#this one was surprisingly very fun to answer

[angelkiyo]

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. frat boy! grimmjow, who was struggling with his english course and had his professor recommend you; the pretty smart good girl who was at the top of her classes. he didn’t know what to expect. he’s seen you at the front of the class, coming early every lecture. you have a pretty face and was a fucking know-it-all, having him think he’ll be annoyed. however, even though you wore the baggiest clothes imaginable, he felt his eyes entranced simply at the way your hips swayed every time you walked and composed yourself.

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. frat boy! grimmjow, whose ego got the best of him, showing you his prideful smile. you were gentle. too gentle, with your thoughtful explanations to him, even if he was a little stupid compared to you. he was practically wrapped around your finger due to your actions, demeanor, and the fact that he’s passed every test since you’ve started tutoring him. your utter kindness was alluring, speaking ever so softly to him like he didn’t terrorize rushees and the the way you softly said his name drove him insane.

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. frat boy! grimmjow, who fakes being confused in order for you to lean closer and explain it. the smirk on his face when he “suddenly gets it” is a dead giveaway, making you giggle, “ohhh, so that’s what you mean. guess i need you to repeat that… one more time, though”. he suggests studying at the frat house for fun. he slightly impressed you when he was able to do a keg stand while you were teaching him something — answering your questions about your lecture excellently. his bros eventually caught wind of his certain fondness for you and teasingly called him a ‘nerd by association’.

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. frat boy! grimmjow, who once he began trying to flirt with you, invites you to every party his house hosted. he stays by your side for almost the entirety of the party, with the only time he doesn’t, he tries to impress you with push-up contests or drinking games. he “accidentally” bumps into you on campus, making a big deal on you being “the best fuckin tutor at this school”, earning amused looks from your friends and causing them to leave you.

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. frat boy! grimmjow, who gets jealous easily (even though you’re not dating). who sees you casually tutoring somebody else in the library and texts you saying he needs “help. urgent. right now”. and when he does see you, he just happened to see you in the library with somebody else, “teach, you got other students now? i thought i was your favorite” (insert teasing sad face). when in secret, he’d stare daggers at whoever you were tutoring, especially if they smiled at you too much.

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. frat boy! grimmjow, who, once he does (surprisingly) ask you out, he shows you off at every party, arm around your waist and chin brushing your shoulder. you don’t need to ask, he’ll give you his fraternity jacket and sweatshirts to wear to your classes and on campus (purposely sprays a shit ton of cologne for his signature scent to be noticeable). he may be very much of a brute to others in his frat, especially in parties with his winning streak in drinking games—but he would be a complete dunce when it comes to romance. he asks his friend from high school, ulquiorra on what to get a girl (who also doesn’t know) which causes him to ask ichigo, who starts making fun of him. overall, to you, it’s the effort that counts.

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. frat boy! grimmjow, who likes for you to still tutor him every now and then, even for random classes such as his stats class. he takes enjoyment at the obvious closeness you two have and encourages study dates, only to take you from behind in the library. he enjoys the idea of getting caught with you as you take his cock quietly but surely in a secluded part of the library, enamored with the way you could be so quiet and nerdy yet so alluring. luckily for the both of you, you’re friends with the librarian who lets you borrow the keys for the closet. (if not, he also is into the idea of playing a game where either one of you strip if he gets an answer right).

—

lowk wanna indulge more into this but idk … “requests are open!!” i scream as i get taken back into my cell

[luckyroll3]

Quid Pro Quo: Chapter 2

Masterlist and Summary

Warnings: This work of fiction is intended for 18+ audiences only. Includes explicit sexual content, graphic language, some violence, etc. Author chooses to not extensively tag in order to preserve some elements of storytelling.

Word Count: 10,816

The scent of coffee mingles with Chan's cologne as you lean over his shoulder, watching him scribble furiously on the practice exam. His brow furrows in concentration, a stark contrast to his usual carefree demeanor. 

"Time's up," you announce, plucking the paper from his hands. Chan groans dramatically and leans back in his chair, running a hand through his tousled blonde hair. You sit next to him and pull out your red pen. 

As you grade his exam, curiosity gets the better of you. "How’d it go with that girl from the bar?"

Chan's signature dimpled grin appears. "Oh, you know. She invited me back to her dorm. We had some fun."

You roll your eyes but can't suppress a smile. "Of course she did. Who could resist all that cocky energy and swag? What kind of ‘fun’ did you have?"

“The kind of ‘fun’ that you and I have had, but also the kind of ‘fun’ that we haven’t.” He smirks. You shake your head as you continue grading. "What about you and your boyfriend?" Chan asks, his tone surprisingly genuine. "How's that going?"

"It's good," you reply, a warmth spreading through your chest at the thought of Changbin. "Really good.” You place a couple of checkmarks on the paper. “Actually, he knows you. From the Saturday soccer games? Changbin?"

Chan's eyebrows shoot up. "Binnie? The loud, super swol guy from the frat? Really? That’s your man? Small world."

“Yup.” You circle an error and add a question mark.

“Sooooo, you’re the Virgin Mary. Ha!” Chan slaps his thigh and stamps his feet as he laughs it up.

You stop grading for a second to look at him, your eyes questioning. “Excuse me? The what?”

“The Virgin Mary,” Chan repeats, still chuckling. “That’s what they call you.”

“Bin doesn’t call me that. He better not call me that,” you say sassily. “I'd kick his fucking ass.”

“He doesn’t, but his douche-ass frat bros do. They always make fun of him for all the cold showers he has to take.” Chan continues laughing at your expense. 

“I’m sure they call me lots of things. It’s not even very original. Do they think I’m saving myself for Jesus?” you snort, shaking your head before turning your attention back to his practice exam. “But they’re also not the brightest people; I don’t know if Bin would be in that frat if he wasn’t a legacy.”

He chuckles. “Very true.” He pauses, studying you, taking in the turquoise floral sundress currently hugging your frame, one of the thin straps hanging off your right shoulder. His eyes land on your cleavage for a bit before returning to your face. "So, why does someone who looks like you and has such a cool personality so... inexperienced?"

