completely fair. This time I'm not rushing things and I don't feel any pressure to do this. It's not something I do out of dislike for the original, but rather out of love for what it could be and what I could make it into, if that makes sense. I'm taking as much time as I need to and am not putting any pressure on myself to do this.

My other project takes priority right now so I can't dedicate all of my time to the rewrite, but I'm working on it when I have time over or get stuck. It's actually pretty nice to alternate between two different stories that have different settings and has helped a bit in avoiding writer's block.

Here are some differences between TSS and the TSS rewrite (most of the changes I made to the old rewrite no longer apply):

The rewrite will be told in second-person point of view ("you" instead of "I"). The reason for this is that when I first started TSS I was really unused to the second-person POV, but after having spent years in the IF space it's now the other way around. It'll make writing much easier for for me, and I hope it won't feel too jarring for people who are used to the first person POV.

The Shadowman and Jealene (now "J") will both be genderselectable just like the main cast. The Shadowman will be genderselectable later on, though - it might sound strange but I think it makes sense when you have more context. J plays a bigger role than they did in the original and their personality is a bit different in this version.

Some side characters (such as most of the hideout) will be cut. This is because they felt really underdeveloped to me in the full game and didn't serve much of a purpose. Instead I'm focusing more on the main cast + a few key characters to ensure the story plot stays focused and you get more time to develop bonds of various kinds with the main cast instead.

The relationship system will look a bit different. Instead of bars showing a percentage of approval, I'll write a description of each character and what they think of you. The descriptions will shift when the character starts viewing you differently, whether that's due to rivalry, romance or friendship. My hope is that this will allow for a more nuanced relationship system/descriptions. I'll also adjust the options a bit to try and make choices more nuanced and am thinking of including the option of having ex. a heart next to a romantic choice for those who want to know for sure what they're getting into. The different responses (such as shy, flirty etc.) will stay but some of it will probably be reworked. Essentially what I want to do is allow for a wider range of MCs and how the characters respond to the MC.

The MC is going to have more agency in certain ways. I've included something plot-relevant to the main character that can potentially change the dynamic between them and the group a bit, but it all depends on how you play it.

The tone might be somewhat different. Not entirely, of course, but there are some parts of the old TSS where the characters sound a bit younger than they are supposed to be, where tension and seriousness has been sacrificed in favor of humor and where some of the interactions aren't the way I would prefer for them to be. I've gotten older since writing TSS (gasp) and my tastes have changed, as has my writing to some degree. In order to do a rewrite I'd have to write in a way that's most enjoyable for me and that I feel best fits the story I want to tell. That's not to say that there isn't going to be silliness etc., but I'm adjusting the tone somewhat and putting more time and effort into descriptions and the writing overall.

The narrative will be different, even though the overall story itself will mostly stay the same. I'm keeping a lot of elements and also aim to introduce new ones that I believe will strengthen the story and make it a more enjoyable game overall.

I think those are the main differences I can give away right now without spoiling anything. I'll make sure to post updates when I've got more to share! Once the demo for the rewrite is finished, I'll post it on the forums and link it in an intro post on here.

Thank you all for sticking by me throughout the years. I hope you'll find some comfort in returning to this world, as well as new things to ponder and excite you in this new upcoming version of the story <3

The Azuridia and Quaiel chibis are done by the amazing madebysalfi

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Private lessons

Masterlist Word count: 5.6k Prof!Rafayel x Student!Reader

Summary: Rafayel is your fine arts teacher. You were absent from some classes because you caught the flu and now you're standing in front of his office door, hand raised to knock at the door, but something is stopping you. Maybe it's the way he's been looking at you lately, but either way you need to catch up.

Author's note: I've been stalling to finish this. It ends a bit abruptly because I just ran out of inspiration and otherwise I would've thrown this in the drafts never to be seen again. I hope ya'll like it! Special thanks to @butlereyepatchbunny for proofreading!

Smut, Rafayel trying to be dominant, reader ending up being dominant, weird power dynamic, nude painting, jealousy, emotional manipulation, begging, short talk about vasectomies and STI's, raw sex (wrap it up guys).

