#catching up slowly.......but catching up all the same

[cream1111]

🍎 weird dream . . .ᐟᅟ

⠀⎯⎯⠀⠀caleb/mc!reader, 1.5k, somno, noncon, fingering, dry humping. ao3

it's not uncommon for you to burst into caleb's room without knocking. it was the same no matter where he was, you'd walk straight to his bed, already talking, as if all his attention was yours to command the second you entered his periphery, as if it was your own room. sometimes he'd be by his desk, perking up at the sound of the door being opened and turning to face you, sometimes he's already in bed reading, scooting over to make room as he continues his book, not even having to look at you. you'd snuggle in, making yourself comfortable.

"you know you got your own bed, right?" he'd tease, as if he'd have it any other way.

"yeah, but yours is waaay more comfortable" you'd feign a pout. he never pushes, and you never expect him to.

you'd talk and talk, and he'd listen happily. and sometimes, you'd fall asleep in his bed, never asking, never thinking to. it had always been like this.

even after he moved out for school, summers still gave you the chance to live together once again. you'd seamlessly slip back into the routine, as if no time had passed.

tonight was no different.

you were snuggled up against him, you had been telling him about some gossip from school, some text conversation with a friend. using his outstretched arm as a pillow as you looked up at the ceiling, gesturing at nothing, looking over at him occasionally, catching his eye every time. his eyes never strayed from you. you were used to his gaze, the feeling was constant when he was around.

your story slowed, yawns every few minutes became every few words. until finally a comfortable silence filled the room. he let's out a little laugh. rubbing your shoulder to help ease you into a nice dream.

"must've been really sleepy, huh" he mutters into your hair, petting you, you offer a sleepy groan as a response. he can't help but smile, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head as you hum happily. it's not long before your breathing slows into that familiar pattern. your chest rising and falling evenly, you were sound asleep.

"there you go," caleb coos softly, shifting to be behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle. slowly, so slowly, he moves his hand to rub your stomach. small soothing circles, testing the waters. you've never woken up so far, but he doesn't want to push his luck.

his fingers drift lower, silk soft touches along the exposed skin between your slightly shifted top and the hem of your shorts. he could do this forever, feeling you under his hands, in between his arms, against his chest. he loved having you so close like this, he doesn't know if he could go without it. he knows you feel the same, you might not know it entirely, maybe you don't think about it too much, but he sees the way you look at him, the way you blush, the way you tease. you feel it too, you just aren't ready to act on it yet, you wanna keep the charade going. and that's fine, he's a patient man.

for the most part.

his fingers grow restless, sliding under the waistband of your shorts, under your panties, trailing lower and lower, slow and steady. he hovers over your clit, your breathing remains even.

he waits a second, just to be sure.

and he softly presses down. you don't stir at all. he begins to move in easy little circles, just the right amount of pressure. he thinks he's perfected it. he got a bit too eager with you once, and you almost woke up. you like soft touches, he knows that, for now at least.

he uses his arm around your waist to pull you closer, pressing your ass flush against his growing hard on. he has to bite back a moan, letting out a deep breath instead. he wants to grind into you so bad, but this isn't about him, it's all about you. he remains still, cock twitching against the layers that separate your skin.

he knows one day you'll be together. he can wait until then, but in the meantime, he just wants to open you up a bit. get you ready for him. he thinks it's sweet even, he knows you don't have any experience. he doesn't want you to feel embarrassed or scared he won't fit. he'll be able to assure you and mean it, he'll know your body so well already, you'll have nothing to worry about.

his finger against your clit presses harder, just a touch. your thighs shift, pressing into his bulge harder. he slows, not yet stopping. waiting, checking for any tell tale signs of you waking up.

"mm..." you let out a tiny moan, still asleep. caleb can't help but let his eyes flutter closed at the sound. letting his face nuzzle deeper into your hair, peppering encouraging kisses against your head as he breathes in your scent.

"feels good?" he mutters, barely audible. "let's see..." his hand stills, moving lower, dipping between your lips towards your opening. he has to bite his lip again to hold back the low moan that almost escaped.

you're soaked.

he has a habit of giving you what you want. now is no exception, he won't make you wait.

he circles your opening, before slowly inching in. his cock twitches again, head weeping, wanting nothing more than to be buried inside you. he pushes in deeper and deeper.

"nngh⎯" you let out a soft groan, and he freezes. he's unsure if it's discomfort or pleasure. you're tense around him.

"i know, i know, it's why we're opening you up." he whispers in his most reassuring tone, hoping it'll reach you in your dreams and put you at ease. and it seems to work, you relax, sinking deeper into the bed, soft walls welcoming his finger.

"mhm, just like that..." he presses into you, his finger is as deep as it could go. he angles his wrist so the meat of his palm presses into your clit as he slips a second finger in.

"hah," you sigh sweetly. caleb takes a deep breath, trying to keep his desire in check. maybe, maybe you've done this enough times, maybe you can take a little more now. he justifies it to himself as he curls his fingers out just to push it back inside, a little harsher now, causing you to press harder against his needy cock. you tense again, but relax before he even has a chance to comfort you.

he's losing all composure now.

he repeats the motion, harder, grinding against you. and again, and again, falling into a steady rhythm.

"mmph!" the sweet sounds seem to pour out of your lips. he takes them as encouragement, moving his head lower to brush his lips against your neck. your body sways with each thrust from his fingers, pliant and so accepting of everything he's giving.

he's moving you so much he doesn't notice as you shift more against him.

you feel the pleasure bubbling within you first. it pulls you close to waking. you've had this dream before. being fondled and fucked. your eyes squeeze shut tighter, but it starts to sting, it feels real, you feel the pressure of your eyes against your skull. you twitch, and you suddenly become acutely aware of the ache in your core.

your eyes flutter, half lidded as you take in your surroundings. caleb, he's behind you, and he's ... his ⎯ you can't think straight. he's still moving. you're moving, he's moving your body along with his.

he's pressed against you, he's huffing in your ear, and his hand is in your panties.you try to keep your breathing in check, you want to pant, you feel so overwhelmed all over, you feel surrounded, filled.

right before you can fully acknowledge what is happening, you feel it, your peak is approaching, fast. it's all too much, all of it, his thrusts, his breath against you, his hard cock grinding on your ass, his fingers so, so deep. you try to stop it, whimpers tumble out, you try to speak, but it comes out as a lewd moan.

"w-wai⎯" but it's too late. it all comes crashing down, you come onto his fingers. he feels it, shoving his fingers deep and then holding them still, letting your walls milk him, fruitlessly.

"fuck, yeah, that's it," he whispers, kissing your neck. he was trembling, "mmm, yes."

as you come down you realize he's stopped moving as well, as he shifts you feel the cold air hit a fresh damp spot against your ass. he gently removes his hand for your panties, you crack your eye open as he raises it, past your face and out of sight. you hear him behind you, his lips part and he's sucking his fingers. he let's out a soft groan at your taste. you shudder.

"sooo good, you did so good." he murmurs into your hair. moving his arms to surround you again. you feel unsure, maybe, you're still dreaming. it's hard to tell, you feel so sleepy again. you lean further into him. he's so warm. it just feels right. and it's not unlike dreams you've had before. maybe, you liked it more than you're willing to admit.

you could worry about this in the morning.

[syluss-littlecrow]

release

<Caleb x fem!reader>

where both you and Caleb end up doing more than butt heads about his given curfew for you.

genre/warnings: smut, pwp, mutual pinning, mutual obsession & possession, jealous!Caleb breeding kink, multiple orgasms, a lot of cum..., perverted!MC, friends to lovers?, squirting, unprotected sex, morning sex, pure Caleb brain rot, it gets pretty nasty

a/n: Caleb, Caleb, CALEB XIA YIZHOU 😭😭 the way I've been giggling over Caleb while watching his story and going back to my home screen with Sylus looking at me with his arms crossed.... Anyway, enjoy this Caleb brain rot 🥹🩷 I'll do one with Caleb's military air force uniform when I can 😔🫡

I JUST SAW THE NEW BANNER DROP IM NOT OK IF ANYONES WONDERING.

w/c: 3.5K

Effortless. That is what Caleb feels like when his affections come to you. It bubbles and boils over when he thinks he's able to put a lid over it, and it overflows instead. It leaves him so defenseless. Yet, he can't seem to stop. It's the only thing that keeps him going in this hell. 

The only thing he feels is the metallic necklace barely weighing on his chest. It almost feels like you're here with him. 

And if you are, he wants to keep you here with him. Forever.

His eyes slowly open. His eyes focus on the hologram clock hovering at the side. 

You're supposed to be back already. 

Caleb contemplated on driving out to find you since he has your location pinging on his phone.

Since when did you have that many friends in Skyhaven? Why doesn't he know about them?

He checks the messages he's sent you, all unread. 

Caleb has to remind himself to stop clenching his jaw and biting his tongue. 

His stare towards the door grows anxious by the minute. Then he strengthens his resolve and marches towards the door, ready to leave and look for you. 

The second he pulls down the door handle, the jingle of the door unlocking from the outside sounds and the door swings open, making you and Caleb jump when he catches you in his arms from bumping into each other.

“Caleb!” You squeal, flustered at the way you completely ran into him. His warmth is radiating over to your skin. “Are you okay? Where were you gonna go?”

You watch a small pout form on his lips. He truly looks like a puppy when he does that, you can't help but think. 

“Look for you”, he curtly replies, making sure you've regained your balance before he releases your arms.

You straighten your posture, and sheepishly touch the nape of your neck, immediately avoiding his gaze. 

“Ah, right. Well, I got carried away with chatting with my friends and all…” 

Caleb crosses his arms. His pout turns into a frown, and his eyebrows are scrunched. 

Shit. He looks mad.

You inch closer to him, your fingers grazing over his knuckles. 

“I'm sorry, Caleb. Don't be mad okay? I'm home now, safe and sound, in the flesh, aren't I?”

Caleb breathes steadily, keeping his expression the same, but when you take his palm and nuzzle your cheek against it, Caleb feels the anxiety and frustration dissolve. He wants to reprimand you about the curfew, and why he implemented it in the first place. If you’ve stayed missing for a second longer, he would have completely lost it. But the moment his palm nearly touches your lips, it all dissipates, as if it never existed. 

Caleb exhales a sigh of defeat, letting it go just this time, alongside the countless times he did. 

“Go shower. I left the heater on for you.” 

You respond with a cheeky smile that makes something in Caleb’s chest bloom, and he lets you go, watching you disappear into your room. 

Caleb hears a knock on his door. He walks over and opens it, watching you coming into view. 

“Is there something you need, pipsqueak?”

You squeeze through the crack of the partially opened door and occupy his bed. 

“I'm just bored.”

Even though Caleb cocks his eyebrow, he still sprouts his smile, walking over to join you on his bed.

“Not because you're trying to make it up to me for coming back past curfew?”

Shit. 

Your smile playfully drops to a pout. “I got carried away yapping with my friends. You know I didn't mean to…” 

Caleb crosses his arms again.

“I could tell. My messages were all left unread.”

You curl your fingers to your lips when you realise you've been caught.

Caleb seems upset but you still see the softness beneath. 

He sighs. 

“I'm doing this for your own good, pipsqueak. I don't like you getting caught up in this.”

Caleb likes to think that it is that way, but he knows that it's more than just that. 

“As you can tell–” you’re showing off your body–your arms first then your legs, then your abdomen. But what Caleb didn't expect you to do was lift up your shirt slightly, your skin exposed, and have your shorts hike up your thighs, just to prove your point. “Nothing! You can check me for tracking devices too if you want to.” 

Something snaps in him.

“So do you let your friends inspect your body like that?” 

He crawls onto the bed, watching the smile slowly drop from your face. 

Caleb’s fingers trace your bare skin, drawing goosebumps from how ghostly the touches feel. His fingers slide from the top of your knees, and towards your thighs.

“Do you know how worried I was when you didn't answer my messages?”

You’re about to part your lips to respond, but he cuts you off. 

“I was wondering what conversations you were having that you ignored me.” 

“Caleb–”

He’s completely trapped you against the headboard of his bed. He's trapped you with his stare. 

Caleb inches closer, until he's close enough. His eyes glance down to your lips for a split second before his gaze meets yours again. 

Your breath is shaky when he leans in closer. 

Then he turns away. 

What the fuck? 

You watch in disbelief as he pulls away, your breath still caught in your throat from the tension.

Caleb’s signature smile returns and you feel his palm stroke the back of your head. 

“You should go back to bed. It's late.” 

He turns to open his door for you to leave. 

“Maybe I should start coming home later too.” 

He pauses in his steps. 

“I don't think that's a bright idea, pipsqueak.”

You slide off his bed and walk towards his door. 

“Maybe not. But I have brighter ones that consist of escaping your curfew.” 

You’re ready to leave the room with your victory, that is, until the door before you completely shuts. You see his shadow tower over you from behind. 

You turn to face Caleb, your arms are crossed. 

“Didn’t you ask me to go to bed?” 

“Changed my mind. I wanna make sure you're thoroughly inspected.”

You’re facing Caleb, back on his bed again. He starts with your face, but he lets his fingers linger around your lips, brushing across your bottom lip. You turn away, and his fingers catch your chin, forcing you to face Caleb.

“No looking away.”

His eyes are devouring every patch of skin that exists on your body. Even though you're clothed, you feel naked when he has his eyes on you this intensely. His fingertips trace back to your lips and he slides it down painfully slowly–past your chin, down your neck, through your sternum, past your stomach, and stops right above the elastic of your shorts. 

You want to shift, but you realise you can't–your body suddenly feels weighed down to the bed, and that's when you realise Caleb has you held down with his Evol.

The softness in Caleb’s eyes disappears, and something else replaces it. You watch him tug your shorts off you, and all you can do is watch helplessly. 

His kisses tickle from your ankle, and he builds them upwards at an agonising pace, each kiss feeling warmer as he travels up your thigh. 

Your heartbeat only accelerates from there, watching Caleb inch closer and closer to your cunt. Your thighs tense up from the sensitivity, the warmth of his lips spreading over your skin when you feel his tongue come in contact with your skin. 

“That tickles”, your voice is soft, as if the defiance in your tone before never existed.

Caleb’s lips press against your clothed pussy. Despite the fact that you’re trembling slightly, you've completely soaked your panties, and Caleb is more than happy to soak them even more. 

He buries his tongue, wetting the fabric even further. The pleasure draws soft moans, but evidently, it's not enough. 

“Caleb… Could you lighten your Evol?” You plead. You want to feel him so bad. 

Your body instantly lightens, and you almost think you're gonna fall off the bed. 

Something else holds you down this time, and it's Caleb. 

He tilts your chin up to have your lips meet his, now his kisses melting off the thoughts in your brain. Warmth burns through your skin. It takes you seconds to realise Caleb is lifting your shirt off you.

The clothing article is the next victim tossed somewhere else on the bed. 

You take his cheeks to your palms.

“I really need you now, Caleb.”

The softness returns to his eyes momentarily. 

“Are you sure you're okay with this?”

“I'll hop off right now and head straight to bed if you don't”, you huff. Fuck, the anticipation is just clawing through your insides, begging for Caleb to do something.

He playfully scoffs. 

“We both know you wouldn't.” 

Caleb tugs your panties to the side, and lines himself to your hole.

He thrusts into you in one swift motion, and you feel it all the way in. It knocks your breath out of you. Caleb watches you helplessly gasp for air and adjust to his size. He’s just filled you so full. 

He’s still supporting you so you don't fucking pass out. He feels you scratch all over his back from the pressure but he stays still, at least, until you've adjusted. 

“Shit. You're so fuckin’ warm for me”, he hisses into your neck, trying his best not to thrust into you. You feel so tight for him, he feels so good just staying there.

He stretches you open for him–your pussy fluttering at the feeling of him filling you up. The pressure slowly fades and you quickly adjust to his size.

Your vision blurs when he thrusts into you from below–the sensation so overwhelming that it's making you tear up. 

“So good”, you sigh, struggling to keep your eyes open–almost impossible when his cock is hitting your g-spot over and over again. Sparks burst into your eyelids whenever he hits the spot and it's evident that he knows he’s able to unravel you just like that, so easily. 

“Caleb…”, you moan. Caleb’s still fucking you, feeling the way you're just squeezing him, watching the way your fingers have gone clawing his back to his bedsheets, the way your tits are bouncing from fucking you, the way your eyes practically form hearts when he knows he's hit your sensitive spots.

“Faster, please. You feel so fucking good.”

He knows you shouldn't have said that. You're the only person who can rile him up like this. How the hell are you making him break his resolve when he's supposed to be upset with you?

He leans in, practically hovering over you. His fingers cup your cheek and he forces you to meet his violet eyes. 

In your fucked out haze, you blink, confused when he slows down. He pulls out completely, and you're about to complain until he rolls your soiled panties off your legs, tossing it to somewhere on the bed. 

You gasp when you feel his thumb graze over your wet and throbbing clit. 

“I'm gonna make you wonder what the fuck wrong with your body”, Caleb’s voice reaches your ears. His words sends a shiver down your spine.

“Your little pussy is gonna throb every time you think of me.”

That's all the warning he gives before his arms tower over you, holding your wrists down above your head. 

He fucks you into an orbit and you're practically helpless–forced to take his thrusts over and over. But fuck, it feels so good. It feels like fucking heaven. 

You like how dizzy it makes you feel. You like how he's not stopping, no matter how much tears stream down your face, and how pathetic you sound crying and moaning his name. 

“Fuck! Caleb, it's too much–” you whimper, the strange feeling building up in your stomach. It feels like it's about to snap any second. 

He acknowledges your words, but he doesn't bother slowing down. 

“Didn’t you promise me to be a good girl and take all of it?” 

“Caleb–!”

Your voice sounds so heavenly when you call his name.

The fluids fountains out of you, soaking everything near it's vincity–including the both of you. Your orgasm continues to wash over you and more fluids spray out.

Caleb watches you squirm and jolt while you make a mess all over him. 

He lets go of your wrists, the slight redness forming onto your skin, and his thumb caresses your bottom lip. 

Despite your arms feeling sore from resisting against his hold, you wrap them around his neck, pulling him close to catch his lips. He's taken back for a split second, but he returns the kiss, letting his soft moans drown into your lips while you clench around him.

When you both pull back, it's Caleb’s turn to have his eyes glazed and his cheeks dusted a soft shade of pink. 

“y/n, if you keep doin’ that–fuck”, Caleb groans, his fingers closing into a fist against the sheets. His breath is shaky. The euphoria is threatening to spill over–the fact that you're trapping him in like this with you, just the two of you solely existing together right now–he could get high off this feeling. He doesn't need anything else. 

“I'm so close. Shit.” You watch the bead of sweat trickle down his temple, down to his cheek, to his chin, and then it disappears into the mess the both of you made below. 

Caleb’s voice makes you refocus on him. 

His palm presses against your cheek again, his thumb brushing lightly on the corner of your lips. 

“You're gonna take all of it like a good girl, yeah?” 

You nod, almost too eagerly. Caleb can't help but think that your face after being fucked looks breathtakingly beautiful. It makes him want to hide you further. The world doesn't deserve someone like you. 