“Someone who looks like me?”

“Yes. Let’s not pretend that you don’t know you’re fucking hot. And I say that totally respectfully.” He lifts his hands up as if in surrender.

You feel heat rising to your cheeks. You’ve gotten this question before, though you usually ignore it. You’re not sure why you feel compelled to answer when Chan asks. "I am fucking hot,” you say casually with a smirk that makes Chan’s grin widen. “I've been focused on school. You think engineering is hard? Try majoring in astrophysics! And NASA only interviews the top 1%. Guess how many of those are women? Getting to NASA has been my only priority for years; since I was 15.” You notice Chan listening attentively in your periphery. “There also weren’t many guys that I’ve been interested in. I mean I went on dates and stuff, but I never cared to do more with them. For a while there, I thought I might be asexual. And then Bin came along and….”

“And you started tingling in places?” Chan finished for you in a sing-song voice. 

“Ha! Yes, I guess you could say that. I started tingling in lots of places. Changbin's the first guy I've ever really wanted more with." You wonder why you’re being so open with Chan. The only other person you’ve shared any of this with was your best friend from back home.

"Hmmm. And how's he been dealing with the whole no-sex thing?" Chan leans forward, genuinely curious. "I can go without for about 2 weeks, but then I’m dying. Guy must be a saint."

You laugh, nodding. "He is. He’s a fucking saint. I’ve had guys try to guilt me into more or even attempt to force themselves on me. Not Binnie. He’s the most respectful guy I’ve ever met. He’s super cuddly and affectionate. He's been so patient and kind to me and he’s never asked for more. It's just one of the many reasons I'm falling in love with him."

Chan's eyes widen. "Love? After a year? Without any intimacy?"

You shrug, feeling a bit defensive of your relationship. "We haven’t said the words yet. But we're emotionally intimate. We share everything except our bodies."

Chan shakes his head, chuckling. "Not my style. Ugh, fuck feelings. I prefer to keep things purely physical."

You slide his exam back across the table. "Well, to each their own. Being a fuck boy works for you and being the reincarnated virgin mother works for me. You only got 5 out of 20 wrong. Not bad, Channie."

Chan's laughter fills the room as he spots the gold star sticker you've added. "Really? A gold star? What am I, five?"

“It’s motivation! There’s more where that came from,” you say waving the sticker sheet in his face.

As he grins at you, dimples on full display, you can't help but wonder if there's more to Chan than his playboy facade. 

Later that evening, Chan continues your lesson on foreplay, introducing you first to fingering. His hands are strong yet surprisingly gentle as they caress your inner thighs, teasing you with featherlight touches before moving his hand beneath your dress, then slowly sliding your panties down your legs. He slips a finger inside you. You gasp at the new sensation of being stimulated by fingers that aren’t your own.

"Just relax," he says softly. "I'll go slow."

Chan adds another finger, curling them expertly within you until you're trembling with pleasure. His eyes darken with lust, but his expression remains tender. 

"How does that feel?" he asks softly.

You manage a breathless, "Amazing."

You gasp and squirm as Chan's fingers stroke your most intimate parts. His touch sends tingles radiating through your core and your body craves more of it.  

"Does Changbin know about this?" Chan murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. His fingers slide deeper as your back arches into his touch. “Me ‘tutoring’ you, I mean.”

"N-no," you stammer, flushed with arousal. You've kept these private lessons secret. 

Chan hums thoughtfully, working you with steady, skillful fingers. "Think he'd be jealous, knowing I touch you like this?" 

You bite your lip, holding back a moan. Chan notices.

“Don’t hold back. Let it out. Let me know how you feel.” You follow his instructions and moan loudly. “Good girl.”

You think back to his question, letting your mind imagine Changbin's potential reaction to all of this. He rarely gets angry and he’s not really the jealous type, but this is a very unique situation you’ve placed yourself in. “I’m not sure,” you finally answer in between your moans. “But since there’s no feelings involved here, I don’t think he’d be that upset.” 

Chan smiles and continues pleasuring you with his fingers. "No feelings involved, huh? That's good to know."

“Your rules, sir,” you barely get out under your breath. “I just live by them.” You let your eyelids fall close gently.

Chan laughs softly. “In my experience, boyfriends tend not to like other guys seducing their girls. Especially not by fuck boys with reputations like mine.” His breath ghosts across your neck as he leans in, whispering into your ear. "Have you ever had an orgasm before?”

You nod your head slowly.

“You masturbate?”

“Regularly,” you whisper. 

“Oh really?” Chan seems amused by this, his eyes lighting up. “So you know what an orgasm feels like.” You nod again. “But no one else has made you cum before?” His voice is low.

You shake your head. “No,” you admit verbally, the word barely audible. Your breaths start to quicken. 

“Getting to be your first will be an honor then.”

“Why are men always so fixated on being ‘the first’?” you whisper, curious about the male psyche.

“We’re genetically programmed to be conquerors,” he whispers back softly. “It’s literally ingrained in our DNA. You know, the sequence of genes on the Y-chromosome in most modern males that they’ve been able to trace directly back to Genghis Khan?” You feel like you’ve just been transported into a National Geographic documentary narrated by someone who does voiceovers for erotica audiobooks.

Your eyes pop open, wide with bewilderment as you stare at him. “Who the fuck are you?” you blurt out with a laugh.

He laughs, a deep and hearty sound that fills the room. “What? I read! Now stop getting distracted!”

“Stop distracting me then, Chan,” you retort playfully as you return your gaze to the ceiling.

He places his free hand on your face and gently brushes your eyelids down. “Close your eyes and enjoy.” And with that simple command, all thoughts and distractions vanish from your mind as you surrender yourself completely to him.

His fingers curl inside you as his thumb presses firmly against your clit before he starts rotating it in small, quick circles that have you seeing stars. You feel his other hand slip the strap of your dress off your shoulder to reveal one of your tits; seconds later, he starts to twist the nipple. Then you feel the warmth as his lips encircle it and he flicks it with his tongue. Your breath hitches, body trembling. Your climax builds, your moans growing louder. 