Mature content under the cut

"Come in," Professor Rafayel bellows through the door. He sounds annoyed and frustrated. In truth, that doesn't really irk you. An artistic person like him would probably despise office hours. You've heard rumors of him trying to convince the art department director to let him have his office hours in his studio, but he was met with a resounding no.

It makes sense, but people love working in professor Rafayel's studio when they can and professor Rafayel loves bouncing ideas off his students. Seems a perfect solution to keep a stubborn professor happy, but the director doesn't think so.

For a second you almost forget that you have to open the door. That you now have to face your professor. The professor that you've been trying to avoid for days now. It might've been easier if he hadn't greeted you like he did when you finally felt good enough to attend classes again last week.

Professor Rafayel's art lectures are never early in the day, which is a godsend on a day like today. Sure, your head is still pounding from the pressure of the cold you are recovering from, but that's nothing some ibuprofen and paracetamol can't fix.

With Rafayel's lecture only starting at 1:30 pm, you've got enough time to medicate yourself and eat something before heading over there. However, now that you're sitting here trying to focus on the lecture, you feel your mind slipping away. Maybe you should've taken another day off to make sure you were fine.

As professor Rafayel always does, he gives a short assignment to do in class and roams around the room to give pointers. Usually it is something like "We've just discussed this type of art, find some or draw some to show that you understand what makes that type of art that type of art." It's often near the end of class time and some people skip out on it because professor Rafayel really couldn't care less as long as the grades are good.

And, you usually, you stay like the good little student you are and do the assignment. You even often stay after class to discuss it with professor Rafayel if he has time. Now, however, you feel like shit and you're packing up.

That is, until two hands appear on either sides of your desk, caging you in. A soft, sultry voice whispers next to your ear, forcing shivers down your spine: "First you don't show up for days and now you're leaving early? Did I do something?"

There's emotion behind his words, so much of it. You figured he might've noticed your absence, but this seems a bit extreme. "I had the flu," you mutter, cheeks burning, "I'm still not doing great."

"Why didn't you email me? I could've sent you the class notes," he whispers, but there's something more in there. Something possessive. You feel your body shudder ever so slightly as he leans a little closer and you feel his body brushing against you.

Then he suddenly switches up, his hands pulling away from your desk. He repositions himself to sit on the desk next to yours, arms crossed, with an aloof expression on his face. "Well, since you clearly don't feel well yet, you should stay home tomorrow as well. It's nearly the weekend anyway. How about you come by at my office hours on Monday? We'll discuss how to get you back up to speed."

'Oh, it's you,' professor Rafayel hums as he watches you slip into his office, 'how are you doing now?'

You can't say you're not surprised by his casual question and the very normal atmosphere in his office after what he did last Thursday. For a second, you consider you might've been lucid dreaming with the fever you had. However, that wouldn't be probable. You're pretty sure you felt his body press against yours. The memory of it almost makes you blush. 'I'm alright. Much better than last week.'

'Good,' he answers, not even paying attention to you, 'so besides missing lectures, I noticed you have not submitted anything of your physical work for review. Have you not been able to make anything during your sick leave?'

'I tried to, but I had so many coughing fits that I couldn't focus and my head was pounding.' You're not sure why you're over-explaining. Does he make you more nervous now that he's not being overly interested in you? Is that it? This is strange. Before last week, the two of you had a very equal relationship when it came to discussing art. 'I just wasn't able to.'

He nods, leaning back in his chair. Suddenly, he seems much more interested. He crosses his arms and you notice the slightest twitch of a smirk pull on the corners of his lips. His eyes are dark and intriguing. 'My, my, what should we do about that? We wouldn't want you to fall behind,' he taunts you, playing into your fear of failure.

He knows exactly what he's doing as you feel tears start to burn in your eyes. You know he knows. How many times have you discussed your works and the meaning and feelings behind them? How many times have you overshared and told him about your family? Yes, Rafayel knows exactly what he's doing. He's trying to push you off balance, trying to get on top, be the dominant one.

'I might have an offer you'd be interested in,' he mentions with a sly look. You saw how he was watching you get closer and closer to tears. He's been planning this. He's playing with his food. It makes something grow inside you. Something red. Something burning. 'Two of my classes merged and now I've got a few free hours after 4 pm until the end of the semester. I'd be open to some one-on-one sessions.'