He crashes his lips with yours, melting into the kiss while he pumps you full with his thick cum–making sure he has himself seated deep inside so nothing spills out. At least, not until he pulls out.

The high slowly descends, and the both of you are left panting, getting lost in each other’s eyes just for that moment before Caleb slowly pulls out. 

Caleb then reaches for the glass of water perched on his nightstand to offer you. You take a good few sips of water, and hand it back to Caleb, who takes a couple of sips as well. He notices the way your cheeks are still flushed and that you're blinking more. He plants the empty glass onto the nightstand, ready to carry you to wash up and probably change the sheets after.

In a daze, you notice Caleb’s cum seeping out of your hole in small loads. You wet two fingers and slide them to your pussy–and you push the thick fluids back in, your body jolting in pleasure while you're pretty much fingering your pussy with Caleb’s cum.

Caleb swallows hard while he watches you pleasure yourself. He’s about to say something but you cut him off.

“Your cum keeps leaking out”, you point out, giving him the full view of your cum-soaked pussy. You look up at him with an innocent, poison-soaked gaze–your lashes wet and your thighs trembling from each time you feel his cum leak out of you.

“It’d be such a waste–”, you mutter, shivering one more time when your fingers fuck you again, the room only filled with your voice and the wet squelching sounds from your pussy.

“–if it doesn't stay inside.” 

You barely have time to process what happens next. The next thing you knew, Caleb has your hands pinned above your head with one hand, and the other on your cheeks. His legs stop you from closing yours, and you feel his wet thickness hard once more, resting on your pubic bone.

“You know, pipsqueak”, his voice drops an octave lower. His voice is clear, and he makes sure you hear him. “It's okay to just ask for more.” His eyes reflect such a gorgeous shade of wild you've never seen before, and it looks fucking good on him.

No warnings–your cunt is just wet and sopping that Caleb stuffs you to fullness once more–you give up trying to keep your eyelids open, your mind only processing the way he’s fucking so deep into you again and again.

“You know I'll always give it to you.” 

The way his fingers are cupping your cheeks stops you from answering. Well, he doesn't need a verbal response, especially not when you’re clenching him so fucking tight when your orgasm hits you for the…how many times was it now?

You feel stings that slowly dull around your shoulders and chest. The bites Caleb’s given you are as red as the ruby on his apple necklace. 

The night is drowned with sounds and sensations of both you competing to send each other to the heavens. 

What day is it now? 

Caleb blinks his heavy eyelids open. He soaks in the atmosphere around him, and it doesn't take him long to realise that you're lying on his arm.

Thankfully, it's not numb. Your hair tickles his cheeks. 

He notices the light peeking through his curtains. It's probably daytime. 

Caleb presses his lips against the back of your head, while he pulls you closer. He almost jolts when he hears a soft moan coming from you.

For some reason, something feels funny. 

He attempts to shift slightly, and realises the predicament–his dick is still hard as fuck, and he’s still nestled so fucking deep in you. Fuck. Did the both of you fall asleep mid-sex? The feeling bleeds into him again. 

Are you even awake to realise this? 

Caleb bites his inner cheek, the hardness only builds. Shit. Even after all of that, you're still this warm and tight? 

He watches your breathing steadily. 

He hooks your leg over his arm almost too easily, giving himself easier access to fuck you deeper. Your sleepiness is slowly dissipating, overtaken so fucking quick by the burning desire once more.

His thrusts bear slight friction at first, but somehow that only adds to the pleasure–the rawness, the fact that he's left a mess in you and kept that way, and that he gets to do it all over again in the morning. 

“Ca…Caleb..!” You squeal, uselessly fisting the pillows while Caleb rails you from below. 

“So perfectly warm for me, y/n”, his morning voice dousing you. He takes advantage to litter more bites to the back of your neck and shoulders, and spoils you with his strained moans when he reflects the way you whimper whenever he hits your sensitive spots. 

You sheepishly bury your teary face into the pillows, and Caleb pushes himself impossibly deeper, forcing you to face him when you jolt in surprise. His violet eyes are eating you up. You hear his voice ring in your ears.

“Wanna make you cry more like this. You're so pretty when you cry when I'm splittin’ you open like this.” 

More tears stream down your cheeks whenever your g-spot gets abused over and over. Caleb forces you to meet his gaze. His thrusts are slower, but harder. 

“Shit, you're really gonna milk me dry, yeah?” Caleb hisses when he feels you flutter around him. Your cum is mixed with his, and drips down his cock, to his balls. 

Caleb pulls you tighter, deepening the kiss one last time while he breeds you full over and over for nth time since the last night, devouring your whimpers when the words you muttered to him last night comes into memory. You're so dizzy with pleasure, and Caleb has stolen all of your breaths. 

He finally pulls out, his cum endlessly drizzling out of your abused hole, and it almost sets him off again. 

Nonetheless, he forces himself to get out of bed so he can get a towel and clean you up.

Another loving kiss he presses onto your temple.

“I'm gonna get a towel, pipsqueak.” His husky whispers send shivers down your body, and the warmth of his touch lingers on your thighs for a lot longer than you realise.

He leaves the bed for the bathroom. 

You nuzzle into the pillows Caleb was just lying on, drowning yourself with his scent. The wetness that sticks between your legs–you can't tell if it's your fresh arousal or if it's his cum anymore.  

Not that it mattered since steadying your breath when you realised he was still in you when you stirred before him to see what he'd do next, gave you such a big reward. 

And you'd do it all over again. You would say things to get under his skin, just to get a rise out of him, just to keep his attention on you, always. 

You wanted to keep his strained voice when he called your name, the way he looks at you with so much desperation when he breeds you full, in a bottle and store it for your perverted indulgence. 

No one else needs to know that this part of Caleb exists, because he belongs to you. 

The dim light catches your attention underneath the thick sheets. You take the device, unlocking the phone with your fingerprint. 

6 missed calls. 

You swipe them away. You shut off his phone.

He doesn't need to know.

He doesn't need to remember.

At least, not when he's with you. 

[ariestrxsh]

dealer!chris x dealer!reader

💸 content warning: smut/angst (in later chapters; this one's mostly just suggestive), mentions of hard drugs and guns, enemies to lovers, slow burn

💸 summary: you and chris spend the night hanging out on his roof after your first day of making sales together.

there will be several parts to this story, and they will contain sex, drugs, violence, use of weapons, and a lot of things that could be triggering if you've ever been apart of the drug world or loved someone with an addiction. i don't mean to glorify drug use, selling, or anything like that, but i wanted this story to be realistic, so it does appear like a somewhat "glamorous" lifestyle to chris and the reader in the first few parts. i want to make it very clear that when you get involved in the drug world in real life, you usually end up in one of two places: the ground or prison.

WHEN SPARKS FLY

chapters: | intro | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |

The sun sank slowly below the skyline, and the evening turned to nightfall as you and Chris finished up your last deal of the day. You'd been showing him all the stops, introducing him to your customers, and teaching him the way you did everything.

He got into your passenger seat and sighed as his head fell against the headrest, really wishing he had a joint right about now. "Damn, ma. I can't believe how much money we made today," Chris mumbled, slouching down into his seat. He reached into his pocket, pulling out the wad of cash he'd made for the day.

"I know, and we're only a third of the way through the product," you smiled back, doing the math in your head about the potential profit. "I could never work a 9 to 5," Chris sighed, sifting through the $100 bills. "Can't believe I just made in a day what it would take some sucker to make in two weeks at some office job."

You fastened your seatbelt and turned the key in the ignition, admiring Chris, who brought his fingers to his lips and slowly licked them as he separated the crisp hundreds. "What are you thinking about, ma? My tongue or my fingers?" Chris flirted, catching you staring out of the corner of his eye and giving you a seductive smirk as he ran his tongue along the pads of his fingers again, flitting through his money.

You squeezed your thighs together as you bit down on your lip. For a moment, you were thinking about both at the same time. You hated the effect he had on you, the way he knew how to get inside your head, intrude on your thoughts, and invade your sexual fantasies. "You're fucking gross, Chris," you replied, rolling your eyes and trying to hide how turned on you were.

He responded with a chuckle, knowing that he was getting to you even if you wanted to deny it. "So, am I dropping you off at your girlfriend's house?" You asked, reminding him that he had one. "Nah, can you drop me off at my place? I'm staying home tonight," Chris requested. "I can do that. Just tell me where to go," you replied, your eyes darting around between the road in front of you, your side mirrors, and your rearview.

"So, have you told Daisy yet?" You asked, your gaze flickering over at Chris, who was shaking his head. "I'll tell her, ma, when I'm ready," Chris grumbled. He knew you were right. He knew he had some things to work out, like telling his girlfriend the real way he made his money or dealing with the fact that he was finding himself sexually attracted to his new business partner. He stole another glance at you from your passenger seat as the fantasy he'd had the night before flashed through his mind, praying you wouldn't notice the tent forming in his jeans.

When you pulled into Chris' driveway, he thanked you again for the ride. "I can't believe I've been sober for eight hours," Chris mentioned, bouncing his leg as you parked. "No wonder you've been so uptight today," you teased him. "Maybe you should come smoke with me since you're always uptight," Chris smirked, nudging you in the arm with his elbow, but his offer was genuine.

You gave him an annoyed look, but you couldn't hold back the smile that spread across your lips. "I don't smoke weed, Chris. I haven't since I was a teenager," you replied, fidgeting with the material of your black steering wheel cover. "Why not?" Chris wondered, surprised by your admission. "I like being clear-headed. I don't like feeling out of control," you shrugged.

"We're on a floating rock in space, ma. The idea that you have control over anything is an illusion," Chris laughed, reaching for his door handle. "C'mon. Come inside. Do you drink? I've got a beer with your name on it if you wanna hang out with me for a little."

You were quiet for a second. It wasn't often that people invited you to hang out or just do something fun with them, and for a moment, you thought maybe you could use it. "I could stay for one beer," you responded hesitantly, nervously rubbing the back of your neck. "That's what I'm talking about, ma. Let your hair down once in a while," Chris replied, beaming with a smile.

You trailed behind him, staring down at your shoes as you followed the pattern of the stepping stones that led to his front door. "Oh, shit. I forgot my house key at Daisy's place," he sighed, running his finger through his hair. You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms over your chest. "Do you need me to take you to Daisy's place after all?" You huffed, slightly annoyed at the situation.

"Nah, it wouldn't do any good anyways. She's at work. Plus, this won't take long," Chris said, pulling a pin out of his pocket and fiddling with the lock. You nervously looked around, worried someone was going to see him picking his lock and call the cops or something, but in a matter of seconds, you heard a click, and you watched as he turned the knob. His door creaked open, and he glanced back at you with a mischevious smile.

"Okay, now you're just showing off," you replied, raising an eyebrow. "What can I say, ma? I'm good with my hands. Gotta show you my skillset somehow," Chris playfully winked at you. You scoffed, biting back a smile. A part of you liked the way he couldn't keep himself from making sexual innuendos and flirting with you.

"If you need me to pick a lock on a deal, though, you're splitting the money 50/50 with me," Chris told you, stepping into his living room. "What kind of shady shit do you think I'm up to, Chris? I'm just selling coke. Not robbing people," you joked, following him in. "You never know," Chris peeked back at you over his shoulder with a smirk on his face.

"This is it," he announced, raising his arms to present his place to you. It was a dimly-lit, relatively small place, but it had a safe, cozy vibe to it. "I like it," you told him, your eyes scanning them room. You noticed his sprouting marijuana plants in the corner sitting beneath his grow lights and an old shelf beside it that was littered with comic books and novels you'd never heard of.

His house faintly smelled of weed and sandalwood, like how Chris always smelled, and you found the familiar scent comforting as it wafted through the air. He directed you over towards his couch and motioned for you to sit. You sat down, awkwardly perching at the edge of the couch cushion.

"C'mon, ma. You can relax. Kick your feet up," he told you, heading over towards his fridge to give you that beer he promised you. You exhaled and slowly leaned back into his sofa that was much softer than you imagined it would be. Chris twisted the cap off the bottle and handed it to you. The red and white label that read Stella Artois stared back at you, and you hesitantly reached out and took it.

Chris plopped down on the couch beside you, and you watched as he sprinkled a bit of ground weed into his rolling paper. You peered down at his rings and his fingers at the way they skillfully handled the joint, tucking the paper in and folding it in on itself.

His gaze flickered up at you as his tongue darted out, and he licked a long, slow stripe across the edge of the joint. His lips curled into a suggestive smile as he noticed you watching him, but you acted unamused, pulling your eyes away from his. You held the bottle up to your lips, taking a small, refreshing sip, the bubbles fizzing against your tongue as you relaxed further into the comfy couch.

You peered down the hall to an open door at the end. The room was dark, but you imagined it was probably Chris' bedroom. You found yourself wondering what it looked like, how comfortable his bed was, and how hard it would be for you to keep your hands off of him if you ever found yourself alone with him in there.

"You coming?" Chris asked, pulling you out of your thoughts and standing to his feet as soon as you'd gotten comfortable. "Coming where?" You wondered, giving him a perplexed look. "To the roof. The view's great up there," Chris responded, making his way towards the back door.

You hesitantly followed him back out into the cool air of the backyard where he had a ladder propped up against the side of his house. "C'mon, ma. I'll hold your beer. You start climbing the ladder," Chris told you, extending his arm to take your bottle from you. "Yep. Just smoking and drinking on a roof. What could possibly go wrong?" You muttered under your breath as you wrapped your fingers around the cold, metal rungs.

"Don't worry, ma. I'll be right behind you, so if you fall, I'll catch you," Chris' breath tickled your neck as he pressed his warm body into yours. Your heart skipped a beat, and you felt your breath hitch in your throat. It was the closest you'd ever been to him. You were just glad you were faced away from him, so he couldn't see the unmistakable look of desire written in your expression as heat radiated off his skin.

You cleared your throat and regained your composure. "Is that your gun, or are you just happy to see me?" You snarked at him, peering over your shoulder in an attempt to take control of the situation again. Chris chuckled, but he didn't answer you, leaving it up for interpretation. You started to hesitantly climb the ladder, and Chris followed closely behind, keeping his promise to not let you fall as he held your beer in one hand and the unlit joint between his lips.

The two of you made it to the roof, and Chris handed you your beer once the two of you got settled. The star-filled sky hung overhead as you looked out at the horizon. You saw the tops of the other houses, the city lights scattered across the skyline, and the waves crashing on the beach shore off in the far distance. You brought your bottle of Stella Artois up to your lips and took another sip as you took in the view. There was something about this perspective that made your problems feel smaller and less pressing.

"Pretty cool, isn't it, ma?" Chris asked beside you as you heard the flick of his lighter sound as he held the flame up to the end of his joint. You quietly nodded, surprised by how much you could see from Chris' roof. "So, ma. What do you say we get to know each other better and play your favorite game, twenty questions?" Chris smiled over at you with the lit joint pinched between his two fingers.

You rolled your eyes, but you didn't have an excuse this time. There was no work to be done, and there was nowhere to go to avoid his questioning, so you took a deep breath and another swig of your drink. "Okay, fine. Hit me," you finally replied after a moment of hesitancy.

"Where do you go to clear your mind?" Chris wondered, his gaze locked on you. "The beach. I like the waves. The sounds of the seagulls. Feeling the sand between my toes. It's peaceful," you shrugged. Even though the question wasn't a very personal one, you felt vulnerable answering.

"What about you, Chris?" You wondered aloud. "You're looking at it," Chris said with his joint tucked between his lips. He didn't need to explain anything further. You could tell why this was the place he went to sort out his thoughts.

"Alright. What kind of music do you listen to?" You blurted out, not sure of what to ask him next. "Anything, really. But I prefer indie over everything else," he told you. "Okay, play me your favorite song," you told him, gesturing towards his phone he had sitting beside him. He picked it up, staring back at you as he thought about it for a moment. "Alright," he responded, scrolling through the saved albums on his phone until he came across AM by Arctic Monkeys. No. 1 Party Anthem started playing through the speaker of his phone, and you nodded in approval as the melody filled the space between you.

"If you could have dinner with anyone, dead or alive, who would you choose?" Chris asked, turning off his phone screen and letting the song play softly in the background of your conversation. You thought about it for a moment. "See, I wanna say Pablo Escobar or something, but I think I'd want to have dinner with one of those druglords who flew under the radar so well that we don't even know their names," you replied. "Damn, ma. That's a good answer," Chris mumbled with the joint hanging from his lips.

He glanced up at you as if silently reminding you it was your turn to ask a question. "What did you think of me when you first met me?" You wondered aloud. You gave him a look like he should be careful about how answered this question. He cracked a smile, remembering the first time you'd approached him and threatened him for selling his weed on your block and trying to steal your customers. "I thought you were tough. Not the kind of woman you want to mess with. I also thought you were super hot," Chris admitted. You blushed, hoping Chris couldn't tell in the glow of the moon.

"What's one thing you don't leave the house without?" Chris asked you, pulling a long drag from his joint. "My keys," you sharply responded, subtly teasing him for having to break into his own place earlier. He let out a laugh. "And my gun," you told him. You sipped on your bubbly drink, noting that the song had changed.

Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High started to play as you glanced back over at the blue-eyed man beside you. "If you could change one thing about yourself, what would you change?" You asked, peeling the label off your beer bottle. "Nothing," Chris smirked over at you. "Nothing?" You reiterated, furrowing your brow. "Nothing," he repeated. "You're a little cocky, aren't you?" You shot back. "I prefer confident," Chris chuckled before he pulled from the joint again.

"What do you think the most important quality in a friend or partner is?" Chris asked after a few seconds of silence. "Honesty and loyalty," you said without hesitation, and Chris nodded in agreement. "You?" You asked. "Probably just someone who isn't going to bail when things get hard," Chris sincerely responded.

"What's your biggest fear?" You asked him, the questions getting deeper and deeper. "Losing the people I love," he answered, staring down at the build-up of ash on the cherry before flicking it off. "How about you, ma?" He returned the question. "Trusting the wrong person and getting hurt," you responded almost immediately. "I get that," Chris answered, his gaze still fixed on you.

"What's your guilty pleasure?" Chris asked you, his luscious lips curling into a smile as he awaited your response. "Probably those dumb reality shows," you admitted, your cheeks growing warm. "Really? Never took you for a girl who likes trash TV," Chris teasingly nudged your arm. "Daisy loves that shit, too."

"What's one of your guilty pleasures?" You asked Chris. He bit down on his lip as he looked you up and down. He knew what he wanted to say, but he knew it would be crossing the line of just playful flirting and venturing into uncharted territory, so he came up with something on the spot.

"Watching the trash TV with her. I'm always making fun of her for watching The Bacholorette and shit like that, but then I find myself watching it with her and getting all invested," Chris confessed.