“No one is here. You can get as loud as you want,” he says as he kisses across your cleavage, encouraging you. His mouth returns to your nipple and he sucks gently.

Chan works you higher and higher until you cry out, your orgasm crashing over you in waves of blissful release.

As you catch your breath, Chan gently withdraws his hand and places a soft kiss on your neck, before he respositions the strap on your shoulder to cover your chest. "How was that for your first time?"

"Amazing," you pant, still tingling from the aftershocks.

“You said that already.”

You open your eyes and turn your head to look at him. “Sensational, extraordinary, phenomenal, stupendous, thrilling, wondrous, spectacular,” you tease with a smirk. 

Chan grins, entertained by your sass. "I aim to please." 

As the two of you sit next to each other on the bed taking a break, he invites you to ask him anything. He hands you a bottle of water.

When you finish taking a generous gulp, you decide to ask him a personal question. “What’s the real reason you’re hesitant about relationships?”

Chan looks thoughtful for a moment before speaking. "I guess I've just had some bad experiences in the past that made me wary," he says. He pauses again. “My high school girlfriend broke my heart,” he says finally after a minute.

“Really?”

“Yeah. She was my first real relationship. We dated all through high school. I was so in love with her, I naively thought we'd be together forever. Dumb right?” He looks up at you for for confirmation.

“No. Not at all,” you say softly.

“Right before senior prom, she dumped me out of the blue. Then she showed up to prom with another guy; turned out she’d been cheating on me with him for a few months. I was devastated," he says quietly, looking down at his hands. “It messed me up,” he admits.

He pauses, taking a shaky breath. You reach for his hand, giving it a supportive squeeze. Chan looks up at you, his eyes glistening.

"After that, I promised myself I wouldn't let myself get that emotionally invested again. I just started hooking up with girls, no strings attached. No feelings, no way to get hurt.”

You listen intently, surprised at his openness. This is a more vulnerable side of him that you haven't seen before.

"I'm sorry that happened to you," you say sincerely. “She sounds like a bitch.”

"Thanks.” He gives you a small smile. “And she is a bitch. It's been three years, which feels like a lifetime ago, but I guess I still have some walls up when it comes to dating. I don't let many people get too close.”

"But sometimes the walls we build for protection can also end up isolating us," you say gently.

Chan nods slowly, his expression weighted with a mix of resignation and sadness. "I know.” His voice is strained with emotion. He looks away, sniffing as he wipes away the single tear that manages to escape his control. 

You reach over and give him a tight hug, holding him against your chest. You feel his body relax into yours, welcoming the protective embrace. He breathes against you quietly for a few minutes while you rub his back. You want nothing more than to just be there as a friend and soothe him, and he allows you to. 

“Okay, whoo!” he huffs as he pulls away, shaking his arms and head vigorously as if casting off all of his emotional demons. “Too many fucking emotions! No feelings involved, remember?” He chuckles softly as he attempts to recollect himself and lighten the heavy atmosphere. 

“Yup, I remember. Fuck feelings.” You smile at him, giving his hand one more squeeze to silently acknowledge his pain and the complications that come with emotions before letting go. 

“And not a word of this to anyone.”

“Not a word. Scouts honor.” You lock your mouth with an imaginary key and toss it over your shoulder. “No one will ever know that the notorious Bang Chan cried from a broken heart,” you say with a teasing smile.

A genuine grin spreads across his face as he recovers from the emotional moment. “Thank you.” He releases a relieved sigh. “Let’s get back to it then. Let me teach you how to give a hand job.”

Chan leans back on the bed, propping himself up on his elbows. "Alright, pay close attention," he says with a smirk.

He unzips his jeans and slides them down just past his hips, along with his boxers. His cock springs free, already half-hard. You can't help but stare, intrigued.

He lays back fully. You watch with curiosity as he loosely wraps his hand around his shaft. "Watch what I do," he instructs. Chan starts with slow, languid strokes, gradually increasing his pace. "See how I'm moving my hand up and down, gripping firmly but not too tight," he narrates. You watch, mesmerized, as his cock gradually swells and hardens in his hand. “And you can switch it up.” He varies his pace and grip, twisting his wrist on the upstroke. His breathing grows heavier as he pleasures himself. His head tips back and his eyes flutter shut as soft moans escape his lips.

You can't take your eyes off him. Seeing the usually cocky Chan so vulnerable and unrestrained excites you. He bites his lips as he focuses on chasing his release. The way his abdominal muscles contract with each stroke, the sight of precum beading at his tip, the rapid rise and fall of his chest… You feel yourself getting turned on just from observing.

After a few minutes, Chan's breathing starts to become more ragged. His hips rock up to meet the rhythm of his pumping fist. "Fuck, I'm close," he groans through gritted teeth. "That’s way too quick. I think I’m being turned on by having an audience... Here, you try." Chan takes your hand and guides it to replace his own. You wrap your fingers around his thick, hot shaft, mimicking his motions.

Chan hisses in pleasure, his hips bucking reflexively into your touch. "Mmm... yeah just like that," he encourages breathily. He covers your hand with his own, showing you how to stroke him. His cheeks become flushed. 

You gain confidence, pumping him faster, gripping tighter. He releases your hand and lets you work independently. Chan’s mouth opens as he pants, completely lost in ecstasy. His hips start to buck erratically. "Fuuuck, don't stop," he groans. Sweat beads on his forehead. 

You can feel his cock pulse in your hand. Keeping your gaze locked on him, you swipe your thumb over the head of his cock, spreading the precum leaking from his slit.

"Oh god, just like that," Chan whimpers before saying your name. His whole body tenses, abs clenching. "I'm gonna... I'm gonna...," he chokes out before releasing a guttural moan. His cock erupts in your hand, spurting thick ropes of cum that coat your fingers and cover his lower abdomen.

You continue stroking him through his orgasm until he gently grasps your wrist to stop you. "Sensitive now," he pants.