The way he makes it sound like he's doing you a favor, like he doesn't want to spend time with you but he'll do it, makes you flush with a strange kind of rage. Here you are, sitting in his office at his request. He has the gall to assume you won't be able to catch up and implies so to play with your feelings. All of that, after countless times of calling you talented, just to get some time alone with you? Unless it's all just a game to him.

Insane.

You might be horny for this man, just like every other student in your class, but you won't be degraded like this. 'No thank you, I think I'll be fine,' you answer as you get up. He looks physically surprised by your words, his whole suave façade drops.

Just as he wants to get up, you put your hands on his desk and lean towards him a little. The way he looks up at you does something for you. His eyes wide, surprised, but very much still paying attention. Almost enjoying the power imbalance you introduce, but you can't be sure. It could just be surprise. 'I am going to be very blunt here, professor, and forgive me if I misunderstood. But if you wanted to spend more time with me, you could've just asked instead of playing with my feelings.'

"Inspiration is a fickle mistress and she does not like her hand forced." You learned that from professor Rafayel and no words ring truer than those right now.

Ever since you left his office last Monday, your mind has been all over the place trying to piece together why your professor behaved that way. Because that's what he is, your professor. He's not a random boy on campus who is trying to get in your pants, he is your teacher. Someone who should behave more dignified than Rafayel has.

It's not like you would mind if he were just a random boy, but that's the whole problem. This whole thing, if it is what you think it is, opens the door to so many potential problems... But it is intriguing and it has been building for a while.

Slowly, but surely, certain occurrences came back to you. However, there are no words in the English language that could rationalize those moments, no matter how hard you try. You can try all you want, but your loins are on fire.

That's when you realized, it started on day one. The first fucking time you saw him. You were so daft, so stupid to not see it. He has been chasing you for almost three years now.

It was subtle. Very. As he should be in his position. He was playing a long con and you're not quite sure if he is aware of it or if he's just letting his emotions run free. He has gone off on rants about free love and similar topics more than once when someone implied something sexist. Rafayel is not shy about sex and sexuality, and you kind of liked that about him as your art is often sexually charged. You like sex and sexuality and the vulnerability that it often comes with.

But now you can't even put your brush against the canvas without your paintings starting to look like him. You've tried to force it, only to abandon those works within minutes because it just didn't feel good. If it did start to feel good, the painting would start to look like him again.

A deep sigh slips from your lips as you drop your arms, defeated. You stare at the portrait you painted. It's not nearly done, but it's his eyes staring back at you, boring into your soul. You've got to do something about this. Either confront him or fuck him, those seem the only feasible options.

You tilt your head to look at the clock in your apartment. 4:30 pm... Would he still be in his studio?

The sliding door to the studio seems much heavier today, but the sight it reveals is truly an artwork on its own.

Rafayel's studio has large windows and tons of greenery outside. Now, around golden hour, strings of yellow and orange light illuminate the space, only interrupted by dust particles floating around. The light perfectly surrounds Rafayel as he sits in the middle of his studio with a canvas on a small, portable easel as he works. Sunlight kisses his skin, almost making it look like there's an outline of gold around him.

'Took you long enough,' he huffs, not looking up at you but provoking you to step inside. And you do, closing the sliding door behind you. 'Lock it.'

'What?'

'Lock it.'

'Why?'

'Lock it or leave, those are your options,' his tone is commanding, nothing like you've ever heard from him before. You feel that same red-hot rage you felt on Monday, it's something defiant inside you, but you know you need to talk to him. If you don't, you might be doomed to paint him until you die.

'Tell me why or I'm switching to professor Thomas' art history class.' Rafayel's jaw clenches. You don't know why the man has such a hatred for Thomas. As far as you know, they get along fine but whenever you drop his name they are suddenly enemies. Could it be that Rafayel is jealous? Or maybe just possessive?

'You know why,' he hints, his eyes flickering up at you. Something sinister is in them, something dark, something sexual. Yes, you know what is happening here today if you let it but you want him to say it. You turn around and put your hand on the door again. You hear something clatter to the floor and suddenly you see Rafayel's hand holding the door closed, his body pressing against you as his other hand gently takes its place on your hip. 'Don't make me say it.'