"I totally get it. Like, I started watching it as a joke at first, and then you get to know the people. Then you start wanting them to end up together," you said, glancing up at him, and his eyes met yours. The song changed again, and you listened as the lyrics came through:

🎶 If you like your coffee hot, let me be your coffee pot. You call the shots, babe. I just wanna be yours. 🎶

The two of you stared at each other in a comfortable silence for a moment, Chris taking a puff of his weed as you took a swig of beer. "So, what does Daisy think you're out doing all day when you're working?" You wondered, raising an eyebrow at him. "As far as she knows, I work in sales, which isn't totally a lie. She just doesn't know about the drugs," Chris shrugged. "Yeah, she doesn't know about the most important detail," you scoffed, tapping on the glass of your bottle.

"Why are you always judging me for that, ma? I've got my reasons. Why are you so pressed about it?" He asked, sounding a bit defensive. "I had an ex who kept things from me, like how much money he owed certain people. He put me in a lot of dangerous situations. Don't want to watch you do the same shit to Daisy," you murmured, letting Chris in more than you had up until this point. "I didn't know, ma," Chris said, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder and relaxing his jaw. "You know, I'd never intentionally hurt her. Or you."

"It doesn't matter, Chris. You can be the most well-intentioned person in the world and still hurt the people around you," you responded. He was quiet for a few minutes, mulling over what you said.

"Your ex? Alex?" Chris wondered, blowing out a cloud of smoke against the night sky as he recalled Joe using that name earlier. "Yeah. My dumb fuck ex. He got himself killed because he owed the wrong people money," you said in a dry tone. "Holy shit. Ma, I'm so sorry," Chris whispered. "Don't be. He deserved it," you muttered under your breath.

"Hey, I have a question. Why do you always call me ma?" You chimed in. "It's just a sign of respect. That's all," he shrugged. "Why? Does it bother you?"

"No. It's fine. I don't care what you call me. You gotta stop looking at me like that, though. Looking like you're gonna kiss me or some shit," you accused him, following his gaze that danced between your eyes and your lips as you took another drink of your beer. The song changed again.

🎶 How many secrets can you keep? 'Cause there's this tune I found that makes me think of you somehow, and I play it on repeat until I fall asleep. 🎶

"I'm not looking at you any type of way! Maybe you're projecting because you wanna kiss me," he shot back. The sexual tension between the two of you was thick, and for a moment, you each thought about it. The temptation was there, and it was strong. You wanted to pull him as close as you could, passionately press your lips against his, and tangle your fingers in his soft, brown hair, but you didn't want to ruin your business relationship with him.

Chris thought the same, wondering what it would be like to kiss you, but he didn't want to screw up what he had with Daisy, and he didn't want to give you the wrong impression. He diverted his eyes, glancing down at his joint that had burned down to the roach, and he put it out. "Get enough of the view, ma? I'm getting kind of tired," Chris chimed in as you admired his profile in the moonlight.

For a moment, you forgot he was talking about the scape of the city from the roof. "Oh, right. Yeah, of course. I should probably go," you said, fiddling with the empty bottle in your hand. "You can stay the night if you need to," Chris motioned towards the alcoholic beverage you'd finished off, but he knew he was playing with fire the moment the words left his mouth, inviting you to stay the night.

🎶 Do I wanna know if this feeling flows both ways? Sad to see you go, was sort of hoping that you'd stay. 🎶

The two of you exchanged a look like you both knew it wouldn't be a good idea. Even with you both sleeping in separate rooms, you each knew deep down that a closed door wouldn't be enough to deter you two from the temptation. "It's cool, Chris. It was just one beer. I'll just grab a glass of water, sit on your couch for twenty minutes, and I'll be fine to drive," you told him. Chris picked up his phone and paused the song. "I got you, ma. I'll help you down."

You felt elated once you were finally sitting back down on Chris' couch, sobering up. You weren't sure if it was a buzz from the alcohol, an adrenaline rush from being on the roof, or just the way you were starting to feel around Chris.

Chris gave you some crackers to help "absorb the alcohol," because he had "heard somewhere that it does," and even though you'd only had one beer, it was sweet that he cared enough. You also both just knew that you had to sober up, because staying the night wasn't an option unless you were both prepared to give into the force that was pulling the two of you together and end up doing something that could hurt Daisy or hurt your business relationship.

So you were munching away on Ritz crackers on Chris' couch after your single beer, and once you felt like the effects of the alcohol had worn off, you made a comment about how late it was getting and about how you should probably get going.

You left, following the same stepping stones you'd used when you walked up. When you approached your car, you reached into your empty pocket for your keys just to remember you'd left them on Chris' coffee table. "Shit," you whispered, realizing you were going to have to do a walk of shame back up to his front door after giving him shit for forgetting his keys earlier.

Chris had already started to get ready for bed, shedding his layers and slipping into a pair of flannel pajama pants when a soft knock sounded at his front door. He peeked through the peephole to make sure it was you, his heart racing and secretly wondering if you'd come back to kiss him or confess your feelings for him, his mind swirling with half a dozen possibilities.

He turned the doorknob, and when you saw him, your eyes were immediately drawn to the fact that he was shirtless. "Uh, sorry. I forgot my keys," you told him, unable to conceal your smile at the irony of the situation. "Oh, you mean, the keys you don't go anywhere without?" Chris asked, leaning against the door frame and indulging in the fact that you were doing nothing to hide the fact that you were checking him out.

"Yeah. Those ones," you smirked, biting down on your lip. "I'll go get 'em, ma," Chris chuckled at you as he turned to retrieve your keys. You found yourself holding your breath as your gaze danced over the definition of his back muscles in the soft lighting of his living room.

He handed them to you, and as you took them from him, his hand brushed against yours. You both exchanged a look that was heavy with the words unspoken between you, but you also both silently agreed it was for the best. "Okay, goodnight," you said, unconsciously batting your eyelashes at him. "Goodnight," Chris smirked, eyeing you up and down as you turned to walk away before closing his door again.

As soon as you made it to your car, you reflected on the way you acted and how stupid you must have sounded, silently kicking yourself. You didn't harp on it for long, though. Your embarrassment was quickly overshadowed by the intoxication and bliss you felt from being around such an attractive man who was beginning to make you smile more than he made you roll your eyes.

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[catchastarorten]

—A long day.

Pairing: Cho Sang-woo x wife!fem!reader

Summary: being a professor at the same university your husband taught at was exhausting at times, but at least he knew how to comfort you... that was until a student walked in to ask you a question about an assignment.

Content: fluff, you two are both professors in this au, kisses/neck kisses, making out, caresses, an unlucky student unfortunately walking in on the two of you, English isn't my first language, mistakes should be present, not proofread, sorry!

Word Count: ~ 1.4k

The classroom was quiet now, emptied of students and the hum of chatter that had filled it just hours ago. It had been a long day of lectures, discussions, and endless paperwork. The only sound was the scratch of your pen against a stack of papers that seemed never-ending.

Your head ached slightly from the day, eyes burning from reading through assignment after assignment. You were so caught up in your work that you didn’t notice when someone entered the room.

It was the warm pressure around your waist that made you still, your breath catching for just a second. The familiar scent of him—clean, crisp cologne with the faintest hint of coffee—settled around you, and before you could turn to look, his fingers gently traced along your hip, caressing you in slow, deliberate strokes.

You exhaled slowly after seeing him, running a tired hand down your face. “You scared me.”

Sang-woo hummed lowly, and you swore you saw a rare hint of amusement in his eyes. His hold on you tightened just slightly, his warm body hovering behind yours. “You were too focused. Didn’t even hear me walk in.”

You leaned back into him instinctively, his warmth comforting against the cool air of the empty classroom. “Mmm... maybe because I’m exhausted.”

“I figured,” he murmured, his voice smooth, soft. His hands slowly traced along your waist before settling against your hips again, grounding you. “Long day?”

You let out a small sigh, finally setting down your pen. “The longest. I swear, every student had a question after class today. And half of them didn’t even need to stay. They just wanted to chat.”

His lips curled into a small smile. “You’re too nice to them.”

“They’re still just kids,” you shrugged, though you couldn’t hide the tired smile that tugged at your lips. “Besides, if I don’t help them, who will?”

He sighed, and you felt him shift behind you, his hands moving up to your shoulders, kneading them gently.

“That’s exactly why you run yourself into the ground.” His thumbs pressed into a particularly sore spot, making you hum softly. “You need to take breaks.”

You reached up, covering one of his hands with yours. “I know.”

“You say that,” he started, fingers still working against your tense muscles. “But here you are, still at your desk after hours, barely aware of your surroundings.”

“I was grading,” you defended, though you knew it was a weak argument.

You turned to look up at Sang-woo fully—dark eyes watching you intently, a quiet concern hidden beneath the usual composed expression he wore so well.

“You look tired,” he said, softer this time.

You sighed. “I feel tired.”

He studied you for a moment before his hands shifted, one sliding up from your waist to cup your cheek. His thumb brushed over your skin, warm and reassuring. He tilted his head just slightly, eyes flickering between yours before he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips—just a soft press at first, barely there. “Then relax.”

You huffed a quiet laugh but said nothing, closing your eyes briefly as he stroked his thumbs along your skin. It was so easy to sink into him, to let go of the stress clinging to your bones when he touched you like this.

When you opened your eyes again, his gaze was softer than before, his face so close that his breath brushed against your lips.

The moment stretched, anticipation curling through you, before he kissed you again—deeper this time, slower, as if he had all the time in the world.

When he pulled back, he didn’t go far, his forehead brushing against yours. “Let’s go home,” he murmured, as if he was making a statement, not a question.

You shook your head. “Not yet.”

His lips barely curved. “I figured you’d say that.”

“Mm.” You smiled a little. “But maybe I can be convinced.”

Before you could find a reaction from his face, he kissed you again, deeper this time, more deliberate. His lips moved slowly against yours, unhurried yet insistent, as if savoring the taste of you.

Your fingers found the front of his shirt, gripping the fabric lightly as you kissed him back, letting yourself sink into the feeling of him.

When you shifted, pressing closer, his back met the board behind him with a quiet thud, a quiet muffled noise came from his lips. His hands wandered, sliding over your waist, your back, pulling you just a little closer as your mouths moved together in a slow, intoxicating rhythm.

The collar of his neatly buttoned shirt was slightly askew now, the usual composure he carried beginning to unravel in the way his breath grew heavier, in the way his hands roamed with a little less restraint.

When he finally broke away from your lips, his mouth found your jaw, then lower, pressing slow, deliberate kisses down your neck. His lips were warm, the press of them making your breath stutter as his fingers traced lazy patterns along your back.

Before you realized it, he was guiding you, his touch gentle but sure, until your back met the edge of your desk. He lifted you onto it effortlessly, stepping between your legs and barely breaking the kiss.

He wasn’t rushing—he never did. Instead, he took his time with each kiss, each touch. His fingers slid to your hips as he pulled you even closer, lips never leaving yours for too long.

You were wrapped up in him as you sat on the edge of your desk. His lips trailed away from yours again, tracing a path of featherlight kisses down your neck.

You exhaled, tilting your head slightly to give him more room, your fingers threading through his hair. His breath was warm against your skin, his hands steady as they held you close.

And then—

“U-Um—Professor?”

The voice cut through the room like a knife.

You and Sang-woo froze.

Your head turned toward the doorway, where a student stood wide-eyed, gripping a notebook tightly to their chest as if it was a shield.

The poor thing looked like they had just walked in on something they definitely should not have seen.

You reacted first, pulling back quickly and clearing your throat as heat rushed to your face, shifting off of the desk easily. Sang-woo straightened as well, adjusting his collar and stepping back just enough to create a more appropriate distance between you.

The student, clearly horrified, looked between the two of you as if trying to process exactly what they had interrupted. “I—um—I just had a question about the assignment, but I can—come back later!”

You waved a hand, trying to compose yourself despite the very obvious tension lingering in the air. “No... no, it’s fine! What’s your question?”

From the corner of your eye, you saw Sang-woo trying—and fumbling—to button up the collar of his shirt, running a hand over his slightly ruffled hair before slipping back into his usual composed demeanor.

The student hesitated, clearly dying to flee but also too dedicated to their grades to abandon the reason they had come in. “...It’s about the essay. The word count requirement—uh—do quotes count toward it?”

You cleared your throat again, pushing some loose hair behind your ear in an attempt to gather yourself. “Yes, they do, but try not to rely too heavily on them. Your analysis should still be the main focus.”

The student nodded quickly, still looking like they were processing the absolute disaster they had just walked into. “R-Right! Got it! Thank you, Professor! I’ll just—um—I’ll go now!”

And before you could say anything else, they spun on their heels and bolted out of the room.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Then, you turned to see your husband failing to hide a smile.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Why didn’t we lock the door?”

Sang-woo let out a quiet exhale, stepping closer again. “A lesson learned.” He leaned in, pressing one last kiss—soft and lingering—against your forehead before murmuring, “I'm assuming we could go home now.”

With your heart still racing and your face still warm, you let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah… yeah, okay. I’m done for the day.”

Hopefully that student still shows up tomorrow for your class?

[lay-z]

cotton candy clouds | 4

Synopsis: Due to his rank, status, and many combat achievements, Lieutenant Riley is assigned an emotional support hybrid by the brass; whether he likes it or not.

Pairing: handler!Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x dog!hybrid!fem!Reader Warnings/Info: 18+ MDNI | Reader is a purebred Samojede (dog)hybrid. Despite ears, tails, and their adapted nature/instincts and personalities, hybrids have human features. | bimbo!Reader; hypersexuality; slow-burnish; heavy smut; tw: past (sexual) abuse/manipulation; cussing; fluff/domesticity; humour; angst; hurt/comfort; eventual romance; strangers to lovers; dub-con elements (Mind the warnings for each chapter!)

☁ ccc; masterlist

Whenever Simon spares you a glance to remind himself that this new and strange arrangement is real, he finds you staring right back at him somehow.

Always making eye contact; holding his unwavering gaze with a silent expectation that makes his chest feel tight and his brain go numb, grappling for answers. Multiple times he's caught himself biting the tip of his tongue harshly to refrain himself from barking “What?” at you, demanding an answer in exchange for his cluelessness: What do you want from me?

He's building a mountain of expectations in his mind involuntarily while lacking the gear and a strategy in how to climb it properly. It's too high, and he knows he can never reach the top unscathed.

How can he possibly take care of you if he can barely take care of himself outside of what is required of him? He keeps himself fit, alive, able to function, always ready to follow an order and go in for the kill. That’s what he knows, what he’s comfortable with, but this?

Simon doesn't play house, doesn't know how to handle something so... domestic and delicate. He never experienced it growing up, never witnessed normalcy. If he would care about such things now, he’d have a wife or something akin to one, but he doesn’t–never even had a partner before, never bothered to believe himself fit for dating, for letting someone in like this.

Even the soft clothes you're wearing make him recoil; pastel colours having the opposite effect of red to a bull–so odd and out of place to him, and he knows the callouses on his fingers would simply catch on the fabric if he were ever to reach out to you for whatever reason, like a sheep’s fine wool catching on a thorn brush, scratching and tearing.

“What would you like for dinner?”

Simon blinks twice, thrice, before the question comes through his thick skull, vision slowly clearing despite him having stared at you for the past minutes while you were sitting on his couch patiently the whole time, eager as ever now that he willingly took you back to his flat again.

Why did you even sign the handlership without knowing him at all beforehand? Are you really that oblivious? That naïve? Or did the brass coax you into signing it?

“Simon?”

The way you keep saying his name so casually, makes his chest ache, makes him inhale sharply each time. What would he like for dinner? It should be such a simple question, but it seems like a puzzle to him–a thousand pieces, all in the same bloody colour.

“Why? Ya offering to cook for me, lass?” He snorts humourlessly. It's ridiculous. No one cooks for him unless he goes to the mess hall to get some grub.

“Of course, I'd love to!” You answer immediately, flashing a genuine smile. His eyes flicker to your tail when it starts to wag again and he curls his lips under his mask. Isn't he supposed to take care of you? What even is this bloody handlership? His brows draw together quizzically, making that deep crease reappear between them. Perhaps he should’ve read it before putting his signature on the damn paper.

Then he sighs in resignation. “Do whatever you want, just stay out of my room,” he replies and makes a half-hearted gesture towards the kitchen. “Not sure wha’s in the fridge. Been a few days since I went to the store,” he admits begrudgingly, kissing his teeth in annoyance when his stomach grumbles.

“Well then,” you say tentatively, tail stilling on the couch, “–why don't we go shopping for groceries?”

It’s already late afternoon, when Simon pulls up to the parking lot in front of the local supermarket in town with a truck he borrowed on base, deciding it’s better for his own nerves to take you somewhere else but the stores they have on base. He just can’t bring himself to keep you on a leash around his peers, to parade you around wearing a pink collar around your neck with his rank and military ID number stitched into its leather–a ‘gift’ from the bloody gift basket Price had delivered to his flat along with the initial shock of your presence.

And, by god, he wants to drop the leash and run in the other direction as soon as the automatic sliding doors swoosh open and his boots step foot into the store with you in tow–a red shopping basket clutched in his other hand.

What an absurd picture it must be to other shopgoers–a behemoth with a skull mask and cargo pants buying veggies and snacks with a gorgeous hybrid woman on a pink leash and matching collar. Kinky, he muses unintentionally and grits his teeth, cringing at his own stupid thought. It’s then and there Simon decides to murder Price next chance he gets.

“Mummy, look!” A toddler exclaims, pointing at you as he peeks his head into the produce aisle. Simon’s eyebrow raises beneath his mask as the little boy approaches shyly, his wide eyes fixated on you. Civilians, especially kids and women, usually avoid him like the plague whenever he’s out and about in public, looking like, well–himself.

“Hello there,” you coo at the toddler, crouching down to his level while Simon keeps as much distance as the leash allows him to, knowing better than to interfere. “Are you looking for your mama?” You ask attentively, ears twitching as you look past the boy, already searching for his parents.

The boy shakes his head with a big smile, rocking on his feet. “Nu-uh, she’s–”

“Noah!” The frantic voice of a woman calls out. “I told you to stay by–” Her eyes widen, steps faltering briefly as she catches sight of Simon, who has already anticipated the reaction, slumping his shoulders to try and make himself look smaller, less threatening.

“He’s okay,” you chime in swiftly, straightening up to be on eye-level with Noah’s mother. “We were about to help him look for you, madam,” you assure her, and the boy giggles when you ruffle his brown unruly curls briefly. “Isn’t that right, big man?”

The conversation fades into the background just like Simon’s whole presence seemingly does as you go on to hold a friendly and effortless conversation with the mother and her son. Meanwhile, Simon doesn’t quite remember the last time someone approached him so casually and jovially, and he gets lost in his own rotten mind with flashbacks of the past again–seeing the ghosts of Beth and Joseph in these strangers in front of him, and his heart is gripped by icy tendrils of grief and melancholy until your laugh breaks through the vision, pulling him back to reality at once.

“Oh, no worries! I’m sure it is strange to see someone like me in a quaint town like this,” you chuckle softly, giving a small wave with your hand while Simon’s pale lashes flutter as he tries to follow the conversation once more after what he’s missed. He notices how the toddler is giggling, petting and hugging your fluffy tail while you continue talking to his mum like it’s nothing unordinary. “But working for the military has brought me to the strangest places where hybrids are either a common occurrence or completely rare and more like a myth,” you explain patiently.