“Sorry,” you whisper.

“Don’t apologize.” Chan lays there catching his breath, his chest heaving. He props himself up on his elbows to look at you. "Damn... you're a natural at that," he says with a satisfied grin once his breathing returns to normal. “Not bad for your first hand job.” He nods his head in approval.

You smile, feeling pleased that you were able to pleasure him. “Why thank you, sir,” you say with a playful bow.

Chan grabs some tissues from his bedside table. He cleans your hand off before cleaning himself and tucking his dick back into his pants. "I think that's enough for today's lesson," he says with a wink. “Want to get dinner?”

“Oh god yes! I’m so hungry.”

****

A few nights later, you join Changbin at his frat house for their monthly movie night in their backyard. As the movie starts, you settle into the large hammock with him, nestling your back against his firm chest as he drapes the fuzzy blanket over you both. 

The movie plays in the background, but you find it hard to focus on anything but Changbin, his familiar scent – clean laundry and subtle cologne – enveloping you. His arm wraps around your shoulders, fingers trailing lightly up and down your arm. You smile to yourself, enjoying his affectionate touch. You feel protected and comfortable in his embrace. Like always.

His hand gradually makes its way to just above your diaphragm, fingers splaying as he caresses you through your shirt. You place your hand over his, interlacing your fingers together. 

About halfway through the movie, you feel a spark of excitement run through you as his other hand settles on your lower stomach, his thumb just barely slipping under the hem of your shirt, grazing your skin. You place your free hand over his, guiding it lower, past the waistband of your leggings. Changbin hesitates, his breath hitching slightly.

"It's okay," you whisper, turning your head to meet his gaze. “I want you to.” You see the flicker of desire in his eyes as you guide his hand to where you need it most.

Reassured, his fingers brush over your clit, tentatively at first, gauging your reaction. A soft gasp escapes your lips at the contact. His fingers slide down your folds and enter you, gingerly gliding into your wetness. You slowly buck against his finger. He takes the hint, applying more pressure as he picks up the pace.

Turning your head again, you meet Changbin's intense gaze in the dim light. He leans in and presses his lips to yours in a slow, sensual kiss. You feel desire stirring within you as the kiss deepens. Changbin's tongue dances along yours as he pulls you tighter against him.

You have to stifle a moan into his mouth as he sinks deeper into you. Your tongues dance together as the pleasure builds. You release Changbin’s hand and reach behind you, slipping your hand into his sweatpants and wrapping your fingers around his rapidly hardening length. You stroke him slowly like Chan taught you. Changbin groans into your mouth at your touch.

Changbin’s fingers curl inside, hitting just the right spot, and he uses his other hand to stimulate your clit, rubbing in tight circles. You stroke him in time with the movements of his fingers between your legs. You break the kiss as you melt into his touch, leaning your head back against his shoulder as you bite your lip and close your eyes. 

The hammock rocks gently as you pleasure each other. Quiet gasps and moans are lost in the sounds of the movie and chatter around you. No one notices as you bring each other closer and closer to the edge.

Your hips rock together subtly. The tension builds deep within until you shatter beautifully around his fingers. You grip him tighter as you cum, stroking faster. He buries his face in your neck to muffle his own moans of pleasure; his teeth sink into the soft flesh making you yelp. You’re learning that Changbin is a biter. His cock throbs and you feel him spill over your hand.

You stay tangled together, catching your breath. Changbin kisses you softly on your neck before withdrawing his hand. You clean each other up quietly.

You cuddle together in the hammock, your body still humming. Changbin wraps his arms around you and nuzzles into your hair. 

"That was amazing," he murmurs. He kisses the top of your head and asks, "What's changed recently? It seems like you've been more open to exploring sexually together."

You turn in the hammock, careful not to flip the two of you out of it. You tilt your head up to meet Changbin’s gaze. "I'm ready for more with you, Bin. My heart belongs to you. I want to show you how much you mean to me. And I’ve been feeling more confident and open with physical intimacy."

Changbin smiles and caresses your cheek. "I'm so happy to hear that.” He presses a sweet kiss to your lips. "Look, I'm really glad you're finding your confidence, but I want you to know that I'm in no rush. I don't care if it takes another year or ten or twenty; I’d wait forever for you. Okay? I'll follow your lead."

"I know," you say, your voice catching in your throat. "And I... I really appreciate that." You lean in and kiss him deeply. As you pull back, you say, "You’ve been so sweet and perfect. It’s not lost on me what you’ve given up being in this relationship. That's why I want to reward your patience and understanding; I have something special planned for you for our anniversary."

Changbin looks deeply in your eyes. “I don’t need anything special babe, just you.”

****

As you wait for Chan to meet you in the student center, you receive a text message from Changbin.

Cuddle Binnie:

Can’t get you out of my head today.

Keep thinking about movie night. 

Hope your day is going well. 

You:

It is now. You always make my day better. 🥰

One hand job and that’s all you can think about, huh? 😉

Cuddle Binnie:

More thinking about my fingers buried deep inside 

you and the sounds you were making.

Would love to hear you moan like that again…

You:

Soon.

 Cuddle Binnie:

Any way you can change your plans tonight?

You:

Can’t babe. Tutoring session.

Cuddle Binnie:

I’ve waited this long. Guess I can wait another 

couple days.

You:

Why I adore you.

Cuddle Binnie:

I adore you to.

You bring your phone to your chest and sigh deeply, thinking about how much you cherish that man. When you look up, you see Chan enter from the cafe. A bright smile emerges on his face when he sees you. 

“Hey! Sorry I’m late.” He sits next to you, plopping his bag on the table. 

“Hi. Sooooo? How’d you do?” you ask enthusiastically. 

Chan grins, his signature dimples on full display. "Really well actually!” He zips open his backpack and pulls out a folder. He hands you the stapled pages from the center. “B minus! Up from an F! Thanks to you!"