You turn around to face him: 'Professor Rafayel, you and I both know this is highly inappropriate.' He searches your eyes for any inkling that you do not want this, that you want him to stop, that he got it all wrong. The despair in his face, the strange power dynamic, it turns you on so fucking much.

A cruel plan forms in your mind. Rafayel wants you and you've got five sessions with him until the end of the semester, including today. Five sessions to make him bend, five sessions to drive him to madness, five sessions to make him beg. 'I'm here for extra lessons. What are you here for,' you question innocently as you press your hand against his chest, ever so gently pushing him off. His hand grips your hip tighter, pulling himself closer with a defiant look in his eyes.

'What are you doing,' he grumbles, his annoyance easy to read in his eyes. He seems ready to devour you whole if you would just say yes to him. If you would just agree to this.

'I'm being a good student,' you claim as your hand slides down to his stomach slowly and his eyes widen, 'my professor told me he'd help me catch up.'

Finally, he catches on. He lets go of you and walks back over to his easel. The thing is knocked over and probably what you heard when you tried to head out again. For just a second you get a glimpse of his painting. It is unmistakably you. Not all of you. It's your face leaning on the palm of your hand, but it doesn't go higher than your lips.

'Alright, let's get started,' he grumbles, annoyed. You sit down on the floor across from him and take out your sketchpad. 'You missed a model painting class and a portrait class.'

'So, shall I just ask my roommate to sit for me,' you ask him, recalling he despises your roommate as much as he does Thomas. Why? You live off campus and so your roommate is an old friend. A male friend. Let the games begin! His face instantly turns into a scowl, but his answer takes a second and when he does answer, he looks at you strangely.

'No, I'll sit for you.'

Painting Rafayel's portrait is easy. His face is already burned into your memories, but it's nice to study the small details of his face. Being that up-close and personal with him has been... an experience the say the very least. Unsurprisingly, by session 3 you've got a picture perfect copy of his face in oil paint.

Throughout the sessions, his praise didn't go unnoticed by you. Meanwhile, he was also painting you, claiming it to be good practice for him because you've got a unique bone structure. However, whenever you snuck a glance at his painting, it was never just your face.

Session 1, he continued that painting of your lips while the two of you sat across from each other, cross-legged, knees nearly touching.

Session 2, you had put on a short skirt to tease him and sat down across from him cross-legged again. The skirt barely touched the floor in the back. He had walked around you quite a few times to "comment on your work" but when you glanced at his painting, he had painted you from the side. That included how your skirt barely covered your butt. It was surprisingly suggestive. Sure, that was the intent but he somehow made it so much more lewd. Like you were looking at yourself through his eyes.

Session 3, it was the first truly scorching day of the year. You put on a long, flowy skirt, and the tiniest top/sports bra that you could get away with wearing on the campus. He managed to perfectly remember how you looked when you walked in and lifted your skirt a bit to check if the buckle on your sandals had gotten loose. It looked strangely angelic, even if you tried to portray something more sexual. Sure, he hiked up your skirt a little more in the painting to the part where your leg meets your hip. Yet it still looked very innocent. Almost as if you were a voyeur, as if you weren't meant to see this.

One thing that irked you though, Rafayel would not tell you what kind of model painting you missed out on. You would've asked your classmates, but after the initial model painting most of them preferred to work alone to finish the paintings. Understandable, you would've done the same if you were in their shoes.

Today is session 4 and it is still scorching hot. Not ideal weather to seduce your professor in. You opted to wear some linen pants and a loose-fitting cropped shirt. Nothing all that sexy but with temperatures like these, all you want to do is sit naked in front of the aircon.

However, you are excited. The last few sessions you have manged to get Rafayel so worked up that you left him sitting in the studio with a tent in his pants last time. That honestly made you feel great. It made you feel desired and beautiful. A temptress. As you walk through the school, you wonder how far you can push him this time.

When you turn the corner to head to the studio, stirring with anticipation, you see Rafayel waiting for you in front of the studio. Your feet hesitate for a second when he looks your way. Something's different today. There's something in his eyes and his cheeks are flushed. For a second you want to turn around and leave, but then he waves for you to come closer and you do. Your feet carry you to him.