And the woman smiles coyly, already smitten with your charms. “Well, you certainly are a looker if I dare say so, miss.”

Once Alice, as she'd introduced herself, and Noah go about their own shopping, Simon catches the odd look on your face, something akin to sadness or longing hidden behind your smile, before you rapidly blink it away as a grumpy-looking elderly man approaches you, asking for help as if you'd know your way around while Simon groans internally, already despising all the attention.

You really do turn heads in a rather positive way if you manage to make the most grumpy old geezer smile in a heartbeat.

“You always this chipper?” He gruffs as he watches you add a pound of butter and coffee creamer to the overflowing basket, not that he'd care about that. You've been nothing but mindful of prices and proper nourishment while strolling through the aisles.

“Hm?” Simon snorts, in amusement this time. There's no way you didn't hear him; he saw your plush left ear swivel in his direction. “Ya heard me jus’ fine, lass.” He mutters, grabbing a box of his favourite biscuits as he walks past them and shoving them in between the other goodies, feeling like a child sneaking candy into their parent's shopping cart.

“Oh, yeah,” you chuckle, keeping your eyes trained on the shelves with different brands of toast before grabbing a packaged loaf. “I guess I am.” Then you stop, glancing up at him over your shoulder, and Simon nearly bumps into you. “You don't like people coming up to us to chat?”

Simon's brows furrow. Us? “They wanna talk you, not me. 'm basically–” He shrugs, making a vague gesture at himself as the leash clinks in his hand.

“A Ghost?” You quip, beaming at your little joke while your tail swishes proudly.

“Right,” Simon huffs quietly. “Smooth.”

He's rather thankful for his balaclava as he continues trotting after you through the store, hiding the tiniest crack of a smile underneath the black cloth.

There’s a match on the telly, an ice cold bottle of his favourite ale on the coffee table on a coaster he didn’t even know he owned, though all Simon can really focus on is this bizarre situation he finds himself watching as you go about doing your own thing in his kitchen.

It’s almost mesmerizing, the way you rummage through the cupboards and drawers, taking out pots and bowls to your liking as if you own the place already, preparing a side salad while the steaks sizzle in the pan–all while you’re wearing that frilly, pale pink apron that you’d fetched from your suitcase earlier, the one that makes Simon wonder if one of your previous handlers is responsible for your peculiar wardrobe, or if pink simply happens to be your favourite colour.

He takes an absentminded sip of his drink when another thought pops into his head: What if you wear all of this hyper-feminine bollocks because people forced you to like it? What if they manipulated you into enjoying stuff to state their own perverted fantasies? Would you rather wear something else?

And Simon imagines it briefly–you wearing something cosy, perhaps one of his hoodies that would most likely swallow you whole. He takes another swing of ale and his nose wrinkles, though it’s not the bitterness making him squinch.

“Dinner is ready in five,” you croon suddenly, popping your head into the living room from the kitchen as the savoury aroma of steak and chips wafts through the flat, engulfing the usually sparse space like a warm, comforting blanket.

With a soft groan and a cracking knee, Simon gets up from his seat on the couch. The least he can do is set the table.

@lucienofthelakes @kakashiislut @jggykhug09090 @edgarapoecolouredglasses @kerst666 @whos-fran @d1zzy-r1v3rs @userinaliel666 @annoyingstrawberryballoon @vmaxis @tessakate @dneicjefx @sushiumex @yourfavreggie @cmbghost @brokexintroverted @mysterygrl555 @bunnybeaches @fmlmf @teapartydreams @nachofriess @slut-lmao @sweetnanah @kodzukenwhore @thefutureastronaut @arael-asuka @oliver-1270

[destinedfordiapers]

Dancing Through Life

This is Part Two of the series I’m writing with @paci-papa, catch up on Part One here!

One thing is crystal clear as you lay there in a soggy diaper, waiting for your babysitters to change you:

It’s going to be a long weekend.

For the last few months, Papa had been your whole world. He made you feel so safe, so secure you never thought twice about becoming his babygirl.

You didn’t mind the wet and messy diapers you wore all day. Or how your adult clothes were swapped for your current infantile wardrobe. You didn’t even mind that your adulthood was a thing of the past, never to return.

Papa was always there to make everything better. To assure you that you were right where you belonged.

It was like the outside world ceased to exist.

“You were so right, babe. She really is better off like this! It’s hard to believe it’s her. No more attitude, no more sass. Just a well-behaved pamper packer!”

Not anymore.

Papa didn’t leave you with just any babysitters. No, you had a history with the two babysitters smiling down at you.

“Well, I wish I could take credit for the docile little thing waiting so patiently for a diaper change! But her Papa deserves all the credit. All I did was put her back in diapers where she belongs!”

Two years ago, before your new life as Papa’s poopy pamper princess, Trevor was your boyfriend. But he could only handle your attitude and immaturity for so long. Especially when your drunken escapades ended with a soaked bed.

“Well, judging by how fast she tinkled through this diaper, it was the right decision!”

You foolishly look up and make eye contact with Liv. Pee trickles into your diaper as you see her condescending grin.

Ugh, you hated Liv.

The woman who stole Trevor from you.

You remember that same condescending grin on her face when Trevor put your nighttime diaper on you before she ran off to bed with him. Or how she’d always check your diaper in her lingerie first thing in the morning.

And the horrible way she’d loudly comment that you made an “oopsie daisy in her diaper” whenever you woke up wet.

Liv stops Trevor as he walks to you with a new diaper and changing supplies.

“Babe, I’m a little concerned about Erica’s tummy. Her Papa says she usually makes a boom boom before lunch, but it’s already afternoon, and she’s only tinkled, poor thing.”

Your face turns a shade of red so bright a tomato would be jealous.

“Honey,” Trevor says, “Are you holding your poopoo?”

You cover your face in shame. “I…I…”

Liv jumps in with a sickeningly sweet voice, “Little one, you have nothing to be embarrassed about, okay? We’re your babysitters! Our job is to change poopy diapers!”

You whimper, dreading what’s about to happen. “I…don’t have to…”

“Hmm. Why don’t we help make things easy, sweetie?” Liv says, grabbing your feet, “Let’s do bicycle kicks until you fill your diaper?”

“B-bicycle kicks?” you whimper.

“Yes, little one. They always work on my little niece!”

Before you can react, Liv starts moving your legs back and forth, slowly pushing them towards you before pulling back, cycling each leg.

“Mmmm,” you whimper, doing your best not to mess your diaper in front of Liv like an actual baby.

For a minute or two, the only sounds are your diaper crinkles and Liv's humming. A loud, foreboding gurgle erupts from your tummy.

You whimper, feeling your control dwindling. Every time Liv pushes your legs, you feel your control slipping. You desperately try to fight the inevitable.

Without warning, a loud toot trumpets into the room.

“Good girl, Erica! Get all your toot-toots out!” Liv coos.

It happens slowly, then all at once.

Your eyes go wide as you feel your mess sliding slowly, inevitably, into your diaper, which crackles as you fill it. Nothing you do makes any difference.

Trevor laughs, “Wow, you were right, Liv! Works like a charm!”

You have no control, like the baby you’ve become.

Each time Liv pushes, more mess slides into your diaper. She pushes on and on, your diaper struggling to contain your onslaught.

“Almost done, honey?” Liv asks, inspecting your diaper, “Anymore poopoo and we might have a blowout!”

All you can do is nod your head, too mortified to answer.

“Awwww, what did I say about being ashamed of your stinkies, baby? They’re part of life for you now. Besides, it’s not like waiting would’ve changed anything! Diapers are your potty now, silly!”

You cower as the smell engulfs you, a constant reminder of your new place in life.

Liv pats your diaper playfully. “Such a big mess, too! You musta felt so icky holding all that in!”

“No wonder Papa needs a break!” Trevor adds, “Diaper duty for little Erica here is no easy task.”

“Oh, stop, Trev. Don’t make baby Erica feel bad, she can’t help it. She’s just a baby!”

You look up at Liv with a feminine rage that fizzles out immediately. Liv meets your glance.

She’s taunting you. She knows you’re no longer a woman—you’re a silly baby in a poopy diaper.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry, honey. Besides, I like you so much better this way! It was a mistake potty training you, but Papa is fixing that mistake! Your attitude is so much better when you’re pampered.”

Hearing that, you whimper, kicking your feet in shame. But too embarrassed to throw an actual tantrum.

As you kick, your bulging diaper sways heavily, threatening to burst.

“Awwwww, you can say that again,” Liv giggles, “Look at her go! Big girl things like drinking, sex, and work were much too big a responsibility for you. Papa was right taking them away from you.”

Trevor nods in agreement.

“Now all you have to worry about is being Papa’s pretty princess! It’s hard to have a bad attitude when you’re in a loaded diaper, isn’t it?”

Liv tickles your sides, cooing you. “Come on, lil stinker. Let’s get that diaper changed. You’re not getting diaper rash on our watch!”

As Liv changes your diaper, you can’t help but think about your new life—and what it means to be Papa’s pamper packer.

It was so easy to get lost in the silliness of being his princess when it was just the two of you. Papa made everything so perfect, so comfortable, you couldn’t help but want to be his diapered little princess.

But you forgot that you don’t get to stay home all day. There’s a whole world outside your cozy crib and comfy changing table.

And now you know exactly where you fit in.

Pamper packers like you may be cute and adorable, but nobody will ever take you seriously again. Not as an adult. To everyone, you’re nothing but an oversized baby in need of a caregiver.

You used to think of yourself as a beautiful, sexy woman. As Liv grabs another wipe to clean your poopy princess parts, you know those days are long gone.

Pamper packers don’t have sex. They get their princess parts wiped clean before being safely secured in another diaper before being sent off to play.

Later that night, the reality of your new life carries into the guest room. The sounds of Liv’s pleasure breaks the silence of the night.

You listen, imagining that it was you moaning. Getting lost in your fantasy, crinkles erupt from your bed as you desperately hump your pillow to the rhythm of the moans.

A crinkle symphony nobody will ever hear.

[hivemuthur]

Hi! Thank you so much for your beautiful work!! I hope it’s okay to make a silly little request

So I’m in my 20s (late 20s I might add) but I’ve never ever even kissed anyone yet and I kinda really want to so… Would you consider writing modern au!Viktor with a virgin!f!reader? Something about a first kiss or maybe having sex for the first time or first relationship..? Anything first in general 👉👈

Anon, I am beating my chest that it took so long and hope that you will get a notification that it is published (I sometimes don't when I ask anon questions). I was a late bloomer myself and it has some massive advantages. Though I hope you get to kiss someone nice soon!

First Rites

viktorxfemale!virgin!reader mature, kissing and making out :)

author’s note: Nothing smart to say here, really, other than I will probably write a part two of this :') @rennethen beta read!

word count: 1,8K

—

Your eyes sweep over Jayce’s tongue on Mel’s before you catch yourself staring. And even that doesn’t stop you. You analyse the movement of their hands, the way Jayce’s hips press into Mel’s, memorising all the smacking sounds they try to muffle into gentle giggles, hoping that you and Viktor are doing a decent job of not looking. When in reality, it’s the exact opposite.

It always goes the same way: the clack of heels echoing through the corridor outside the lab already has Jayce perking up. He grunts, clears his throat, and gets up slowly to avoid raised eyebrows and Viktor stating the obvious, like, “I guess this means you’re off for the day?”

Then, Jayce gives an apologetic smile and strolls toward the door, opening it before Mel can even knock. He exchanges a shy, stupid, cheek-reddened “Hi” for her sultry, thick “Hi yourself.” Their greetings die somewhere in their mouths when their lips meet in a first hello kiss. That one doesn’t last very long—soon, it shifts into an I missed you kiss. That lingers before melting into an I want you kiss or an I’d rather eat you than dinner kiss. And those are your favourites.

Even when you try very hard not to imagine what kind of kiss might follow that, you can’t help yourself. You end up blushed and flustered, your mind spinning with curiosity.

So you stare—impolitely, some might say—but for you, it’s research. You study and memorise, committing their courtship to memory so you can replay the scene later, your fingers wandering over your own lips as you imagine what it would be like. To have someone’s lips on yours, someone’s tongue in your mouth. It doesn’t sound all that appealing or hygienic, but it looks fantastic. It makes you feel a very much welcomed weirdness in your chest and belly, and having nothing else to supplement those feelings with, you just outright stare.

“It’s quite rude, if you ask me,” Viktor’s voice cuts through your thoughts just as Mel lets out a small, startled sound at Jayce’s hand cradling the back of her neck.

“Uh, I know. They should take it somewhere else, really,” you whisper back, but your tone is far from condemning. You say it absentmindedly, your eyes still glued to their mouths, chin propped on your hand, your scribbling abandoned the moment Jayce stood up.

“I meant your intense staring. But yes, such activities should be performed outside of work areas,” Viktor mumbles, not looking up from his notes.

Your blush deepens into an intense red hue as you finally look away and cover your face with your hand.

“Oh, I um… I didn’t mean to, it’s just—”

“All right, we’re off! Don’t work too hard while I’m gone!” Jayce’s beaming laughter cuts you off. Before you or Viktor can reply with a snarky comment, he sweeps Mel by the waist, and they disappear into the hallway. The sound of Mel’s giggle and the uneven click of her heels on the stone floors make you wonder if Jayce is kissing her neck or pressing her against a wall.

“It’s just?” Viktor insists, finally looking at you, his face forming an unamused expression.

“Nothing. It’s just nothing,” you respond quickly, picking up your pen with a shaky hand. You force yourself back to scribbling, even though your handwriting comes out ragged, suffering from both the excitement and the fear of Viktor’s prying eyes. But you do it anyway, desperate for any kind of shield.

“It does not look like nothing,” Viktor pushes, rotating in his chair to face you fully. You deepen your hunch, almost pressing your nose into the paper. How mortifying.

“I understand the concept of unrequited attraction, but you should really do yourself a favour and quit this self-flagellating practice of ogling every time Mel picks him up. It doesn’t lead to anything beneficial and impacts your focus,” Viktor drones, his nasal tone close to scolding.

You feel so scrutinised that you don’t even bother to correct his misunderstanding of your habit. You just sigh and continue your fake note taking.

“Trust me, I would know,” Viktor adds.

That catches your attention. How would he know anything about what you’re going through?

“Whatever do you mean by that?” you ask, keeping your face turned toward your notes, though your eyes wander to glance at him. He looks… unhappy? Mildly irritated? Annoyed at your lack of shame and focus?

“I am merely stating that lusting after someone out of reach is, at best, futile and, at worst, a path to ruin. For your own good, I would refrain from such practices,” Viktor says quietly.

You blink a few times as the words settle in your mind. He thinks I’m in love with Jayce? Lusting after him? It’s almost funny when you think that what you’ve been doing is in fact, just lusting.

“I can assure you, I am not attracted to Jayce. Or Mel, for that matter. I just—”

“Oh?” Viktor’s head snaps up so fast it surprises even him. He internally scolds himself for the involuntary reaction, but the undeniable punch of hope makes him lose control of his body for a moment. His pupils are wide, his brows lifted all the way to his forehead. “You’re not?”

“Uh, no,” you sigh, finally turning to face him properly. Your head dips as embarrassment weighs you down, but maybe admitting it will make it easier to carry. “I’m just… collecting research. For whenever I’ll have the opportunity. If ever. I mean, it’s not like I’ve ever—”

“What?” Viktor’s voice comes out too sharp. Shit. He scowls at himself—internally, of course—for how poorly he masked his shock. Way to be sensitive.

You wince, sinking deeper into yourself.

“Oh. Forgive me. I didn’t mean to… offend you,” he says carefully, trying not to sound too excited. His hand hovers over your knee while he calculates whether it would be proper to comfort you with a gentle touch. If you would like that. If you would like him to touch you.

But before he can decide, you turn back to your side of the desk, avoiding his gaze. “I’m not that easy to offend. It’s just not something I’m comfortable with. I’m a bit… too old for that, you know.”

And as if having a mild upper hand in this situation pumps Viktor with extra courage, he twists your chair back and rolls it close to his, until the sides of your thighs touch. “I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable, then. I actually mean for the opposite of that,” he breathes and allows himself to glance over your lips, briefly. But you notice.

“Viktor?” you whisper, feeling an invisible force pulling you closer to his face. His arm extends over your legs, gripping the edge of your seat, and you feel the mild heat radiating off his body. You can smell his scent lingering in the space between you as you indulge in small glances at his eyes and lips.

“If you allow me, I could provide you with… some hands-on experience. Unless, of course, I am not—”

“Yes,” you answer quickly, and Viktor exhales into a relieved smile. He mumbles an “okay,” as if bracing himself, and closes the little distance left between you. His mouth presses against yours almost innocently as he takes your upper lip between his. His lips are soft and warm. It’s a long, lingering peck that has your eyes fluttering shut and a pool of heat blooming in your belly. You find yourself leaning into the kiss, your hips on the edge of the chair, to the point that your chests almost press against each other.

When he disconnects from you, it’s only to breathe against your mouth, “Is this alright?”

“Yes,” you say shakily, your lips brushing his. You open your eyes only to see a pretty pink blush splattered across his cheeks and ears. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth when he asks, “Would you like me to continue?”

“Please, continue,” you exhale, and something glints in Viktor’s eyes. Emboldened by your enthusiasm, he slides the hand gripping the stool to the back of your seat, pulling you closer until you can almost feel the flutter of his heart against yours as your chests meet. His other hand cradles the back of your neck, and oh, it’s the same gesture Jayce granted Mel that you’ve longed for so dearly, and you feel your skin prickling under Viktor’s touch.

His mouth is back on yours, this time the press is firmer, as he parts your lips with his tongue and—oh. Just oh, as your eyebrows knit together and the warmest of feelings floods your chest, making your hands jolt out to fist his vest, and you sigh the sweetest of sounds into his mouth. And he doesn’t stop there—the hand from the chair slides up your side, rests on your ribcage, fingers digging in when he—oh—also makes a sound. The hottest of sounds, a honey-dripping moan that makes you bite his lower lip, craving to eat him up with a long spoon.

And when he loses himself a bit—grunts and sighs into you, his hands wandering to rest at the base of your spine and cradle your cheek in a firm grip—you don’t even know how it happens, but you slide your hips to straddle his and press yourself down on him. To your delight, he has many more of those pretty sounds, some even forming something close to your name, making you melt into his arms.

When he pulls away, it’s only for an inch. “Oh, my,” Viktor mutters, rubbing his face against yours and kissing your neck. You like that too, but you already miss his hot tongue in your mouth. “A natural talent, I see,” he chuckles, and you blush even more at the thought of what he would say if he knew how much practice you’ve done on the crook of your fist alone in your room.

He looks up at you, all flustered and pretty, swiping his thumb across your glistening lip. He doesn’t know what’s come over him when he says, “If you wish to explore this further, I can offer my… expertise.” What he wants to say is that he’s been thinking about this too many times to count, leaving him flustered and pretty countless times before, but he doesn’t want to scare you away. So he just keeps looking at you expectantly, willing his mouth to shut.