"Channie, this is amazing!" you exclaim, smiling proudly as Chan beams at you, clearly delighted by his much improved exam score. “I knew you could do it.” You reach into your bag under the table and pull out a small, clear plastic takeout box containing a personal sized chocolate lava cake. You slide the dessert across the table to Chan. 

“No fucking way!” Chan exclaims as he pops the container open to take a big whiff. “I can’t believe you remembered this is my favorite. From Mamma’s Bakery?”

You grin and nod. “Yes. I do listen to you, you know.” You hand him a plastic fork. 

“Thanks.” Chan digs in eagerly, the warm chocolate fudge sauce oozing out as he takes his first bite. “Ugh, so good!”

“Of course! You’ve earned a reward for all the progress you’ve made,” you say warmly.

“I usually like my rewards in the bedroom,” Chan says with a smirk, his words laced with playful innuendo as he chews slowly. 

“Of course you had to make it weird. Don’t start with me,” you say with a side-eye, slapping his face playfully. “You’ll need to talk with one of your little friends about those types of rewards.” You start reviewing the exam. 

“What if I want to talk to you?” He teases, wrapping his full lips around the fork and pulling it out slowly. 

The action earns a knowing look from you. With a sigh, you reply, “Not cute. You know those puppy dog eyes don’t work on me.” It’s mostly true, but he’s just so damn charming. You return your focus to the exam, flipping to the next page and scanning over his work. 

“Why is that? It works on everyone else.” He eats another forkful while grinning at you mischievously.

You can’t help but to roll your eyes at his antics. “You’re just not as irresistible as you think you are, Bang Chan.” You ignore him and turn to the final page of the exam.

“Ouch!” He dramatically clutches at his chest in mock pain before eating another forkful of cake.

You place the exam in between the two of you. “All the points you missed were for really silly mistakes. I can tell you were rushing. What happened?”

"Yeah, you're right,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I got anxious during the test and spent too much fucking time on the first page. Before I knew it, there were only 15 minutes left. I fucking panicked, but I finished.”

"It's okay, we all make mistakes when we're stressed or rushed. The important thing is that you finished and you knew which concepts to apply where.” He nods in agreement. “And this just tells me that for your next practice exam, we need to focus more on time management.”

“Okay.” He nods his head in understanding. 

“Okay. Go through each question where you lost points and fix your errors.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He slides you the container, half of the cake remaining. After retrieving a pencil from his bag and setting it aside, he gets to work. 

You grab his fork and cut a small piece of the cake, placing it in your mouth. The flavors are decadent and satisfying. “Damn this is good,” you whisper. 

“I know right? You can finish it,” he says with a smile. 

You hesitate for a moment before taking another bite, savoring every moment of this treat. “No, it’s yours,” you insist, offering the fork back to him. He chuckles and shakes his head, gesturing for you to keep eating. You can’t resist taking another bite, the fudge melting on your tongue. Then, with a playful smirk, you cut a small piece and hold it up to his lips. “Here,” you coo softly. He looks up from his work, his eyes sparkling with amusement, and opens his mouth, allowing you to feed him. You go back and forth, alternating taking a bite for yourself with feeding him until the cake is gone.

By the end of the hour, you smile at Chan, happy at his progress. The student center is quiet now, most of the other students having already left campus for the evening. 

"Good work. We should probably get going; it's getting late," you say. Chan nods and begins packing up his things.

The two of you walk in comfortable silence back towards your dorm. His arm brushes against yours occasionally as you stroll along the sidewalk. The cool night air is refreshing after being cooped up inside all day. You pull your jacket a little tighter as a breeze blows through the trees overhead.

Chan has his hands stuffed in the front pocket of his hoodie, looking relaxed as always. "So…,” he says after a few minutes, “how are things going with you and Changbin lately?" he asks, glancing over at you with a little smile.

You feel your cheeks heat up slightly. "Really good, actually. We've been getting a lot closer and more comfortable with each other."

Chan raises an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? Have you two... you know...," he trails off suggestively, his lips curving into his characteristic smirk as he holds up to two fingers and curls them in a come-hither motion.

You playfully smack his arm, trying to hide the small smile that tugs at your lips. “None of your business, sir!”  

“It’s absolutely my business! How else am I supposed to gauge the success of my lessons, know if they’ve been making an impact? Hmmm?” Chan's teasing tone is laced with amusement as he leans in closer, shaking his shoulders, eager for details.

“Oh, they’ve been making an impact…” You can't help but let out a giggle as you recount your recent escapades at movie night, feeling bold and exhilarated in sharing these private moments with him.

Chan's eyes widen in surprise. “Damn, that's kinda hot. Look at you!” He nudges your shoulder with his, a pleased grin on his face. “Already getting freaky in public. Makes me proud.”

“I learned from the best.”

“I am the best, aren’t I.” He flashes you that devastating grin. You roll your eyes. 

“How about you?” You playfully turn the question back to him, curious about his recent adventures. 

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. What escapades have you been up to lately?”

“Oh, this past weekend I had a date with a gymnast. She did some things that…. let’s just say I’ve never seen before.”

“Really? Like what?” Your eyebrows raise in interest. 

“She was riding me in a reverse cowgirl, while doing a backbend thing, so she was also kissing me at the same time. It was wild.”

You can’t help but wince slightly at the thought of the contorted position. “Sounds painful. I hope she stretched first.” Chan throws his head back as he laughs loudly. “Was it impressive enough that you’d fuck her again?” you continue.

He ponders for a moment before responding. “Probably not. Repeats tend to get….”

“Clingy?” you finish for him with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. 

“Yes, clingy.” He can’t help but to smile back in response. 

“You know, there probably are girls out there who would be happy to fuck you repeatedly without allowing emotional attachments.” You watch him as he thinks about it.

“Eh, I’d rather play it safe. You start to see someone more than once, they start to think you’re dating. Nah, fuck that! One and done!”

“Keep it simple.” You get it. He doesn’t want to run the risk of getting hurt again, not that he’d admit that’s the real reason. 

“Exactly.” He nods. 