Rafayel answers your questions before you can ask any, 'We're heading into one of the smaller studios today.' A flicker of electricity pulses through you. You look down. Rafayel took your hand in his and is pulling you along. He's excited, surprisingly so. Does he know you put a few condoms in your bag today because you feel like he grovelled enough?

Soon you're walking through parts of the fine arts wing that you don't even know. It's quieter here, more secluded, more private. There's dust on the windowsills so you don't question that this part of the wing isn't used often.

And suddenly you're standing in a very tiny studio, no bigger than a dorm room. Despite its size, the room is lit beautifully. There's a window high up on the wall. High enough that you can just look outside if you stand on your tiptoes. It creates a spotlight of natural light cascading down on the stool that stands in the middle of the room. The walls are a velvety shade of dark blue, almost as if they would feel soft to the touch.

One easel and another stool are already set up with a canvas. It's in the perfect spot for the lighting and you figure Rafayel set it up himself. Against the wall are two large storage shelving units that hold costly and rare paints and other mediums. Ones that you would have to give up food for to afford. Something tells you this is Rafayel's private stash.

'I've never been in this part of the art wing before,' you mumble as you look around the small room. Before you can turn towards Rafayel, you hear a distinct click of the lock being turned. By now, that doesn't disturb you anymore. The door has been locked for every session before this and you figure it might have something to do with Rafayel's impulsivity if you ever give him the slightest idea that something might happen.

'These used to be senior studios, but most seniors prefer to work at home these days,' Rafayel explains, 'most teachers in the art wing have claimed one. This one is mine.' You were right.

'You have two studios? Isn't that a bit excessive?' You turn towards the stool again, wondering how you can best post Rafayel to make him look as angelic as he is.

'Not for moments like these.'

You turn back to him and the whole world falls away. In front of you stands Rafayel, your art teacher, your mentor, the most beautiful man you've ever seen, without a shirt. His shoes are kicked in the corner, socks somewhere on the ground, as he works on the draw string of his creme linen pants.

His eyes meet yours, the hesitation reflected in them as vivid as the rare colours on his storage shelves. You can tell there's a little fear in his eyes at your hesitation. Fear that he read this all wrong, that he's going to fast, that you were just playing around.

'You could've told me I missed a nude painting class,' you manage to utter as you awe at his body. Whichever God he prays to has to like him very much to have granted him that body with that face. It almost seems like a crime. A man like that must have flaws, right?

'Where is the fun in that,' he teases as he pulls the drawstring. He lets go and the pants slide off his body, revealing that he's not wearing anything underneath. For a second, just a second, you want to jump him. Have your hands roaming his body as your eyes are, but your jaw is on the floor and your body is frozen in place.

Meanwhile, Rafayel smirks at you and takes his spot on the stool in the middle of the room. He looks extremely smug and proud. You guess a man like that wouldn't really be insecure about himself. He looks sculpted by the gods, from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes. And, God you'd never imagine you'd be thinking this, this man has a beautiful penis. Your mind is already dreaming up what he would look like hard, with that pretty pink tip of his leaking precum.

'How do you want me,' he asks, eyebrow quirking up at the unintentionally suggestive question. Or maybe it is intentional. All this time you thought you were holding all the power, but he is stripped down in front of you and somehow has more control over the situation than you do.

"Focus," you shout in your mind and mentally hit the dirty thoughts out of yourself. But professionalism be damned, you just want to stare at this beautiful man all day. "If only you'd be in a position to capture this very moment right here, now get your mind out of the gutter and paint this beautiful man!"

'Put your foot up a little, yes, beautiful, and turn your shoulders towards me a bit,' you start to direct him. He poses beautifully and you don't doubt he's done this before. He's probably done this so often it is second nature to him. Right? Curiosity gnaws at you as you pick up your charcoal to make a rough sketch. 'Have you modelled for students before?'

'Yes, once.'

'Only once?' He nods. 'Stay still,' you quickly say. He huffs a laugh.

'See,' he offers the moment as proof, 'only once. I was a starving artist and needed money to pay my rent. I saw an advert in the paper and replied. Some of the teachers here recognized me from some magazine interview and the rest is history.'