“I would like that,” you mutter shyly, noticing how Viktor’s chest sags with relief. To think that he was there, willing and within your reach all this time makes you feel silly for all those times you stared at Jayce and Mel longingly. And you’re convinced you’ll continue to watch them—not with longing, but with anticipation for when they finally stroll off to their date, so you can sink your lips onto Viktor’s.

[holylulusworld]

Not my Logan (1)

Summary: Problems with the Multiverse suck. Even more when it brings someone back who has been long gone.

Pairing: Worst Wolverine x Immortal!Reader, Deadpool x Reader (platonic or not. You know him.)

Warnings: angst, language, mentions of loss of loved ones, grief, cocky reader, Deadpool being a pain in the ass, violence, mentions of killings, multiverse chaos, world building

A/N: For my story, all X-Men died, except for the reader. She lives in the same universe as Deadpool from DP & Wolverine. I don’t follow canon. Live with it.

Square filled for the Wolverine bingo @buck-star created for me: Square 1: Claws

“WADE! Wade Wilson! Stop right there!” You growl, ready to shoot the bastard breaking into your property. Well, technically it’s not your property. Or it is. Charles left it to you in his will. Not because you were his favorite X-Men, but because you are the last one standing.

You huff before jumping out of the window. Wade would’ve loved to stop and admire your superhero landing, but he’s busy chasing after a very pissed Wolverine.

“Wolvie, stop! She won’t understand! Fuck. Shit. I said, Stop!” Wade takes off his mask. He wheezes because all he did all day was chase after the worst Wolverine. Logan’s words, not his. “HEY! I didn’t tell you about her for you to run off. We still have a job to do!”

“WADE WILSON!” You start to run, seeing Wade kneel on the ground. He still tries to catch his breath as you storm toward him. “I’d kill you but watching you grow legs and arms is disgusting!”

Instead of decapitating his head or stabbing Wade, you slap the back of his head.

“Ouch, Y/N.” He complains loudly. Wade got stabbed and shot; he lost body parts but whines like a baby when you slap him.

“What are you doing here? No one is allowed to come here any longer. You know that.” You sniff when he slowly gets up. “Not since…”

“I get it, I get it!” Wade raises his hands in surrender before turning around to face you. His face is a mess as always, but you can’t help but smile, seeing a familiar face. If you’re honest, he’s the only friend (if you want to call the cocky motherfucker a friend) you’ve got left. “Extinction is hard.”

“What did you say?” You slap him across the face, earning another whine. “You are an insensitive asshole.”

“Sweetheart, we both know you would have outlived all of them, no matter what. It just happened a little earlier this way.” Wade shrugs before putting his mask back on.

You run one hand down your face and huff. “What do you want, Wade? Is the world on fire, or did you lose a ball again?”

“No jokes about a man’s balls,” he points a gloved finger at you. “But yes, the world is ending once again. Or not. I mean… It depends.” Wade babbles as you put your hands on your hips.

“What did you do? I bet you messed with the timeline again, huh?” you snap at Wade. “Because that worked out so well last time. I told you to not fuck with timelines and shit. The dead shouldn’t come back.”

“Oh, about that,” Wade nervously chuckles. “I swear I didn’t resurrect anyone, but…uh…you see. Maybe, and I’m not saying it happened. But maybe I was hopping through different universes to find an anchor to save our universe from destruction.”

“Wade.” You close your eyes and inhale sharply. “Whom did you bring here, and do I have to kill them?”

“No, no! You cannot kill him,” Wade hastily says. “I came here for a short break. You see, bad guys are after our cute asses, and this is the safest place I know.”

“Christ on a cracker, WADE!” You kick his shin. “I’ve been out of this business for years.” You dip your head, hearing someone sneak closer. “Why would you bring anyone here? This is a lost place. Dead and forgotten. Just like me and the rest of the X-Men. Just like—”

Twirling around, you ready yourself to attack the person sneaking toward you and Wade.

Your body goes stiff, and you whimper, facing the man you lost so many years ago.

“No…” You step back and shake your head. “No…no. Wade. Out of all the people you could bring here…you do this to me?!”

“I swear, if I had a choice, I’d never do this to you. But—” Wade sighs and points at the worst Logan, he brought to your universe. “He wouldn’t believe me. Logan said you must be dead here too.”

You wrinkle your nose. “I cannot die. I am…immortal. My Wolverine would know that.”

The man, looking so much like your one true love, dips his head. He has the same body, the same eyes, and the same claws. Hell, he even wears the same fucking suit. But he’s not your Logan. He’ll never be your Logan.

“Go away. Both of you. Whatever will happen to this universe is not my problem. Maybe I can finally rest then too.”

You turn around to walk away, leaving Wade and Logan’s clone behind.

“Wait, Y/N!” Wade jogs after you. “I know you’re angry, but I couldn’t stop him. If there’s only a tiny piece of the undefeatable Y/N still inside of you, help us. Help me save my friends and this world.”

“Your friends,” you say, your heart heavy with sadness and grief. You glance at the photo Wade shows you, swallowing thickly.

“If there was a way to save your friends, you’d do anything, right?” Wade presses on. Even though he knows it’s a low blow, he cannot shelter you or your feelings. You’re his only chance to convince Logan to help him and get his clones off his back. “Please help me…”

“What the fuck is that?” You dip your head to look at the ugliest dog you have ever seen. “Uh—is that thing even alive?” Crouching down, you poke the dog’s nose with your index finger. “Who did this to you, little pug?”

“I think he was born this way?” Wade chuckles while picking the dog up. “And he’s not ugly. Dogpool is the sweetest.”

“Y/N. How?” Logan finally found his voice. He steps closer to you and Wade, not looking you in the eyes. “Why did you do it?!” He yells before jumping at you.

Logan tackles you to the ground to ram his claws into your sides. He growls like an animal, stabbing you again and again.

“What’s his problem?” You laugh as Logan tries to kill you. His claws dig deep into your flesh, but it doesn’t do much damage.

“Uh—from what I heard, you killed his people because he didn’t love you or shit?” Wade shrugs before letting the dog lick his face.

“YOU!” Logan growls. He slides his claws back in to slam his fists into the ground. Again, and again, and again. You can hear bones crack and flesh tear. “Why don’t you die?”

Logan looks at you, shaking his head. “You’re not her…”

“I assume in your world, I was mortal,” you sit up and push Logan away. While you slowly get up, he watches you with tears in his eyes. “In this world, my Logan would’ve cut your head off for touching me.”

“After we introduced ourselves, we should talk about the guys wanting to end this world. Come on, sweetheart. You know you want to help your Deadpool.”

“You’re annoying as fuck,” you huff while rubbing dirt off your ass. “If you keep that thing in line.” You jerk your head toward Logan kneeling on the ground. “We can talk.”

“She’s not her…” Logan repeats. “Not her…”

“You sound like a broken record,” you say and slap the back of Logan’s head. “And for the record, you’re not my Logan either…”

Tags in reblog.

[jiminomenon]

model! karina gets sick

pairing: model! karina x assistant! female reader

word count: 926

tag(s): karina being stubborn, y/n is tired she literally needs a break now gang-, sick! karina, princess aka their child makes an appearance, just a really soft moment between these two

from my series: the devil wears prada

if y/n had known jimin was going to be this insufferable when she was sick, she would have never let her step out in the rain yesterday. in fact, she should’ve just grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her under the umbrella instead of letting her prance around like she was immune to basic human conditions. but no, jimin had insisted she was invincible, brushing off y/n’s concerns with that same haughty confidence she wore like a designer coat.

“you’ll catch a cold,” y/n had warned, holding the umbrella over them as jimin strutted toward the car, completely unbothered.

“i don’t get sick,” jimin had scoffed, flipping her damp hair over her shoulder before tossing her equally soaked coat at y/n. “only weak people do.”

fast forward to today—jimin was curled up in bed, nose red, voice hoarse, and shivering beneath a mountain of blankets. weak people, huh?

y/n stood at the bedside with her arms crossed, staring down at the miserable lump that was once the almighty yu jimin. “i told you so.”

jimin peeked at her from beneath the covers, her glassy eyes narrowed into a glare. her voice was raspy, almost pitiful, but her bratty attitude remained intact. “shut up and make yourself useful.”

y/n exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose. “so bossy even when you’re practically on your deathbed.” she set down a tray on the bedside table, pushing a bowl of steaming porridge toward jimin. “eat this.”

jimin wrinkled her nose, shifting further into her blankets like a petulant child. “no.”

y/n’s eye twitched. “yes.”

“don’t want to.”

“jimin, you’re literally sick.”

“so? i don’t like porridge.”

y/n clenched her jaw, inhaling slowly as if it would give her the patience not to smack the stubbornness out of this woman. after a moment of internal struggle, she scoffed and threw her hands up. “fine. starve, then.”

she spun on her heel, making her way toward the door. she wasn’t going to coddle someone who refused to help themselves—jimin could sit in her self-inflicted misery all she wanted. but just as y/n reached for the doorknob—

“wait.”

y/n paused, glancing over her shoulder. jimin wasn’t looking at her directly, her fingers fiddling weakly with the edge of the blanket. her voice was smaller this time, almost hesitant. “where’s princess?”

of course. leave it to jimin to refuse basic human nourishment but demand to see her cat. y/n sighed, but she left without protest, heading toward the living room. sure enough, princess was curled up on the couch, a tiny bundle of fur nestled into one of jimin’s designer pillows. the kitten barely stirred as y/n scooped her up, her soft little body warm against y/n’s palm.

when y/n returned to the bedroom, jimin was watching her expectantly, her expression softening the moment she saw princess in y/n’s arms.

“here,” y/n muttered, setting the kitten down gently on the bed.

princess blinked sleepily before stretching her tiny paws, letting out a delicate meow as she toddled over to jimin’s side. jimin immediately reached for her, stroking her fur with weak but affectionate fingers.

a small, satisfied smile graced jimin’s lips as princess nuzzled against her chin. “at least someone still loves me.”

y/n rolled her eyes, arms crossing over her chest. “you’re impossible.”

princess purred, rubbing her cheek against jimin before curling up into a tiny ball beside her. jimin let out a contented sigh, her body visibly relaxing as she snuggled into the blankets. but just when y/n thought she could finally leave—

“this is nice,” jimin murmured, peeking up at y/n. “all that’s missing is—”

she patted the empty space beside her, her meaning very clear.

y/n blinked. “oh, no. absolutely not.”

jimin pouted, her bottom lip sticking out in a way that would’ve been cute if y/n wasn’t so tired of her antics. “y/n, i’m cold.”

y/n deadpanned. “you have five blankets.”

“and yet, i’m still freezing.” jimin’s voice was thick with faux suffering, her lashes fluttering dramatically.

“what do you want me to do? magically turn into a human heater?”

jimin didn’t answer—just kept staring at her with those expectant, slightly fevered eyes.

y/n exhaled through her nose, already regretting what she knew was about to happen. “seriously?”

jimin didn’t blink.

there was a long moment of silence, a battle of wills that, to y/n’s dismay, ended in her eventual sigh of defeat. “fine.”

grumbling under her breath, she kicked off her slippers and crawled into bed, slipping beneath the covers with a reluctant sigh. the second she was within reach, jimin latched onto her like a heat-seeking missile, tangling their limbs together as she buried her face into y/n’s collarbone.

“you’re warm,” she hummed, sighing in satisfaction.

“if you get me sick, i swear—”

“shhh,” jimin hushed, her breath tickling y/n’s skin. “let me enjoy this.”

princess let out a tiny yawn, stretching out her paws before snuggling further between them, her warmth adding to the cocoon of coziness surrounding them.

jimin sighed again, a lazy smirk creeping onto her lips. “we should do this every night now.”

y/n scoffed, shifting slightly but making no real effort to pull away. “not happening.”

“we’ll see,” jimin murmured, already halfway to sleep.

y/n rolled her eyes, but as she felt jimin’s breathing even out and princess’s soft purring vibrating between them, she figured… maybe this wasn’t too bad.

[loramystii]

ᴠᴀᴍᴘɪʀᴇ ʜᴜɴᴛᴇʀ ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ x ꜰᴇᴍ ᴠᴀᴍᴘɪʀᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

— ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ; ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ ᴡᴀꜱ ꜱᴜᴘᴘᴏꜱᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴋɪʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ, ʙᴜᴛ ꜱᴇᴇɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴏ ᴍᴀʟɴᴏᴜʀɪꜱʜᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴɴᴏᴄᴇɴᴛ ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ʜᴇʀ, ꜱʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴄɪᴅᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴘᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴍᴇʀᴄʏ.

— ᴄᴡ; ꜰᴇᴇᴅɪɴɢ & ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ, ᴄᴀᴘᴛɪᴠᴇ x ᴄᴀᴘᴛᴏʀ, ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ᴅʏɴᴀᴍɪᴄꜱ, ᴍᴀʟɴᴏᴜʀɪꜱʜᴍᴇɴᴛ, ᴅᴜʙ-ᴄᴏɴ!!, ᴅʀ4ɢ ᴜꜱᴇ (ᴠᴀᴍᴘ ᴛʀᴀɴqᴜɪʟɪᴢᴇʀ)

Sevika walked into the abandoned church, footsteps light and cautious as she wandered around to find you. She sensed your presence, the bloodlust and all. She followed the myth that any godless creature would set off in a house of worship, yet here you were, curled under the altar defensively. She steps on branches as she follows your scent inside, making her company known. “Make this easier for yourself.” She exclaimed, holding the wooden dagger in her hand and a bow & arrow on her back. Your whimpers gave you away, she scurried towards the end of the church. You laid beneath the cross and bible that sat atop of altar, blood dripping down your chin, hands tainted with the blood of some innocent man. It was picturesque.

She kept the blade pointed at you, watching fear become prominent in your eyes, widening and all. Your body lacked sufficient nourishment and the little clothes you had on were torn and worn down. It was obvious whoever you had just eaten became your first meal in maybe months. “I don’ wanna’ die—“ Your croaky voice ringed in her ears, unsure of how to move foward with you. Her mind kept yelling ‘Filthy murderer’ but her eyes saw another reality. A woman who was brutalized, and most definetely underfed. Maybe you weren’t as vicious as she had thought, but your inherent nature was immoral to Sevika. The protocol said that if a target had recently fed, they must be maimed.

"You ate," Sevika gestured with her knife to the puddle of blood beneath you. The awful scent of iron and rotting flooded the church, unbeknownst to anybody else. "I was hungry." The desperation in your voice made Sevika back up, slightly shocked at the gravity of your tone. “Since when.” Sevika spat, disdain in how she spoke, trying to keep her utter hatred for vampires and not falter. Your hands snaked around your own waist, blood staining underneath your long, sharp fingernails. You kept crawling backwards slowly. “Three months,” You whispered, a slight gasp leaving her lips. Sevika reckoned you had been starved against your will, what vampire resisted their own urges? “Who made you?” She replied at a similar whisper.

You shook your head, hair disheveled and unwashed. “Nobody— I- don’ wanna kill,” Your eyebrows knitted together, stating what you had been convinced of for a while now. You were villainized for doing what felt right, now a intrinsic guilt ate away at you when you craved sustenance. Sevika grumbled, her shaky hold on the dagger loosening. “That’s who you are. You’re born a killer.” Your whines grow louder, attempting to block out the words you had heard a million times. “You either kill or get killed.” Sevika spoke again, louder, ensuring you heard the words she spat at you. Your hands found their way to your ears, covering them, knees up to your chest. “No!” You shouted, eyes squeezing shut.

Sevika crouched beside you, dropping the knife in her hand and tearing your hands away from your ears. “Look at me— Look at me, damn it.” Sevika yelled, right in your ear. Your eyes snapped open, staring at her and her closeness. You felt her breath upon you. “Fucking breathe.” She spoke sternly, her hands enclosing on your wrists. You stared at her chest rising and falling, trying to match the same rhythm. Yet, when you found the right pace, you remembered who she was. What she was here for. “Get off of me— I don’t wanna die!” Your blood curling yells and kicking had her clamp a hand over your mouth, noticing how you were to weak to even get her off. “You pull some shit like that again, and you’ll actually be dead, got it?” Sevika’s eyes were exhaustive, holding you down.

You nod frantically, attempting to catch your breath. “If I let you go, will you scream?” Sevika asked after seeing you calm down more. You didn’t want to lie, and you surely didn’t want to be murdered in cold blood. You nodded softly, eyebrows furrowed and your body crumpling beneath her. Sevika rolled her eyes, reaching into the pocket attached to her belt. A blue dissolving pill, made to sedate vampires. “I’m going to move my hand, open your mouth when I do. This won’t kill you.” Her free hand now held the back of your head, guaranteeing you understood. You had no choice but to trust that this woman won’t stab you in the back, literally. When she released your jaw and mouth, you darted your tongue out slightly. The god-awful tasting pill began to sizzle on your tongue. The bitter taste already had your eyes fluttering.

When your body grew limp, Sevika’s arms embraced you.

After this moment, you no longer were a stray. Sevika took you to her place, caging you in the dungeon under her home. She figured you were better alive and sheltered than dead and underground. Somehow, you agreed with her, embracing the captive spot you were caged in. Accepting the criminals she threw you to feed off of. Sevika built a power dynamic between you two, where you revered her for not murdering you and where she internally battled with herself for keeping you alive. Sevika came into your cell daily, dragging the corpses out and throwing them away. She felt complacent in your nature. You sat at the bars, head leaning against them, expectingly. When Sevika came in for the day, your eyes lit up, sitting up on your knees to stare at her through the narrow bars.

“Bunny.” She spoke while coming further into the dungeon. She situated on the chair she left infront of your cell to pay you visits and keep you amused. You shuffled on the ground, the bunny stuffed toy Sevika got you laying on the ground besides you. It was dirtied from the months of being left in there. You looked eager to please, eyes wide, brows lifted, staring at her with your hands on your lap. The cold floor felt rugged against your knees. "You like it here?" She questioned, gesturing around to the plain, grey cell. You had the feeling of shaking your head, but deciding to be grateful, you reluctantly nodded, biting the inside of your cheek. "This is my home." You whispered, licking the dryness of your lips and forcing a tiny smile. Sevika stands now, before your figure on the ground. She reached her hand through the bars, petting your head as you pressed against it. Your eyes closed, basking in the tenderness.

"Is it better than the church, bunny?" She asked softly, now crouching to grab your chin through the small gap of the bars. You nodded again, bambi eyes staring up at her. "Feel safe here." You assured her, staring up through your lashes. She cocked a brow, carressing your chin with the pad of her thumb. She acknowledged the mess of your hair and the left over dried blood on your lips. "Safe? How?" She mumbled, admiring your features and then moving her gaze back onto your engaging eyes. "You could kill me," You replied, taking her by surprise with bluntness. "But you won't." You continued, a deep chuckle coming from her throat. She stood, letting your face fall away from her grasp. She tried her hardest not to feel guilty when thinking about how much she enjoyed keeping you here. At her mercy.