A few minutes later, you and Chan arrive at your dorm room. After putting down your bags, Chan turns to you and says, “I’m thinking that tonight we can focus on oral. Are you okay with that?”

“Yeah. I’m fine with that.”

“Alright. Might be a good idea for us both to shower first. I know I’m stinky.”

“You can go first then, stinky.” You walk to the closet, retrieving a towel and washcloth from the top shelf for him. “Here.” You toss them at him.

While you wait for Chan to finish his shower, you sit at your desk and delve into the novel you had stumbled upon at the used bookstore across from campus. Minutes tick by until finally, you hear the water stop. A few moments later, the door opens and Chan saunters out, looking like a Greek god in human form. 

The towel wrapped snugly around his waist accentuates every defined muscle of his body, leaving nothing to the imagination. His wet blond hair is slicked back, making his face look even more chiseled and handsome. The steam from the shower still clings to his skin, giving him an ethereal glow in the dim light of the room. As you take in his striking appearance, you realize that tonight will be the first time you see him completely naked. 

“I’ll let you take a picture so you don’t have to rely on memory,” he says with a grin when he catches you staring. 

“Oh, shut up!” You add your bookmark to save your space, then head to the bathroom for your own quick shower. Ten minutes later, you rejoin Chan in the bedroom, wearing your black, fluffy robe. 

Chan is reclining in your bed, his legs out long, crossed at the ankles, and your book in his hands. 

“I didn’t realize you liked horror,” he states as he turns the page, not looking up. 

“I’m a big horror fan: books, comics, movies.” You sit on the bed facing him. 

He closes the book and places it back on the desk. “Very interesting.”

“Why is that?”

“You just constantly surprise me is all. Favorite book?”

“It, Stephen King. Read it when I was 12.”

“Oooooh, that’s a good one. I read it in high school. ‘We all float down here’,” he quotes in a deep voice, doing his best Pennywise impression. He sits up next to you.

“’And when you're down here with me...’,” you start, deciding to share your favorite line.

“’YOU’LL FLOAT TOO!’,” you and Chan yell simultaneously before breaking out in laughter.

“Oh man,” you say through chuckles. “So fucking good.”

“A fucking masterpiece,” Chan agrees. “And the remake….?” The two of you start talking animatedly about your other favorite horror books and movies, realizing that you have quite a few in common. Once the two of you have caught your breath after a thirty-minute discussion, Chan turns back to the business at hand. “You ready?” 

You nod, eager to continue exploring and expanding your knowledge.

He takes your hands in his and directs you to kneel in front of him between his legs. “I’ll guide you through some different things to try. First and foremost is that you should always take the lead. If you want to give someone head, you unbutton and unzip and reveal. Don’t ever let some fucker push your head into their crotch; it’s just rude. Plus, women in charge, women taking charge, are fucking sexy.”

“Got it. Should I take this off,” you say, gesturing to his towel. He nods. You gently lift the corner he has tucked in at his waist and pull it open, allowing the towel to fall behind him on the bed. His length springs free, already hard and at attention. 

“Go nice and slow at first; don't worry about taking too much in," he says softly. You lean forward, heart pounding, as he gently directs your mouth towards him. His fingers brush your hair back tenderly.

As you take him into your mouth, he inhales sharply, eyes fluttering closed. "Mmm, just like that. Use your tongue to explore... find the sensitive spots… but watch your teeth, so you’re not scraping."

Chan talks you through different motions – using your tongue, varying speed and pressure. You feel shy at first, but the excitement is stronger. Coupled with Chan’s gentle coaching, you gain confidence.

"The key is paying attention to your partner's reactions, listening to the sounds they make, and adjusting based on that.”

You follow his guidance, moving your tongue around his length and finding the spots that make him gasp or groan. You tighten your lips, you take him deeper, you flick his tip with your tongue. With each passing minute, you gain more confidence in your actions. Soon, he is moaning, praising how good your mouth feels. 

Chan runs his fingers through your hair, stroking affectionately, as he guides you through this new experience. The sensation of his touch combined with the taste and feel of him in your mouth is exhilarating. You can feel yourself getting aroused as well.

As you continue to pleasure him, Chan's breaths become more ragged and his grip on your hair tightens slightly. 

“I’m close to cumming,” he whispers. “You need to decide whether you want me to cum in your mouth or not. If it’s a no, just remove your mouth and finish by jacking me off.” You think about this for a second and ultimately decide to get the full experience. 

You refocus on your task. Chan’s moans become louder until he finally reaches his climax with a loud groan. You feel his warm load spurt into your mouth, surprised by the saltiness. It takes you a couple of gulps to swallow everything down, but eventually you slide your mouth off of him and sit back on your heels. 

Chan opens his eyes, then pulls you up to sit next to him on the bed, a satisfied smile on his face. “You did great,” he says warmly, placing a kiss on your cheek.

“Thanks,” you reply shyly. 

“We’re not done yet though,” he says playfully. “Now it’s your turn.” He unties the belt of your robe, and pushes it off your shoulders before gently laying you down on the bed. 

Chan gently parts your legs and settles between them. His strong hands caress your inner thighs as he plants soft kisses along your hip bone, working his way down. You feel a rush of anticipation as his mouth nears your most sensitive area.

"Just relax and enjoy this," he murmurs. You feel his hot breath against your pussy just before he makes contact. 

The first touch of his tongue makes you gasp, the pleasure so intense you have to remind yourself to keep breathing. He starts slowly, with soft exploratory licks up and down your slit. He finds all the spots that make you squirm and moan. When his lips wrap around your clit, you cry out, tangling your fingers in his hair. You gasp and writhe at all these incredible new sensations. His strong hands grip your hips, holding you in place. 

"Oh god, Chan..." you pant, overcome by the building pressure. 

"Does that feel good?" he asks in a low, sexy tone. The vibrations from his voice make you tremble. 

You manage to moan a breathless "Yes."

"That's it, let me hear how good it feels," he encourages you. “The more sounds you make, the more you touch me, the better. It lets me know what’s working.”