'That's how you got here? I thought you were a spoiled protege,' you murmur, more to yourself than to him as your rough charcoal outline starts to take shape on the paper.

'Most people think that.' The mood sours and as much as you want to know his whole life story, you are not in a mindset to be appropriate about this right now. You wish you could be, but he doesn't really seem to want to talk about it more either.

'You could've made a killing as a model,' you note, as you start to go in with deeper blacks for the shadows.

'I was gonna say the same about you, cutie,' he teases. You're pulled out of your focus. Cutie? No one has ever called you that before. You've never considered yourself that before.

'Cutie?' He just winks at you. A flush spreads on your cheeks as you try to get back to the work at hand. Rafayel's eyes are glued on you as you take out your eraser to put in some shadows. A long silence falls between the two of you. You wish you could give the silence a name, call it awkward or weird but that's not it. Discomfort is not what you feel, though you wish you would. Instead you just feel an increasing fire building in your chest.

And Rafayel notices.

'You know, it's awfully hot in here. I can't image you're comfortable in all those clothes.' A wicked grin plays on his lips. He tries to hide it but he can't. Not now that he's so close to getting what he wants. You can't blame the guy for trying.

With a pretend exasperated sigh, you pull your top over your head and throw it at him. He catches it with ease, 'Rude,' he huffs, but he is taking a good long look at your newly exposed skin.

And then you see something twitch between his legs. Now you've got two options and one is clearly better than the other.

Option 1, you fuck him right here right now.

Option 2, you fuck him next session. Why next session? It is quite literally the last class of the year. If things get awkward, you won't have to face him until next fall. And if things go right, you've got a whole summer to enjoy them. Plus, more teasing.

You would've picked option two any day. It seems so much more fun. If only it weren't for the fact that you are absolutely feral right now. Suddenly, your shoes are kicked off and joined with Rafayel's in a corner, and your pants are in a pool at your feet as you sit back down on your stool.

For probably the first time in his life, Rafayel is quietly watching. The way he looks at you truly surprises you. All these weeks you've been trying to make sure you look like a sexual object to make sure he understands that this is just sex. Instead, he looks at you like you're a masterpiece. Like every stretch mark, every mole, every dip, every discolouration, every scar, every mark is perfect. All your imperfections, so perfect in his eyes. It makes you feel a little shy until you see something poking up from between his legs.

'You're right. This is much better,' you agree with his previous statement, trying to sound aloof like he usually does after some devious act. He's in absolute awe, looking frozen by your beauty. Rafayel's lips move but, even in the quiet room, you can't hear a single word he's saying. 'What was that?'

'You should finish your drawing.'

'I've lost my focus,' you retort as your hands travel to the edge of your sports bra. Rafayel's eyes are trained on your fingers as you start lifting up the fabric.

'We should do something about that.'

'Like what?' You pull your bra over your head with one swift movement and throw it at him like you had your shirt. That seems enough of an invitation for him. The wicked grin he wore just a minute ago reappears as he gets up from his stool and stalks over to you.

'I have a few things in mind.'

Then, his lips are on yours. Hungry, deprived, messy. Teeth clank against each other as tongues try to discover as much as they can in as little time as possible. Mere seconds pass before you're both breathless and he pulls away to look at you. A string of saliva connects you as both of you scan each other's eyes. Looking for regret, for a reason to stop or keep going.

'Well,' you coax. He breathes out a laugh and starts trailing kisses down your neck. At your collarbones, he leaves a few love bites and moves further down until he's on his knees between your legs, big eyes looking up at you.

Just as you try to hook your fingers on your underwear to pull it down, Rafayel captures both of your wrists and holds them in one hand. His eyes bore into yours expectantly and when you give the slightest nod, he dives right in licking a thick stripe over top of your underwear. You groan and want to reach out for his hair, but your wrists are still captured.

With his free hand, he pulls your panties to the side. 'That's beautiful, make that sound for me again,' he begs before diving in again. It's not surprising that he's incredibly skilled, tethering you to the edge within seconds. But that could also be all the edging you put yourself through in preparation for this day.