The keys clattered, opening your cell door only a few inches for Sevika to slip in with you. She watched your side-sitting, hands on the floor as leverage and legs besides you. You vulnerably looked up at her hovering and towering over you. She sat before you, prying your legs open to kneel between them. She still felt blameworthy. Wanting to take what she yearned for. Fear rattled your body, tensing every muscles within your control. Your hands were behind you, practically laying now on the ground. "Say it." She urged harshly, grabbing your jaw with force. She was pleading with you. "Say you want me, bunny." She contracted her eyes, squinting down at you. You shook, not wanting to displease her.

Her hands circled your throat, keeping you upright. "Say it." You choke out your words, body trembling. "I want—" You cough, her grip loosening, allowing you enough airway to speak. "I want you— please–" You beg, unsure of what else to do. Tears gathered at your waterline, uneven breathing. "Want what?" She pushed for a more specfifc answer, growling at you. "Touch me, please, need you to touch me," You couldn't get more specific than that, fearful that you'd crumble and let out a choked sob. She released your throat fully, head banging against the floor, a cried out squeal exiting your lips. She moved her hands to your skirt, hiking it up with necessity. Her head dipped, nibbling on your thigh before granting you a large bite. "Sev'" You murmured, hands trailing and fisting her hair. She licked your cunt through your panties, staring at you from her position.

"Taste so fucking good." She grumbled, setting the panties aside and diving into your pussy like a starved woman. She attached to your clit, stimulating it with flicks and suckles. Your breathy moans and your head thrown back made her go faster, pumping her tongue in and out of your greedy, sopping hole. "Sev'! Please—" She kept going, watching you clench around her tongue. She curled her tongue inside you, hands on your thighs, kneading and groaning against you. Your orgasm crashed against you unexpectedly, lips parted in an O shape. She pulled away, placing a sharp smack against your sensitive clit. It was filthy. Your panting was interrupted by her kissing you tenderly, a contrast to the grip she had on your thighs and the words she whispered to get you to comply.

[malewifeharem]

ok but imagine sylus with a tongue piercing... why havent i seen any posts on this mdni nsfw. not proofread. fem mc

your breath hitches as you feel the cold metal of his piercing come into contact with your inner thigh. your legs are gently but firmly kept in place over his shoulders. "fuck... sy, quit teasing already..." your body feels like its been set on fire. you can feel your juices pooling between your legs and dripping onto the sheets below but you couldn't care less right now. all you can think of is the heavenly sight before you - the way you have the most wanted man in linkon - the leader of onychinus, looking absolutely debauched and feral all for a taste of you. "patience, kitten." his voice is deep and commands your obedience, and you find yourself holding back from pushing his head down nose-deep into your cunt already. he lets out an amused chuckle at the way your hips jerk up - desperate and mindless, your body betraying your mind. this is torturous, even for him - but good god, seeing you all pliant and squirmy had to be the hottest thing he's ever seen. one of his hands lets go of your thigh to slowly trail up your torso before finally giving your breast a squeeze. at the same time, sylus's head dips down to give your clit a lick, relishing in the way you immediately make your relief well-known with a loud moan. "f-fuck... oh- sylus!" your hand grabs a fistful of his hair and tugs it towards your pussy - unable to hold back the hunger for more pleasure. more of him. ever eager to please, he doesn't deny it to you. he plunges straight in - lapping up your juices as if his sole purpose in life was to satisfy you. (it is) if you weren't lost in ecstasy right now, you'd be able to see the small smirk on his face - so smug at the way he has you unraveling all for him. the contrast between the feeling of his smooth, chilling ball piercing and warm, wet tongue sends you reeling. his sharp and thick nose kisses your poor swollen clit perfectly, rubbing it just the way you needed every time you grinded against his face. "i can feel you tightening around my tongue, sweetie... does my piercing feel good, hm?" sylus says in between bated breaths - unintentionally blowing hot air onto your sloppy messy cunt. "f-fuck, sylus...! ohmygod-"

you feel an all-too familiar knot in your stomach creeping up rapidly, ready to burst at any moment.

through your teary vision and hazy mind, you notice your boyfriend's own fucked-out look - with your slick coating his entire mouth, dripping down his chin - as if he could care about that when he had a feast splayed out right in front of him. "gonna hah- c-cum... sy! 's too much- ngh- i...!" when your legs start to shake and you subconsciously move away from his tongue, you feel the constricting strings of his evol pull you back down - not letting you escape. "where do you think you're going, kitten? ngh- don't run away now..."

your eyes squeeze shut and your jaw hangs wide as you feel your orgasm crashing over - so hard and violent - you think you might not make it out alive. spurts of syrupy cum gushes out of your pussy and sylus is there to lick it all up - letting you ride out the waves of pleasure.

only when you push his head away does he stop, letting you catch your breath. when you finally come to, you notice the wet splotch on the crotch of his pants - did he really...?

"sweetie... if you keep staring, i won't be able to control myself anymore. can you bare the consequences?"

"haah... yes," you almost whine - your own hunger to please him not satisfied.

the clinking of his belt followed by the sound of his belt unzippping has you anticipating for what comes next even more - sending tingles of excitement straight to your greedy cunt.

"let me know when you're too tired to go on, pretty girl." he coos gently despite his filthy words.

"because we still have a long way to go before my hunger for you is satiated."

[pixiexdusts-world]

Seven chances

Min ho Moon x ex!reader

Summary: Min Ho plans seven dates to win back his ex—and it just might work.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

I never thought I’d see Min Ho Moon again. Not after the way things ended between us.

The moment I spot him across the café, I freeze. He looks exactly the same—maybe even better. Same tousled hair, same confident smirk, same annoyingly perfect skin. But something in his eyes is different. I quickly turn my attention back to my laptop, pretending I didn’t see him.

I should’ve known that wouldn’t stop him.

“Hey,” his voice is smooth, casual, but I can hear the nerves underneath. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

I exhale slowly before looking up. “Min Ho.” I keep my tone neutral.

He doesn’t take the hint. Instead, he slides into the chair across from me without asking. Typical.

“How have you been?” he asks, as if we’re old friends catching up.

“Fine,” I say. “Busy.”

Min Ho leans back, studying me. I hate how easy it is for him to make eye contact, like we didn’t go months without speaking. Like he didn’t break my heart.

“I miss you,” he says. Just like that. No preamble, no hesitation.

I let out a short laugh. “That’s not how this works, Min Ho.”

He frowns. “How what works?”

“You don’t just walk back into my life and say you miss me,” I say, folding my arms. “You don’t get to act like nothing happened.”

His jaw tightens. “I know. That’s why I’m here.”

I glance away, out the café window, watching people walk by. It’s a crisp afternoon in Seoul, and the city feels like it’s moving faster than I am.

Min Ho sighs, rubbing his hands together like he’s bracing himself. “I messed up.”

“No kidding.”

He nods. “I hurt you. And I hate myself for it.”

I close my laptop, giving him my full attention. “Then why did you do it?”

Min Ho hesitates. “Because I was scared.”

“Scared?” I repeat, incredulous. “That’s your excuse?”

“I didn’t think I was good enough for you,” he says, voice quiet. “I thought if I let myself get too close, I’d end up ruining everything. So instead of losing you later, I pushed you away first.”

I stare at him. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I know,” he says, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “I’m an idiot.”

I shake my head. “You really are.”

There’s a beat of silence between us. I should get up and leave. I should tell him it’s too late, that I don’t care anymore.

But I do care.

And Min Ho, for all his flaws, is sitting here, admitting he was wrong. That’s not something he does often.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he says, his voice softer now. “But I want to try again. I want to prove to you that I’ve changed.”

I look at him carefully. “And how exactly do you plan to do that?”

Min Ho smirks, the familiar confidence creeping back into his expression. “Give me a week. Let me take you on seven dates. No expectations, no pressure. Just… let me show you why we were good together.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Seven?”

He nods. “Seven.”

I should say no. I should walk away and never look back.

But instead, I sigh. “Fine. One week.”

The grin that spreads across his face is enough to make my heart ache. Because deep down, I know the truth.

I never really stopped loving him.

Day One: The Ice Rink

Min Ho picks me up right on time, a smug look on his face. “You’re going to love this,” he says, leading me inside the rink.

I narrow my eyes. “You remember that I can’t skate, right?”

“That’s the best part,” he teases. “You’ll have to hold onto me the whole time.”

I glare at him, but when we step onto the ice and I immediately slip, I have no choice but to grab his arm. He chuckles. “Told you.”

Despite my frustration, I can’t help but smile. Maybe this isn’t the worst idea after all.

Day Two: The Bookstore

“I remember you used to spend hours in here,” Min Ho says as we step inside my favorite bookstore.

I give him a suspicious look. “You hate bookstores.”

“I hate reading,” he corrects. “Not bookstores.” He picks up a random book and flips through it, pretending to look interested.

I smirk. “You’re just trying to impress me.”

“Is it working?” he asks, grinning.

I roll my eyes, but I don’t miss the warmth creeping into my chest.

Day Three: The Street Market

Min Ho buys me tteokbokki from my favorite vendor, and we wander through the market, the scent of food filling the air. He tries to feed me a piece, but I swat his hand away.

“You’re so difficult,” he groans.

“You love it,” I tease before I can stop myself.

He grins. “I do.”

Day Four: The Beach

We sit on the sand, watching the waves roll in. Min Ho looks at me, his expression unreadable. “I don’t deserve you,” he says suddenly.

I sigh. “Min Ho—”

“I just need you to know that,” he interrupts. “Even if this doesn’t work out, I need you to know how much I regret losing you.”

I swallow hard. “You’re trying, Min Ho. That’s what matters.”

He nods, but I can tell he’s still scared.

So am I.

Day Five: The Arcade

Min Ho drags me to the arcade, his eyes full of mischief.

“Winner picks the next date,” he challenges.

We go head-to-head in basketball, air hockey, and racing games. He wins some, I win more (at least, that’s my version).

At the claw machine, he spends way too many tries before finally winning a small stuffed dog. He hands it to me, a little sheepish.

“For you.”

I hold it close, pretending it doesn’t mean anything. But it does.

Day Six: Karaoke Night

Min Ho books a private karaoke room, and I immediately regret saying yes.

“You just want to show off,” I accuse.

He winks. “Obviously.”

He belts out Love Scenario like he’s on stage, dancing like an idiot. I laugh too hard to resist when he shoves the mic at me.

“One song,” I warn.

By the end, we’re both breathless from laughing. He looks at me, eyes soft.

“I missed this,” he says.

I don’t respond. But deep down, I did too.

Day Seven: The Rooftop

Our final date is on a rooftop, fairy lights strung around us. The city glows beneath us, and for a moment, it feels like we’re the only two people in the world.

Min Ho turns to me, looking nervous for the first time. “Did I do enough?”

I exhale. “Min Ho…”

He shakes his head. “Wait. Before you say anything—I just need you to know. I love you. I never stopped.”

My heart clenches. “I know.”

He steps closer. “Do you still love me?”

I hesitate. Not because I don’t know the answer, but because I do.

“Yes,” I whisper.

Min Ho lets out a shaky breath. “Then let me be better for you.”

I bite my lip. “You already are.”

His lips crash into mine, and just like that, I know—

We’re going to be okay.

[okaysonny]

business advice ╏ hudson ahn

★ summary: hudson gets a noise complaint ─ from one person.

★ details: fluff, f! reader, spoiler free.

★ wc: 1.4k

★ A/N: who else has a crush on him

"YOU! YELLOW HEAD!"

hudson's eyes widen, looking around.

but no, jay isn't here. and everyone else has dark hair. which can only mean…

hudson turns to face the girl approaching him, who looks comically angry. he can practically see steam coming out of her ears.

his eyes narrow. "are you talking to me?"

she's now right in front of him, pointing aggressively. "yeah i'm talking to you! don't you own this place?" she gestures to ansan's night club just ahead of them.

"i do. are you here to talk business? although…" he eyes her hoodie and sweatpants. "…you don't really look the part"

she blinks, not expecting a belittling so soon, but quickly shakes her head. "no i'm not here to talk business" she mimics his voice at the 'business' part. hudson feels a vein on his forehead throb.

"you need to turn the music down at night!" she huffs. "i can hear it from my window…" she points at an apartment building in the distance. "…all the way over there! some of us are trying to sleep, y'know?!"

he waits to see if she's finished her piece, before simply saying:

"0 points"

she blinks again. "…the fuck?"

"0 points. that's the score i give you. one…" he starts counting on his fingers. "…you show up sloppy. two. you disrespect me. and three. you start complaining about music when we're doing nothing wrong. where's your decorum?"

"...what- you-" she stammers, clearly speechless at his obviously correct evaluation.

she grits her teeth in frustration. "you wanna talk about decorum? it's not very um…decorum of you to play such loud music in the night!"

he sighs in disappointment. "bad grammar too. - 1 point"

"who gives a fuck?! now you're just nitpicking! and tell your employees to turn the music down!"

"…you're the only one complaining. why should i lower it for one person?"

she pauses, unable to think of a counterargument. "…um…"

hudson doesn't wait for her to finish. "ansan is critically acclaimed for its nightlife. it's what everyone comes here for. the loud music, which isn't even that loud by the way, is to be expected. if you don't like it, then move"

her jaw drops. "you…you ignorant, naive little─" she exhales slowly, composing herself.

"…can you just please turn it down?" she mumbles.

he runs a hand through his hair, getting tired of this argument now. "…like i said, you're the only one complaining. i'm assuming you didn't take this higher up, right? so, i have no obligation to lower it. come back with a court order and then we'll talk"

she sighs in defeat and starts walking back, flipping him off. "fine! but this isn't over, yellow head! i'll be back with that court order!"

hudson shrugs. "go ahead"

she can try, but it won't make a difference. channing can wrap anyone around his finger.

he shakes his head, heading back into the club. what an unsophisticated lady.

he hears her footsteps stop. "…your drinks are crap, by the way"

hudson hates that he can't hide his surprise, but the comment catches him off guard. "…what?"

she clearly notices it, because she wears an evil grin before continuing. "well…my friend likes to go clubbing a lot. she likes everything here, except the drinks"

now it's his turn to blink. well…the drink sales have been down lately. but everything else is in tip-top shape. he just put it down as an anomaly in the market.

he waves a hand dismissively, recovering from his brief surprise. "we take great care in analysing these things. we know what we’re doing. not that i'd expect you to understand"

she rolls her eyes and looks away for a moment, second-guessing herself. "...i'm not saying i know how to run a business or whatever. i’m just saying...my friend complains about the drinks all the time. and not just her ─ her other little clubbing friends say the same thing"

hudson tilts his head slightly, her words starting to pique his interest despite himself. "...what do her and her friends say?"

she shrugs. "i dunno. i don't really pay attention. she just says they’re kind of…boring, i guess? same old classics, nothing new or exciting. um…" she pauses, trying to remember. "oh yeah! seltzer's. they wish you had seltzer's here"

a flicker of curiosity crosses his face. "...seltzer's? you mean..."

"yeah, like the fruity, canned drinks everyone’s obsessed with these days" she speaks with less hesitance now.

"i work night shifts at the convenience store nearby, so i see what people like...and it matches up. everyone loves them. so i dunno, maybe there’s something to it"

he doesn’t respond, his mind starting to piece things together.

it's bizarre. they were just arguing a few minutes ago. now they're discussing alcoholic beverages.

she looks at him cautiously before continuing. "and uh...customers buy soju obviously, but they take a lot of fruit to go with it. strawberries and watermelon, stuff like that. it seems trendy these days. do you do soju cocktails?"

...they don't.

hudson stays quiet, arms crossed as he processes her words. she's not an expert, but she isn’t completely off the mark.

he hadn’t considered the problem might be the drinks themselves. ansan had always stuck with the classics, assuming they’d appeal to everyone, and it's worked for ages.

but maybe tastes were shifting. if soju cocktails and seltzers - which they didn't sell - were in demand...it could be worth researching what else customers like. lighter, trendier options…freshening up the menu could attract a whole new crowd, even boost overall sales.

the girl sighs, annoyed by his lack of response. "anyway, sorry. i went off on a tangent. keep serving whatever you want"

she turns, walking away again. "but i was serious about that court order, yellow head!"

hudson closes his eyes, feeling irritated. how has this not crossed his mind before? why does this random girl in sweatpants unknowingly know more than him?

her words stay in his head, and hudson knows he won’t be able to let it go.

"...wait" he says, sighing.

she turns around once more, her brows raising in confusion.

he pinches his nose bridge, preparing himself for what he's about to say. "that was...helpful. i suppose i could ask my guys to...turn the music down"

she stares at him, taken aback, before smiling. not the weird evil grin she wore earlier, a real one. "...you will? seriously? i just...really need some quiet, so i can study"

huh. "...yes" he says, a bit softly.

her smile grows wider, flashing her teeth at him. "wow...thanks a lot. really. i know it's a nuisance for you, yellow he-" she pauses, looking sheepish. "hey, what's your real name? i'll stop calling you yellow head now"

"hudson ahn...sun of ansan"

weird. he's talked to plenty of girls, all of them more beautiful than she is. why are his cheeks heating up now?

"...sun of ansan?" she covers her mouth, perhaps trying to stifle a laugh. "that's...cool"

"what's yours?" he can't help but avoid eye contact.

she looks pleasantly surprised. "me? i'm─"

─ beautiful. her name is beautiful. she is beau─ actually, what's he even thinking? is central seoul's romantic guy rubbing off on him?

hudson rummages in his pocket, handing her a business card. "here. it's my contact details. just in case you want to...point out anything else you notice"

she eyes it peculiarly, before shaking her head in disbelief. "i guess all business guys just have these handy, huh?"

still, she doesn't give it back, or tells him to get lost, or rips it up. instead, she keeps it.

she turns and starts walking away ─ for the final time. she looks back at him, waving the card as she speaks. "bye hudson ahn sun of ansan" she giggles. so, she was in fact, laughing at his title.

he watches her figure get smaller, the tiny dot turning into nothing.

a girl giving him business advice...and it's useful? he never thought he'd see the day.

he only saw her smile once, but he wouldn't mind seeing it again.

hudson heads back into the club, getting preparations ready for the night ahead.

she still lacks etiquette. she also giggled at the title he's so proud of. but...that doesn't stop him from muttering to himself.

"100 points"

A/N: okay...i know his hair is more light brown than yellow, but "brown head" doesn't have the same ring to it. just imagine...the sunlight makes it seem yellow, because he's the sun of ansan bye

divider: @thecutestgrotto

[writing-mlm]

When Will I see you again?

Summary: After the second task, Cedric can’t keep his feelings for his best friend a secret. Things don’t go as plan after the third task, though. Pairing: Cedric Diggory x Male!Reader Wc: 5.3k tags/warnings: ravenclaw reader, canon divergence, hurt/comfort, coma, draco is a dick, HP slander a/n: obligatory I would curb stomp jkr if given the chance

The Great Hall’s entrance was filled with students, all of whom were waiting for the clock to strike eight and the doors would open. Partners from separate houses were finding each other on the edges of the crowd; thankfully you hadn’t been one of those. Ever the gentleman Cedric had waited at the top of Ravenclaw’s staircase for you. Even if he hadn’t asked you in a romantic sense and said you were going as mates. Cho had declined his offer and you weren’t all that interested in the girls at school. 

No other reason. 