He continues lapping at your clit, alternating between broad licks and tight circles. The pleasure is unbelievable; you've never felt anything like this before. You realize that the rumors about his 'magical tongue' are 1000% accurate. Your moans get louder as the sensation builds. 

He slides two fingers inside you, crooking them in the same come-hither motion he made during your walk as his tongue continues working your clit. He quickly finds your g-spot, sending sharp shocks throughout you each time he swipes it. You start rocking your hips, trying to force his lips closer, force his fingers deeper. The dual sensations quickly bring you to the edge and then tip you over – your back arches off the bed as the orgasm crashes through you.

You lie there panting, your body still trembling from the intense climax. You feel breathless and euphoric. 

Chan grins and wipes his mouth before kissing his way back up your body, making stops at your stomach, tits, and neck. Before he kisses your lips, there’s a pause as he looks directly into your eyes. For a brief second, his cocky facade seems to waver. There’s a flicker of something, a glimpse of vulnerability that makes your heart skip a beat. But just as quickly as it appeared, it’s gone. The shift leaves you feeling curious about what he’s thinking.

Before you can say anything, his lips find yours in a rush of heat and desire. The taste of yourself and the cake from earlier mingle on his tongue. You lose yourself in the intensity of his kiss; it’s like having forbidden fruit, and you can’t get enough. 

You allow yourself to continue indulging in Chan's kisses. His lips are soft yet demanding. One hand trails down your back, pulling you closer; the other cradles your face before moving to caress your side, your hip, your breast and everything in between. You tangle your fingers in his hair, drawing him to you. The kiss deepens, becoming more passionate. All thoughts fade away except how good it feels to be wrapped up in Chan like this.

After what seems like an eternity, Chan pulls back just enough to meet your gaze. Something in his eyes seems different now. As he lies down next to you, you glance at the alarm clock and are amazed to see that the two of you have been making out for over an hour. You wonder how the fuck that happened.

The atmosphere in your dorm room feels cozy and intimate now. Chan trails his fingers up and down your arm absently as you both recover. You study his handsome face – the sharp jawline, the broad nose, the deep brown eyes beneath his dark brows, the full lips now swollen from pleasuring and kissing you. He really is unfairly good-looking.

As the afterglow fades though, you start to feel a bit awkward. This is supposed to be purely educational, no emotions, no entanglements. And yet... there's a definite connection between you two. An undeniable chemistry. 

You see a similar conflict reflected in Chan's eyes before he clears his throat and sits up slowly. "We should probably call it a night,” he says quietly.

“Okay,” you agree softly. From your perspective, you can acknowledge the connection because you know you really enjoy spending time with him as a friend. You hope it’s the same for him and nothing more, and that this make out session was just the two of you getting carried away in the moment. 

Chan rises from the bed and begins gathering his clothes. You take the opportunity to slip under the comforter to warm up your naked body now that his isn’t pressed against yours. As he pulls his shirt over his head, the muscles in his back and arms flex, and you take a moment to appreciate his athletic physique. He’s not as muscular as Changbin, but still nice to look at. 

He turns to face you while pulling on his jeans. "So, Saturday is…”

“Your birthday right?” you finish for him. 

He smiles. “Yeah. My 21st and my roommates are throwing a party at our house. It's gonna be lit – open bar, DJ, the works." 

You sense there's more he wants to say, so you wait patiently for him to continue. 

Chan runs a hand through his blonde waves in an effort to tame them. "Anyway, you should come.” He zips and buttons his jeans. He says it casually, but you can tell he’s nervous about asking. 

"I don't know Chan... I'm not sure that's such a good idea," you reply carefully. 

He nods, seeming to understand your unspoken concerns. "No pressure. I know it's complicated and all. But the invitation's open. I consider you a friend and it’d be cool to have you there.” He throws his backpack over his shoulder. “Feel free to bring Changbin too, if you want." You detect a hopeful note in his voice. 

You consider the invitation. Your thoughts swirl around your mind as you weigh the pros and cons of accepting. You break the silence with a hesitant response. “Okay, I’ll think about it.”

A smile spreads across his face, revealing the dimples. "Great," he says, his excitement evident in his tone and expression. The corners of your mouth tug up into a small smile in return.

****

The bass from the rap song blaring through the speakers sends vibrations through your body as you enter Chan's packed house with Jess and Sam flanking you. The air is thick with the scent of beer and sweat, bodies pressed close in the dimly lit space. You weave through the crowd towards the backyard and the keg, your eyes scanning for people you know. Everyone is at this party; there are students from all the different schools and programs, as well as folks from the different social groups. You see several of Changbin’s frat brothers, who give you a nod as you walk by. Changbin decided not to come, choosing instead to continue studying for the MCAT. He was planning to take it in December. 

As you're refilling your red Solo cup at the keg, a warm arm drapes across your shoulders. You turn to find Chan grinning down at you, his dimples deeper than usual, his cheeks slightly red, and his eyes sparkling.

"You made it!" he exclaims, planting a sloppy kiss on your cheek. The scent of tequila clings to him. "I'm so glad you're here."

His kiss reminds you of your last encounter. You force a casual smile. "Happy birthday, Chan. Looks like you're celebrating properly." You tap your cup against his.

He laughs, the sound rich and inviting. "Oh, we're just getting started.”

“Here,” you say, reaching into your tote bag and pulling out a small, rectangular package wrapped in black and silver paper. “I got you a little something,” you say, offering it to him. 

He takes the gift with a grin, his eyes curious as he examines it. “Oh wow, you didn’t have to,” he says.

“Open it,” you urge him.

He places the blue solo cup between his teeth to free up his other hand, then gingerly slides his finger beneath the taped seam and peels the paper back to reveal two books – Desperation and The Regulators.

“Stephen King!” he exclaims, taking the cup from his mouth.

“Two of my favorites,” you explain. “I hope you haven’t read them before.”

“I don’t think so.” Excitement creeps into his voice. 

“Okay good,” you reply with matching enthusiasm. “Two different stories, with the same characters who are actually different people existing in separate dimensions but fighting the same evil.”