'Raf, please, I-'

'You're gonna come already, pretty girl?' His voice is like a purr as he lets go of your wrists to grab your thigh, pulling you to the edge of the stool. Your hand instantly slides into his hair, grabbing a good fist full to ground yourself. 'Give me everything.' It's embarrassing how hard and fast you cum. Truly, you feel like a two-pump chump and you don't even have a dick to pump.

'Shit, Raf, oh my god,' you moan out as he removes his mouth from you. He looks up at you and when you look down at him, he presses a soft kiss to your clit, sending electricity through your body. It's absolutely lewd and dirty. 'If you don't fuck me right now, I will scream.'

Rafayel chuckles as he stands up, pressing kisses to your skin as he rises, 'I thought this was all about you being in control.' His voice makes you shiver. So he did know what you were doing and was playing along.

'I thought so too, but we'll have more than enough time to explore that some other time,' you groan as he latches his lips onto your neck, kissing and biting your sensitive skin, 'I've got condoms in my bag.'

'Don't need 'em,' Rafayel hums in your ear, his hands on your hips, kneading your skin. His thick length rubbing against your stomach, spreading beads of precum on your skin.

'Unless you had a vasectomy and are clean, we do need them,' you argue between moans whilst your hands explore his chest, dipping down every once in a while to tease his v-line.

'Yes, to both of those,' he clarifies, 'but it's your choice.'

For a second, just a second, your hands still and you seriously consider the pros and cons for as far as your fried mind lets you. Rafayel looks down at you with a smirk, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. The whole action is so sweet, so tender, that it completely shuts your brain off. 'Fuck it,' you sigh and pull him closer.

His hands slip under your thighs, picking you up from the stool like you weigh no more than a tube of oil paint. With a swift turn, he presses you up against the wall, lips attacking yours violently. Your bottom lip slips between his teeth as he bites down "gently." The hunger in his kisses makes you think he's close to dying. His hands are everywhere on your body, overwhelming your senses.

His hand moves between your bodies and guides his dick inside you. At first only the head, and then everything all at once. Your fingers dig into his back as you curse his ancestors for giving him all the good genes. 'Shit, you're taking me so well,' he groans, head dipping to your neck to leave another bruising kiss there.

He sets a gruelling pace, stealing all the air out of your lungs as you gasp and whimper. Rafayel's hand is still between your bodies, teasing your clit with his thumb whilst holding you up with one arm. Your back hurts, moving against the wall. Sadly, the velvety paint doesn't take away the sandpaper-like texture of the walls.

'Raf, ah, the wall,' you whine, 'it hurts.' Truly, you don't want him to move. The orgasm approaching you doesn't want you in any other position than the one you are in right now.

'I know baby, just a little longer,' he groans, biting down on your skin once more. He keeps pounding into you relentlessly while you try to stay still to minimize the impact, but your brain is fried and a slut for pleasure. With his hands on your clit and his cock rubbing inside your gummy walls, you can feel yourself lose control.

'Raf, I'm-' He shushes you gently. 'I know, I know, let go baby. Come on,' he beckons, keeping his fingers and hips moving at a steady pace. Your walls flutter at his words. 'There you go, give it to me.'

'Shit, Raf, cu-cumming,' you stutter as his teeth sink into your skin again. His hips falter as he snaps them up inside you and keeps them there. You feel his hot cum coat you from the inside as your walls start to spasm, your nails digging into his back roughly, legs pulling him impossibly close.

His hips snap against you a few more times. Sloppy, uncoordinated, passionate. Your brain is a mess and so are you. In truth, you could go again. But as your breathing steadies and the fog in your brain clears up, you suddenly realised you just fucked your professor in the school.

'This is so wrong,' you mumble with a laugh. Rafayel's teeth let go of your skin and he looks down at you as he puts lets you down. You feel like Bambi, the way your legs are shaking.

'What is?'

You gesture around you vaguely, 'All of this.'

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[ayukas]

synopsis in a city that never snows, the first flakes arrives on the night two lovers say goodbye.

genre angst, missed timings word count 873

notes to celebrate molo... (ᵕ—ᴗ—) this was heavily inspired by the song, 认真的雪, by joker xue! renjun covered this song back in 2022 as well :D as always, constructive and kind feedback, comments and reblogs are very much appreciated, please enjoy!

the first time mark held your hand, it was on a summer night, with your fingers sticky from too many candied strawberries. you had laughed, warmth coursing through your hands, and he had sworn under the blinking neon signs that he would love you forever.

the last time mark held your hand, it was winter, but not quite cold enough to snow. his fingers trembled when you pulled away, leaving only warmth fading into absence.