Soon after getting to the crowd Professor McGonagall had called the champions to the front of it. You’d seen Krum and Hermione and took a second for yourself, surely the eighteen-year-old Quidditch star hadn't asked out the barely fifteen-year-old Hermione? 

You didn’t feel strange in the line of pairs, standing behind Hermione but in front of Parvati. It felt right to be considered Cedric’s partner for the Yule Ball. 

Cedric carefully wrapped his hand around your elbow as the rest of the students entered the Great Hall. His grip was loose until McGonagall told the champions to follow after her where his fingers tightened around your satin blazer. You felt him take a deep breath with each step, the applause from all sides felt deafening but at least most of the attention was on Harry and not the two guys walking together. 

But it wasn’t as though you weren’t known together. While Cedric was known as the human embodiment of the Hufflepuff values, you were his Ravenclaw best friend. Friends since your first year after he’d helped you get the courage to get on a broom during lessons. Such good friends that other Ravenclaws stopped being surprised when you cheered for Cedric during Hufflepuff Vs. Ravenclaw games.

It’s just now you’re older and slowly growing out of the hormonal phase that awakened certain things in you. And Cedric. Although smart as you were, you were convinced he was thoroughly set on dating Cho Chang. And she's lovely, if you were into the girls at school you’d probably go for her, too. 

Your eyes catch her on the dance floor, dancing with some random Gryffindor guy with a tight smile and barely hidden boredom whenever they would talk between dancing. The guy looked fine, though. Content even. 

You admittedly hadn’t danced much that night, at least not nearly as much as other people did. On Cedric’s own account, he would’ve had a heart attack if he held you so close again without being able to hold you closer. He couldn’t bear staring at your face as he held you without his face turning red. How his hands would get so sweaty he’d need a second to wipe them on his shirt without you taking notice because you’d been trying to do the same thing. 

So, sitting and eating was the next best thing. Laughing and talking about whatever you wanted until it was time to leave. He’d found Harry and told him about some of the tournament business while you waited at the bottom of the staircase, messing with the yellow corsage he’d gifted you at the beginning of the night. 

That night he walked you back to the top of the tower and lingered behind, feeling as if he ended the night on such an open note it would haunt him for the rest of his days. 

—

Anyone who’s friends with Cedric knows he wakes up an hour before breakfast. He spends thirty minutes getting dressed and then spends the rest of the time wandering about the grounds before it’s time to eat. Everyone also knows that at some point during the wandering, you appear at his side. 

His routine was a little different today considering today was the second task and he was a bit anxious. This time he waited near Ravenclaw Tower for you, he’d seen most of your housemates walking past him and then one of your roommates. Cedric catches him before he can walk too far away and asks about you. Your roommate shrugs, they haven’t seen you since last night. 

Now, Cedric doesn’t panic. You’ve probably fallen asleep in the library again and you’re waiting in the Great Hall. That happens about once a month. So, he goes to the hall and looks around for you. He sees the blue robes from your house but he doesn’t see you. 

Now he’s a little worried. His leg bounces as he eats his breakfast, eyes focused on the hall doors before McGonagall once again gathers the champions and he’s off to the lake with Fleur and Krum. He notes that Harry isn’t there yet but that wasn’t where his focus was. 

He stares into the lake, wondering where you are as his fingers dance across the yarn of your friendship bracelet made with the grace of a twelve-year-old boy. 

He doesn’t catch when Harry arrives right before the task starts, his head snapping over to Bagman when his voice booms through his ears. 

“Well, all our champions are ready for the second task, which will start on my whistle. They have precisely an hour to recover what has been taken from them. On the count of three, then. One… two…three!” A whistle echoes through the cold air, quickly drowned out by the sound of cheering from the stands. 

Cedric quickly uses a bubble charm before he dives into the icy water. He fights the urge to swim back up as his body shivers, fighting against the water as he swims aimlessly in the deep gray-lit water. Fish dart past him as he swims and he panics at the sight of an arm in his peripheral when he gets closer to the bottom of the lake. There’s no one else around him, though. He double-checks and then triple-checks. He can’t see anyone— no, he squints through his bubble and sees Harry. He’s spotting whatever they’re chasing and he swims in the same direction. 

He fights through the wildlife and creatures that try to attack him, namely the grindylows emerging from the weeds. But his focus is more on what he’s approaching. There’s a statue of a merperson and attached to its tail are four bound people. Fleur’s sister, Ron, Hermione, and you. All of whom look to be sleeping, heads lax on your shoulders, and bubbles rising from your mouth with each breath. 

He panics— blinking wildly at the sight because he’d been so worried something happened to you and this… this was crazy. What if he hadn’t known the charm? What would’ve happened if the merpeople had turned on you? What if he didn’t make it down within the hour time frame? 

(We've taken what you’ll sorely miss— that’s what the clue had said. But past an hour, the prospects black. Too late, it’s gone. It won’t come back.) 

You won’t come back to him if he’s late. You’re what he’ll sorely miss and he knows they’re right. He knows deep in his heart that taking you was like taking his oxygen, taking you would destroy him in ways he couldn’t— doesn’t want to— imagine. 

Somehow Harry’s already there, arguing with merpeople who stop him from freeing everyone. He tells Harry to hurry, he knows Fleur and Krum are close behind him and as much as he wants to win he also doesn’t want Harry to get anything less than second place. 

He pulls out a knife from his pocket and cuts through the ropes of weed. Once his knife drags all the way through, he grabs you by the waist and swims up. He doesn’t waste his time checking on Harry or the others. He only cares that he gets you up to the surface. That you wake up. 

His head breaks through the surface of the water and the cold air stings his face as the bubble pops. Immediately his eyes check on you, the voices from the sounds nothing but noise until your eyes open and you cough up some of the lake water. 

“Thank Merlin,” Cedric pants and drags himself to the edge, pushing you up before he pulls himself up to the bank as well. 

“You won?” You chitter, the cold hitting you all at once. Someone hands the two of you thick blankets as Madam Pimfrey shoves a hot potion down your throats that wakes the two of you up a little bit. 

“I thought you were dead,” He admits, opening his blanket to let you inside. You shake your head as you sit on a bench, head resting on his shoulder because despite having slept for hours, you’re quite tired still. 

“Dumbledore bewitched us to sleep, last night McGonagall asked to see me. Thought she found out about me sneaking books out of the library,” You joke to try and lighten his clearly down mood. He hasn’t looked away from you since the moment he resurfaced, his heart hasn’t stopped hammering.

He never wants to experience worry like this ever again— even if in hindsight there was never any real danger. He blinks, brushing his thumb over the apple of your cheek as you stare at him, worried because he hasn’t said anything aside from that. Truthfully, he doesn’t know what to say. What can he say? How he feels about you— about this? Surely that isn’t it. 

Cedric is Hufflepuff’s golden boy. Truly he is Hogwarts' golden boy; he’s the kindest, most honest person to grace the infamous halls. He always has a smile on his face and he stands up for what he knows is right. But he’s afraid he hasn’t been entirely honest with you. His best friend. 

He doesn’t know how to flat-out say he’s in love with you, that he has been since your fourth year. 

“Cedric,” You whisper, wiping a tear from him. He’s been thinking so much that everyone has come back and he hasn’t noticed. Missed that Fleur didn’t finish the task and Harry had brought her sister up instead. “I wasn’t in danger, I’m alright.”

“I…” He blinks, holding your wrist. “I’m in love with you.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached our decision!” Bagmen announces and you flinch but don’t look away from Cedric. Your eyes are wide and your heart thumping behind your ribcage. He doesn’t look away either, looking between your eyes. 

“I have been for a while but I was… terrified seeing you down there,” He continues and you tune out Bagman until you hear Cedric’s name. 

“Cedric Diggory, who also used the Bubble-Head Charm, was first to return with his hostage, though he returned one minute outside the time limit of an hour.” The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws in the crowd cheer. “We therefore award him forty-seven points.” 

“One minute off,” You whine, rolling your eyes. Cedric laughs, his forehead pressed against yours as the judges list off the remaining scores. Krum had gotten forty and Harry had gotten forty-five, putting Cedric in first place for the task and tied with Harry for first overall. 

You smile at him as you tell him your findings. He just nods, his nose knocking into yours before you’re herded into the castle by Madam Pomfrey to get dry clothes. He holds your hand the whole way there, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb. 

The two of you are put in separate rooms to change, as are the other champions and the hostages and it gives the two of you entirely too much silence and time to overthink. 

Being in love with your best friend is difficult, especially if you’re queer. There’s the added layer of are they also queer? Because you know for a fact Cedric had real feelings for Cho, so he’s not gay. But there’s a plethora of things he could be… into you wasn’t one you really thought about, though. Even if you joke kissed that one time at a post-game party after a dare. 

Being in love with your best friend and admitting it is crazy. Cedric spends the whole time getting changed worrying that he’s ruined everything. He’s sure he’s going to leave the room and you’re going to ignore him. That things are going to be different for all the wrong reasons but he couldn’t keep it a secret for another second. He just couldn’t. And he’s not sorry about that. 

But, he’s pleasantly surprised when you’re waiting in front of the room he was changing in. Your back pressed to the wall with your hands behind you, staring at the floor until you heard the door opening. Standing up straight, you smile at Cedric and fix your jumper over your pants out of nervous habit. 

“Hi,” 

“Hi,” He carefully closes the door behind him while you look up and down the corridor. “Are you okay?”

“Mhmm… I just…” Staring at him, you shrug. “Do you want to go on a date next weekend? Madam Puddifoot’s Tea shop, maybe?” He smiles brightly and nods all the while you try and contain your own reaction. “Cool… well… they’re also having a celebration for you winning first place after dinner. Ravenclaw’s hosting, I’m supposed to bring you,”

“So we have three hours to plan our date?” He holds his hand out for you. 

“I doubt we’ll need that much time,” You laugh, taking his hand. He just shrugs and guides you to where the two of you normally hang out. “Besides, I’m taking you. You don’t get to plan anything!” 

“Fine,” He dramatically sighs. 

—

By the third task, you’re still not an official couple. There’s no rush on putting a label just yet, you both agreed to it when a friend mentioned that for two people going on weekly dates, you two don’t seem any closer to dating. 

Besides, there’s a tournament to win. 

You settled in the stands of the Quidditch field which looked completely different with the twenty-foot tall hedges that ran all the way around the edge. You spot Cedric amongst the champions as he fiddles with his wand. He spots you, too, waving as you sit next to his father and mother. You’re unsure of why you’re allowed to sit in the family stands, but it’s all the same to Cedric— easier to spot the three most important people in his life, too. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, the third and final task of the Trizward Tournament is about to begin! Let me remind you how the points currently stand! Tied in first place, with eighty-five points each— Mr. Cedric Diggory, both of Hogwarts School!” You cheer along with the rest of Hogwarts, loud enough that the birds in the forest fly away from the harsh noise. 

Harry and Cedric go in first and once they disappear, you can’t see them. There’s no magical broadcast and so, you’re left in the dark of what’s happening inside of the maze. So, you talk with his parents and then Ron’s family to pass the time.

You’re unsure of how much time passed before you see Harry slam into the ground with Cedric. Everyone cheers but you squint. Surely you’re seeing it wrong, right? That’s not what you’re seeing.

“Mr. Diggory…?”

“I see it, too,” He whispers and the two of you break into a sprint down the stands. By that point, Harry and Cedric are crowded by Fudge, Mad-Eye Moody, and Dumbledore as screams echo throughout the stands. 

You make it there long before Mr. Diggory does, sliding on the grass once you're close enough to reach him. He’s laid there, eyes closed and body unmoving. He looks as though he’s in pain yet still as if that’s how he… 

You cup his face, sobs bubbling through your chest and out your mouth, as he lies there. Your head shakes as you examine him and Harry keeps muttering something. An explanation, apologies— you don’t know. You can’t hear anything over your sobs and the shouts from Mr. Diggory. Cupping his face again, lay your head on his chest before you feel it. 

…thump….thump thump….

You gasp and sit up, checking his neck before you cry out. 

“He’s alive!” You choke, pulling him into your chest and rocking him back and forth. “He’s alive!” You declare as Mr. Diggory approaches, carefully, you set him back down so he can see for himself. He checks for himself as Dumbledore calls over Madam Pomfrey and he cheers, kissing Cedric’s head and holding his limp hand tightly in his. 

—

The killing curse. That’s what Harry said. Voldemort or someone had used the killing curse on Cedric after they both grabbed the portkey. He was dead. Cedric was dead for over five minutes. They don’t know what happened but he was dead one second and alive the next. You didn’t care for answers, how could you when all you could hear was the fact that he was alive? 

Sitting at his bedside, you stroke his hairline as he sleeps. A coma, alive but in a coma. It was better than dead, you keep reminding yourself when you find yourself frowning at his sleeping figure. Mr. Diggory allowed for him to remain at Hogwarts, he and his wife agreed that when Cedric wakes up, he should be somewhere he’s familiar with. He’ll want to see you as soon as possible. 

It’s only been a week but they’ve visited him on the weekends. You think they’re staying in a nearby inn for the time being. He looks about the same, though. He doesn’t look ill or dead. Just asleep. The magic Madam Pomfrey and medical professionals use on him keeps him alive and thriving according to them. You try to learn about it when you can but your brain is mush half of the time. The other half is replaying how he looked when he was dead. 

“Would you like to comb his hair?” A nurse asks and you nod, thanking her as you grab the comb and start gently working through his hair. You tell him about your day, about classes. About how he and Harry were declared the winners of the tournament. Harry declined the trophy altogether, insisting that it goes to Cedric instead. 

You glance at it on his bedside table. You’re unsure of who brought it, probably Dumbledore or something. You describe it to him, how shiny it is. How it looks like a giant goblet and you’ll definitely pour some good booze in there as soon as you can. Celebrate with him. 

A part of you waits for him to talk, to fill in the caps of silence but it doesn’t come. But you still talk. You talk about how there’s some new drama in your house. About how Cho keeps asking you if he’s okay. She wants to visit but she doesn’t know if she should. She doesn’t want to impose. You laugh and ask him if there’s someone you need to worry about. 

He still doesn’t answer. 

Setting the comb down, you stare at him for a while before checking the time. It’s nearly dinner time but you’re not hungry. You haven’t been for a week but you still eat. You guess skipping one dinner wouldn’t be so bad so you climb into the bed next to him and lay your head on his chest. 

His heart is a steady rhythm under your ear, there’s a warmth to his body that makes you want to fall asleep faster and you do. 

Sometime later, when visiting hours officially end, Madam Pomfrey goes to tell you it’s time but finds you fast asleep. She sighs and debates waking you up before she decides against it. She’s not cruel. 

—

“And then Snape had the audacity to assign a mountain of homework,” You grumble as you angrily eat your lunch next to Cedric. It’s been two weeks of the coma, fourteen days of spending all of your free time in the infirmary, three hundred and thirty-six hours of not knowing if Cedric is going to wake up again. You know he is. He has to. You don’t just survive the killing curse only to die in a coma. He wouldn’t do that. You know it. 

Rather frustratingly Hogwarts is currently split in two on the topic. There are those who think he won’t wake up and those who know he will. No one talks about it around you, though. They’re not that insensitive, you guess. You still hear it, of course, whispers travel far, and first years aren’t all that good at whispering. 

You don’t care about either side. This isn’t some weird little bet like it was with Harry and Cedric. It was weird and you’ve been slowly dealing with it. Nothing harmful, not in a way they could prove, at least. It’s hard to trace back the sudden appearance of zits forming the words Prat on someone’s forehead. 

“Our professors are still giving me those sad looks,” You admit, pushing the food around with the back of your fork. “It’s like I walk into a room and suddenly all they can think about is how I’m… here? I don’t know. But they keep asking me if I'm okay and that I should sleep more.” You laugh, rolling your eyes. “They’re the ones giving us crazy amounts of homework. I don’t envy the work you’re gonna do when you wake up. But I’ll be here to help you study, of course.”

The doors open and you peek behind you, seeing his parents walking inside. They look how you feel but they smile as you look at each other. You wave as you stand up to give them space with their son.

“Ah, your folks are here. I’ll be back tomorrow, I promise.” Squeezing his hand, you collect your stuff and leave for your dorm where you sleep until you’re woken up from your nightmare. From there, you sneak down to the infirmary and sit on the floor next to his bed. 

It’s incredibly quiet inside of there. Only one other student is there for breaking a bone. She’ll be out in the morning. You find yourself hating her for that and have to stop yourself from getting angry at a thirteen-year-old for being able to walk around. 

Madam Pomfrey catches you during her rounds and crosses her arms as you sheepishly smile at her. She sighs and motions you to lie down. You thank her as you lay next to Cedric but she doesn’t acknowledge it as she walks away. 

—

The infirmary is cold, colder than you would’ve expected but it is starting to snow so you guess it’s to be expected. Thankfully, you’re wearing Cedric’s Hufflepuff sweater to keep you warm. It still smells like him, you don’t know why you expected it not to, but when you put it on you’re ashamed to admit you cried for nearly an hour. 

“If this is payback for the second task,” You start, your voice wavering as you stare down at Cedric’s unmoving body. “It’s gone on entirely too long. Wake up, Cedric. Please,” Your voice cracks as you fall into the chair. Covering your mouth, you stare at him as he remains unmoving. You just want something, anything to prove that he’s not a husk of a person. Something other than his breathing. Maybe a cough. You’ll even take a wheeze. A sneeze. Anything. 

“Merlin,” Looking away, you inhale and look back at him. “I’ll do anything you ask, promise! I’ll eat those nasty snacks you like that taste like puke. I’ll drink cold tea for a year! I’ll… it doesn’t matter what you ask as long as you wake up!” But he doesn’t move. He hasn’t moved since they set him on that fucking cot. He doesn’t stir, he doesn’t snore. He just lays there and you’re expected to be happy that he is. That the only sign he’s alive is his shallow breathing and his chest rising. 

A nurse walks in for his daily medication and you don’t watch as she makes him drink it. You just hold his hand, playing with his growing nails before quietly asking for a nail clipper. He doesn’t like them long, they poke him. It also gets caught on his clothes, so he keeps them pretty low. 

“Y’know what? I’m gonna paint your nails if you don’t wake up,” You decide as you’re clipping his nails. “Yup. Neon pink and green. So, you better wake up soon.” Dusting his nails off, you look at him for a sign that he’s listening. Any sign, really. But there’s none and you quietly sigh before climbing into bed next to him. 

Looking up at him, you kiss his shoulder before tucking your head into his chest. It’s not dinner yet, it’s barely even lunch but you don’t want to be awake right now. You’re tired of the reminders, tired of looking at him in the white bed under the white blanket. You miss his smile and laugh that you can only see in your dreams now. 

—

“I got detention for a week,” You angrily admit as you toss yourself onto the chair next to him. It’s been four weeks of him being in a coma. His hair has grown a bit, you didn’t notice until recently. “They were going to give me longer but said because of my situation it’ll only be a week.” You use air quotes as you say ‘situation’, angrily looking around as though someone was going to agree with you. 