☃︎☃︎☃︎.

you had spent your entire lives together. first as childhood friends, then as lovers, and eventually, as fiances. but somewhere along the way, life happened.

mark was constantly buried in music—late nights in his studio, endless hours tweaking beats, lost in melodies that never seemed to be perfect enough. you were drowned in wedding gowns and floral arrangements, your days filled with wine tasting, venue visits, and frantic brides who wanted their special day to be flawless.

at first, it didn't seem like a problem at all. you both had dreams, and you supported each other's ambitions. you saw how mark's eyes lit up when he talked about a new song idea, just like he saw how you thrived in the chaos of planning the perfect wedding for your clients.

but slowly, the distance started creeping in.

☃︎☃︎☃︎.

"are you free for dinner tonight?" you had called him one evening, hopeful after realising that it had been a week since you last saw each other.

mark hesitated, fingers still hovering over his keyboard, the track on his screen unfinished. "i'm sorry baby, i can't. i'm in the middle of recording."

"okay. maybe next time." you swallowed the lump in your throat.

another night, mark had sent you a text. wanna go for a walk with me? it had been his way of making up for lost time, a small attempt to piece things back together.

you stared at your laptop, stared at the intricate lace details you were designing for your next client, before sighing. sorry markie. i have a deadline tonight.

missed opportunity after missed opportunity. you were always just a second too late, a step too far apart.

☃︎☃︎☃︎.

one night, as you left your office, the city's skyline stretched out before you, wrapped in a haze of golden streetlights. you exhaled a breath you didn't know you had been holding and pulled out your phone.

looks like it's about to snow tonight.

mark's reply came quickly. this city never snows, silly.

you smiled as his response, but somehow, it felt more like an ache than amusement.

☃︎☃︎☃︎.

you should've known that love wasn't just about holding onto memories, but more about making new ones. but how could you, when you and mark were just echoes of the past, too exhausted to build a future?

it was in the soft glow of a wedding hall, watching your clients, a bride and groom, sway in each other's arms, that the realisation hit you like a slow-moving train.

you could plan the perfect wedding for someone else, but you couldn't save your own.

you thought about your own engagement. the excitement you once felt when mark got on one knee and whispered promises of forever to you. but what was the point of a wedding if there was no time left for love?

☃︎☃︎☃︎.

mark had wanted to play you a song that night. a song that he had written for you, about you. it was the reason he had asked you to go on that walk.

he imagined sitting beside you on a bench, fingers strumming softly against his guitar strings, watching the way your face would light up like it always did when he played for you.

instead, he played it alone. in the dim glow of his studio, voice cracking on the last verse, wondering if you'd ever get to hear it.

after all, you were always missing each other's timing.

☃︎☃︎☃︎.

and so, when you finally sat across from each other in that quiet cafe, it wasn't anger that filled the space between you. it was resignation. exhaustion.

you both knew it was coming, but that didn't make it hurt any less.

"i love you," mark whispered, voice breaking on the words.

you smiled, but the tears welling up in your eyes was unmistakeable, "i love you too."

"but love isn't enough, is it?"

you looked away.

you weren't sure who let go first, but eventually, your hands fell away from each other.

there was no dramatic fight. no desperate pleas. just silence, punctuated by the soft clink of a spoon against a coffee mug, and the sound of both your hearts shattering.

mark reached for his coffee, but his hands were shaking too much to even lift it. you had watched him for a moment longer, memorising the curve of his jaw, and the way his eyelashes cast shadows against his skin.

and then, you stood up.

he didn't stop you.

☃︎☃︎☃︎.

that night, as mark stepped out of the cafe, he tilted his head back, letting out a slow breath. that was when he felt it.

a snowflake. then another.

his phone buzzed, a message from you.

it's snowing.

mark broke.

right there, in the middle of a city that never snowed, he wept for the love you had lost.

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