“Bloody Malfoy running his fucking mouth about you. Laughing with his little mates who have their tongues down his throat, his little lap dogs without a fucking brain! Talkin’ about you being a lost cause and a…” You stop as you find yourself getting angry again. “I knocked him out. He’s awake now, I wasn’t allowed in here until he left.” You sigh, rubbing your forehead. You need to calm down. Talk to him about something happier. Talk about the positives of your day. 

“My parents wrote, they wish you well. They invited you and your folks over during break and said they can’t wait to see you again. Can’t wait for you to meet Tate’s little puppies. They’re the cutest and maybe your dad would let you guys keep one,” You smile at the nurse as she brings over a comb and brush. Quietly, you thank her before moving your chair closer to the bed. 

“I’m not sure if you noticed but they upgraded your cot. It’s roughly the size of your dorm bed; I think they did that ‘cause I keep sleeping here.” It’s been nearly every night that you spend down in the infirmary. Students who come and go with their own injuries have mentioned it to their peers. Apparently, you cry in your sleep and it keeps them up. Although no one is blaming you for that, they’re mostly just pitying you at this point. 

Combing through his hair with the brown wine tooth comb, you give Cedric his usual hairstyle and smile down at him. 

“I reckon this length looks good on you, hopefully, you don’t cut it. I quite like it,” Gently brushing his hair away from his face, your lip wobbles and you force yourself to look away. “I have class but I’ll be back, I promise.”

—

Six weeks. A month and two weeks. More days than you care to admit. 

He’s doing better, according to the doctor who visits on Mondays. She said he should wake up soon but she didn’t give an estimate. Soon could be a year, apparently. 

Unfortunately, today has been exceptionally rough. Snake’s been a larger prick, you tanked your history quiz, you overslept and missed your whole first period, and worst of all, you waited a whole thirty minutes at your usual spot waiting for Cedric before you remembered. 

Wiping your eyes with your hands, you pull your legs up to the frame of his bed and lay your head on your thighs. 

“I’ve been looking for spells to get in your head,” You admit through quiet sobs. “Maybe then we could talk. I miss your voice. I miss you so much. It’s getting harder and I’m not blaming you. I know this is a good outcome, I know I should be grateful you weren’t left in that cemetery to rot. I know I should be jumping for joy because you’re alive but it doesn’t feel like it. I feel like I’m losing you.” Blinking down to the floor, you chew on your bottom lip. 

“Break is coming soon. They’re going to transfer you during it, so you’re not alone. I don’t know if they’ll let me sleep over still. You’ll be so far from me, too. Five hours by car, I checked. I’m sorry if I sound selfish, I keep talking about me. But I don’t know… how to talk to you right now.” Looking at him, you reach over and grab his hand. 

“If you want to… go… you can. I don’t know if you’re in pain or something. I just want you to feel better, even if it means you’ll be gone.” Blinking rapidly, you tuck your head back between your legs and cry. You don’t know how long you’ve sat there like that but you get startled at the feeling of his limp hang gripping yours. 

It’s not tight but you know it’s there as you look at him. His eyes are open, just barely but they’re open. You shudder at the sight, nearly falling from your chair.

“Cedric,” You whisper and he cracks a smile. “Oh Godric,” Smiling, you squeeze his hand before hugging him. Smiling into his neck, you feel him start to hug you back. 

“That’s my name,” He mutters, voice dry and hoarse but it’s his. Madam Pomfrey walks over for her rounds and gasps at the sight of the two of you before rushing to send for his doctors. Slowly, you pull away and look at him. “Is there water?” Nodding, you reach over and grab your bottle from the table before giving it to him. 

He struggles to sit up, giving you a pleading look and you prop him up without question. You help him drink, too, trying not to cry because he’s sitting up. He’s not laying down anymore and his eyes are open. 

He’s awake and alive. 

“What did I miss?” He asks. 

“I spent six weeks giving you updates and you didn’t hear a single word?” You snort. “Of course,” 

“Six weeks?” He echos and you slowly nod. “What happened?”

“Short story; you died and came back but you were in a coma. The long story is for later. When you’re back to normal. But you won the tournament! Uh, your parents have the trophy but I don’t doubt they’ll be here soon. They’ve come every Saturday and Sunday,” 

“They do?”

“Mhmm, I left the three of you alone so I don’t know what you guys talked about.” Silence falls over the room as the two of you stare at each other. 

“Were you crying?” He softly asks and you shake your head. 

“Allergies, I decided playing with a cat was better than being able to breathe properly,” You lie and he doesn’t believe you but lets it slide and pats the bed. Sitting back down, he pulls you down and strokes the top of your head. Sighing with content, you look up at him and smile. , 

“I love you,” He kisses the top of your head before he speaks. 

“I love you, too.” He waits for a second. “Does this mean we’re dating?”

“Yes, dork, it does,” You snort and he frowns, complaining that you’re being mean to him after he just woke up. 

“Wait,” He shifts a little and you hum. “Why are my nails pink and green?”

[r4fe-cam3ron]

𓍯 ִֶָ FEBRUARY NINTH; side b — secret love song - little mix | r. cameron x maybank!reader

w; intended to be s1 rafe — but also can be any season you’d prefer for this, this doesn’t follow any events of outer banks (just the characters and the pogues vs kooks thing), maybe a bit ooc!rafe? i’m not sure, slight mentions of john b & reader as well, cheating 😔, this is a bit short — not sure how i feel about this one </3 !! i always try to use few to no pronouns or descriptions for r — can be adopted or half sibling! whatever you'd prefer <3 an; love this song and i also thought of rafe and then bam it came to me.

mixtape here!

John Booker Routledge had been one of your favorite people ever since you had been younger — besides your brother. 

The three of you attached by the hip, the three troublemakers you had been so lovingly called. And knowing him since you were all little tots, only to blossom into a young adult, it was only normal to develop a small crush that had JJ gagging every time he noticed where your eyes lingered. 

And it was only normal for him to be your first kiss. 

It was strange. Not that he wasn’t a decent kisser, it just felt…void of something. You weren't sure why it had felt that way, especially when you felt a small amount of jealousy whenever he tended to stray his attention away from you and to Sarah instead. 

It was confusing as much as it was aggravating. 

But, Rafe Cameron, the one person who had made everyone’s life worse just by looking at them with baby blues and a smug smirk, took you by complete surprise. 

In the sense that when he kissed you, it never felt null of anything. Even after he had pulled away, you could still feel the phantom of his lips brushing over your own. 

It also took you by complete surprise because you’re both supposed to keep a distance due to ‘image’ — something you’d always thought was ridiculous, but also never really breaking away from the hate you’re supposed to have for Kooks. 

For Rafe Cameron. 

But at the same time, you couldn’t bring yourself to hate him, or even show him an ounce of faux hatred even if you tried. 

Midnight was your favorite time. Because exactly when the numbers turned to 12, there would be a small tap at your window. Because if he were to knock on the door at this time, Luke would have probably shot him, or JJ would have no problem throwing punches and taking them. 

It was best to stay a secret, even if you hate it. And even if you want others to see the love you both have for one another. 

The tapping catches your attention, a small smile tugging on your lips when you close your book and crawl off the bed and quietly make your way towards the window, pushing the sheer curtains back before unlocking the window and pushing it up. 

Glancing back at the door to keep an eye out, you allow him to grip your arms as he slips inside your room as quietly as possible — he’s gotten better with sneaking in — before turning and closing your window slowly. 

His hand is a bit cold when it wraps around the side of your neck, causing you to gasp and shiver as you look at him quickly. “Rafe!” You whisper sharply, trying to push at his arm. He smirks slightly, pulling you closer and pressing a small kiss to the corner of your lips. “Why are your hands so cold?” You mumble. 

“It’s freezing outside, sweetheart. What do you expect?” He snorts quietly. You smile a bit, taking his hand from your neck, sandwiching it between both of your own the best you could. His eyes are soft as they watch you. “You coming tomorrow?” 

“Hm?” You look up at him. “Oh, yeah. JJ wanted to go,” You shake your head slightly, reaching for the other one. “Figured he would anyway when he heard about it.”

Rafe nods a bit and pushes away a strand of your hair, tucking it behind your ear. “You wanna lie down?” You nod and pull him towards your bed, scooting close to the wall as he slides in after kicking off his shoes. You scoot up a bit, grabbing his arm and pulling him closer to you the best you could. 

He hums and lies his head against your chest, ear placed over where you heartbeat, slipping his eyes closed and melting into the bed when your fingers begin to scratch against his scalp. His fingers rest against your side, twitching every so often. 

It’s silent for a while, except for the beat of your heart, loud and comforting, in his ear. His eyes then slide open and he pulls his head away from your chest to stare down at you instead. 

Your eyes are pointed upwards at the ceiling and he can tell by the small scrunch of your brows, you're worrying yourself sick over something. You flinch at the sudden touch of his fingertips running over the lines that had been between your brows. 

“What’s wrong?” He whispers softly. You glance over at him and tug your bottom lip between your teeth as you think of what to say. Tracing his finger down the slope of your nose before pushing his fingers into the strands of your hair, he gives you a slight worried look. 

“You can tell me whatever is on your mind, you know that, right?” 

Nodding, you sigh quietly. “Is it always going to be like this?” 

“Is what always going to be like this?” 

“You and I. This. Us,” You say as if it’s obvious because, well, it is obvious. “Having only a short amount of time together, or having to…rush date night and act as if we’re with someone else,” You shake your head. 

“It’s…I love you and I want to be able to love you freely — not privately and only a certain amount of time.” 

He frowns and drops his forehead against yours gently, nudging your nose against his. “You know I love you, right?” Your eyes drift away from his. He frowns when he notices your eyes become wet with tears. “Right? Hey,” 

Your eyes hesitantly drift back to his face. His thumb drags over your cheekbone softly. “I do love you. A lot,” He nods. “We’ll tell people. But now is not the right time.” 

“When will it be the right time?” Your brows pinch together as you stare up at him. 

His lips press into yours — a soft kiss, and a gentle hold with his hand — before pulling away slowly, his thumb pressing gently into your chin. “Soon.” He whispers against your lips. 

Which is why, when you look for him everywhere (just for a quick, shared look), you're confused when you see him pressed close to some brunette. 

Even more confused when they both laugh together and she presses a hand against his chest. 

 Now you’re frozen when he’s leaning in and kissing her — a bit too fiercely for a party in front of people. Your eyes and they drift down towards the coffee table in between the spread out teens. 

There’s some substance on some type of gold tray with other various items around it on display. Your eyes quickly look back up, watching as he finally pulls away from her, smirking as he leans back and looks ahead. 

His smug demeanor drops when he sees your face. Rafe is quick on his feet when you turn away from him, pushing past people to get outside and find JJ, John B, and Pope and leave. 

You hear his voice calling out for you, anger thrumming through your bones. Once you step outside, Rafe is suddenly closer than you realize, his hand brushing your arm. 

You turn and smack him before you could catch yourself. The sound catches the onlookers from outside, lifting some brows.

“Don’t you dare touch me, Rafe. I swear—”

“I-I’m sorry! I don’t know what—”

You cut him off with a crazed laugh, pushing him by his chest. He allows you to push him around. “You didn’t know that you were making out with someone else?! What, you thought it was me, huh? Is that your excuse!” Your brows are furrowed in anger, your cheeks flushed and wet with tears as you stare up at him. 

He opens his mouth to speak, shaking his head, but someone is cutting in, calling out your name. “You okay?” John B. 

“I want to go home,” You turn towards him. Rafe calls out your name, eyes wide and desperate. “JB, please. Take me home.” Your voice is raw and it eats away at Rafe’s heart. Because instead of you turning to him, you’re turning back to John B to comfort you. 

All because he was an idiot. 

John B glances at Rafe, a small look on his face has you stepping closer to him, shaking your head, glancing over your shoulder at him. “He’s not worth it,” Rafe’s jaw clenches as he stares at you. You look away and pass by John B, walking towards where he had parked. 

JJ had gone somewhere with Pope, more than likely crashing at his place after. John B had decided to stay with you until you had calmed down, allowing you to talk and get everything off your chest. 

He listened and never once judged you. 

So, why is it when you kiss John Booker Routledge — again — you feel null of any emotion?

𓍯 ִֶָ tags; @ali-r3n — @marchsfreakshow — @sereneera — @dearestjune — @sstar-ggirl

𓍯 ִֶָ thank you for reading! comments, reblogs, & feedback are welcome & greatly appreciated!

[wedriftlikelonelyplanets]

14 landoscar!

14 from this prompt list: "I'm not going to hurt you"

PLEASE appreciate some made-up zombieverse that uh....might become SOMETHING when I decide I have the time or energy. Lemme know if you like it or whatever....

Lando’s picking his way through the abandoned hospital when he hears something. The low murmur of voices, the scuff of feet. He’s not sure if they’re on the same floor, or one lower, but his hand tightens around the handle of his gun, as he ducks into an empty room, hiding behind the open door, and trying to steady his breathing. 

He feels the fear, it’s heady, and he’s dizzy with it, adrenaline sweeping through him, hand shaky. It’s been a long time since he’s run into anyone other than raiders and the fucking zombies. But these don’t feel like raiders. There’s a rhythm to the way they walk, almost military. There are three of them, at least. Three separate voices he can pick out, past the heartbeat he can hear rushing in his ears. 

He hates it, the fear and uncertainty he feels, as he tucks himself further back, trying to make himself smaller. 

He’d just been looking for a place to stay, safe enough at least, to crash for a couple nights, where he could barricade himself in from any possible threats. He’s been on the road for so long, and it’s exhausting. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s slept for more than two to three hours. It was probably months ago, when he was in a shelter areas, before they’d gotten infected, and then he’d had to run all over again. 

It’s been lonely, if he’s being honest. But he’s never really been able to trust anyone. Not truly. Everything changed after the outbreak, and it was easy for friends to become enemies. For him to realize that it was almost impossible to trust anyone ever. And then Max had disappeared, and that was arguably the worst part of it all. 

It’s truly not the time for him to wallow in misery, to get stuck in memories of the past. Doesn’t want to think about the time he went to bed with his best friend lying beside him, and woke up to his best friend gone. 

He sucks in a deep breath to steady trembling hands, flexes them around the gun before he relaxes again, pushing himself back to his feet. Wonders if he can move quietly enough to sneak out of the hospital, or at least to the next floor before they catch on to the fact that he’s there. But he knows that even if he gets out, there’s a chance that they’ll be able to catch him anyway. He’s on foot, and oftentimes when he sees raiders, they’re either on horseback, or in cars that they’ve managed to cobble together, make work with expired fuel and a dream. 

But he can’t afford to let paranoia creep in. There’s a chance that if they do have cars, he could make his own getaway. Despite lack of access, he’s fairly certain driving a car would be like driving a bike, and it would at least give him time to put in some distance, until he can find the next safe city, or somewhere safe for him to linger. Untouched miles of forests, maybe. He thinks that if he tried, with the right supplies, he could live in the silence for a while. 

As much as he misses the contact of other humans. 

Lando pokes his head around the door frame, looks both ways, holds his breath for a second as he listens. They’re still far enough down the hallway that he thinks he can get out without alerting them. Just has to move slowly, quietly. He’s learned to walk quietly in the beat-up hiking boots that have carried him hundreds of miles. 

It’s easy, at first, knows he’s hidden under the dim lighting in dark clothes, keeps to the shadows and moves quietly. But he’s not watching his feet when he glances behind himself, to make sure the group hasn’t materialized, and he trips over something. The sound of metal clanging is loud, echoing in the silence of the space, and he curses under his breath as he manages – barely – to keep his balance. 

“Fuck was that?” one of the people asks, much closer than Lando expected them to be, so he slaps a hand over his mouth, ducks into the nearest doorway and presses himself flush to the wall. His fingers tightening around the handle of his gun all over again, thumb hovering over the safety. 

“I’ll check it,” it’s one of the other people, voice lightly accented, and he sounds almost inconvenienced. Lando wills him to go away, to leave him alone so he can make his escape. 

“Careful, Piastri. Hamilton says we’re not supposed to split up,” the other response is dry, humourless, and Lando hears a scoff. “Don’t worry. Think I’ll be okay,” is the response, layered with sarcasm. And then Lando hears footsteps approaching. 

His breath catches in his chest, terror rippling through him as he works to hold it, to keep himself still, quiet. Like he’s had to do far too many times before this. He tries to keep his hands steady, but knows that if he has to take a shot, he’ll probably miss. 

It’s been getting harder and harder for him to keep his hands stable. It’s been getting harder for him to stay like this, heart beating out of his chest, and not let himself slip into flashbacks. So he bites the inside of his cheek, sharp teeth sinking in, to keep himself present. 

“Clear,” the guy’s voice is closer, footsteps echoing, as he gets closer. Lando’s fairly certain that if he poked his head out of the doorway, he’d get an eyeful of whoever’s there. 

“This one’s clear too,” His voice is loud. Overpowering the frantic beat of Lando’s heart in his chest. And then the footsteps stop, just outside of the doorway that he’s hiding in. His eyes dart around the room, looking for somewhere, anywhere to hide. Is about to sprint for the hospital bed, to see if he can squirm his way under it. But as soon as he goes to move, he hears the click of a gun safety, and he whirls, his own gun held in ever-shaking hands. 

“Found ‘em,” 

The man standing in front of him is gorgeous, despite the fact that he’s got a streak of grime and dust across his cheek. His brown eyes are bright, narrowed on him, lips pressed into a thin line. Light brown hair swoops across his forehead, and Lando has to swallow around the desire he has to reach out and brush it back with his fingers. Wonders if it would feel soft under his touch. 

Bloody hell, he’s been alone for far too long. 

“I’ll fucking shoot,” his voice is hoarse with disuse, and he watches as the other guy’s lips twitch up in a smile, gaze darting between Lando’s shaky hands, and back to his eyes. Lando knows that he looks panicked, and wonders if it’s enough for this guy to take him seriously. “Sure,” the guy says, tucks his gun back into the hip holster, suspends his hands in the air, like Lando’s a fucking cop. 

“You okay, Piastri,” the other voices sound closer than he’s expecting, and Lando jolts, heart rabbiting in his chest. 

“Yeah, fine. Stay out there for a sec, yeah? Reckon I’ll be just fine,” Piastri’s voice is an easy drawl, and Lando wishes that he could be so unbothered, so relaxed, in the middle of a fucking zombie apocalypse. 

“‘M not going to hurt you, yeah?” Piastri says to him, his voice low and gentle, like he’s trying to talk down a feral dog, and Lando sucks in a deep breath, chest rising and falling. His fight or flight’s still triggered, but Oscar’s still all slow movements, as he reaches one hand out. “You can give me that, okay? Don’t think you’re okay to have a gun right now, mate,” but Lando twitches backwards from the outstretched hand instinctively. 

“We’ve got shelter, food, yeah? We’re out on a supply run. If you’re not infected, you can come back with us. At least give you a place to rest your head for a few days?” Piastri’s voice is so gentle, and Lando can feel the prickle of tears beading along his lower lashes. “Let me take care of you, yeah?” 

And Lando nods, hands going limp at his sides as Piastri reaches out for him, wraps gentle fingers around Lando’s wrist, tugs the gun free and removes the cartridge. “You’re going to be okay,”