“Woah, I must be drunk because I actually understood all of that,” he says with a laugh. “Sounds really fucking cool. Thank you.” He wraps his arms around your shoulders and gives you a tight squeeze. “This is really sweet.”

You can’t help but smile at his reaction. “You’re welcome,” you say softly, enjoying the feeling of his embrace. 

He releases you and looks over his shoulder. “Come on, I want you to meet my other roommates."

Chan guides you and your friends through the throng of people, his hand never leaving your lower back. You try to ignore the tingling sensation it leaves in its wake.

"You already know Min,” he says, ruffling Minho’s hair as we pass him and a couple other people lounging on the patio furniture. Minho shoves him away playfully in response. “Felix! Hyunjin!" Chan calls out when we reach the kitchen. Two handsome guys turn, raising their cups in greeting. "This is the tutor I was telling you about."

Felix, a freckled blonde with an infectious smile, gives you a knowing look. "Ah, so you're the one who's been occupying all of Chan's free time lately."

You feel your cheeks flush. "Just trying to keep him from flunking out," you joke weakly. Chan ignores Felix as he places your gift on the bookshelf.

Hyunjin, tall and striking, looking like he just came off of the runway at New York Fashion Week, smirks. "Well, whatever you're doing, it's working. He actually passed up on a date with one of the hottest sorority girls I’ve ever seen last week to study. I almost took him to the doctor!"

Chan rolls his eyes good-naturedly. "Alright, alright. Enough embarrassing me on my birthday." He walks away from his friends towards the kitchen island, grabbing a chicken wing from a large foil tray. He turns back to you and leans against the counter. “No Changbin tonight?”

“He’s studying. MCATs. He said he might try to stop by later if he gets far enough.”

“Hmmm, cool,” he says with a lazy smile as finishes the wing and reaches for another one. “I forgot he wants to go to med school.”

You chat with Chan for a bit as the party rages on around you. Despite the noise and crowd, it feels like it's just the two of you in your own little world. He seems relaxed yet focused entirely on you, asking about how the rest of your week went and your plans for the weekend. The conversation flows effortlessly. More than once, you catch yourself laughing wholeheartedly at his quick wit, lame jokes, and poor attempts at flirting. 

It’s not lost on you, though, that there are lots of eyes watching the two of you. Several women have passed by trying to claim Chan’s attention, but he’s brushed them off. And other friends have stopped by to give him their birthday wishes. He is always polite, giving them hugs and high fives and chatting for a bit, but always turns his attention immediately back to you. 

After a while, you notice Chan's gaze drop briefly to your lips before meeting your eyes again with a hint of longing. The air seems to crackle between you. Just then, Minho appears.

“It’s shot o’clock motherfucker,” he says, clapping his hands on Chan’s shoulders. “Time for number 8.” He starts to lead him away.

“Alright, I’m coming,” Chan says with a smile. He turns to you, his gaze intense. "Save me a dance later?"

You nod, unable to form words under the weight of his stare. As Chan is pulled away in the direction of the bar, your floormates descend upon you, eyes wide with curiosity.

"Spill," Jess demands, practically vibrating with excitement. "What's the deal with you and Chan?"

“What? There's no deal.” You use a toothpick to retrieve a meatball, popping it in your mouth. 

“Oh, come on. We might as well have been invisible. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from you. There’s something going on between the two of you.”

You take a long sip of your beer, buying time. "I'm just tutoring him. Plus, did you forget about Bin?"

Sam raises an eyebrow skeptically. "Tutoring, huh? Yeah right! That was some serious eye fucking come from his direction."

You laugh, hoping it doesn't sound as nervous as you feel. "Seriously, guys. It's strictly academic. And he’s fucking drunk; he’s looking at everyone like that."

Jess leans in conspiratorially. "Well, word on the street is that Chan hasn't been making his usual rounds lately. People are starting to wonder if he's actually into someone."

Your stomach does a little flip. "I'm sure it's nothing," you say, more to convince yourself than them. "He's probably just buckling down on his studies. You know he's at risk of losing his scholarship if he fails this class."

As your friends continue to speculate, your eyes drift back to Chan. He catches your gaze and winks, raising his shot glass in a silent toast. You smile and nod back before turning back to your friends. Though, you can't help but wonder if there's more to his recent behavior than just academic dedication.

The pulsating beat of the music draws you back to the present moment. You’ve just refilled your fourth cup of beer. Jess grabs your arm, pulling you and Sam towards the makeshift dance floor in the living room. "Come on, let's dance!" she shouts over the music. You let her lead you into the mass of bodies swaying and bouncing to the beat.

You lose yourself in the music, laughing with your friends as you dance together. A new song comes on and you feel strong arms encircle your waist from behind. Sam and Jess both raise their eyebrows. You turn your head and see Chan, his blonde hair now a wild mess, grinning at you with that disarming smile. He pulls you back against him, his body pressed close to yours as you move in tandem.

"Told you I wanted to dance with you," he says, his breath ghosting the back of your neck. “I’m the birthday boy, so I get what I want.”

You can't help but chuckle. You turn to face him. "I'm impressed you're still standing. What number are you on now?"

"Fourteen," he announces proudly, holding up his fingers in a wobbly 'V' sign. "But who's counting?" You smirk and help him pull up his pinky and ring finger, so that he’s now displaying four instead of two fingers. He laughs at his mistake.

As the two of you dance, you marvel at how he manages to move with such grace despite his inebriated state. The scent of his cologne mixed with alcohol envelops you as your bodies sway to the rhythm.

"So, how's the night treating you?" you ask, trying to keep a conversational distance.

Chan's eyes sparkle mischievously. "Oh, you know, the usual. I've been propositioned by at least five different girls already."

You laugh. "Sounds like a successful birthday to me. Why aren't you taking them up on their offers?"

He leans in close, his breath hot on your ear. "Because the one I'm really interested in hasn't approached me yet."

"Oh? Well, maybe you should go talk to her. If you're not too drunk, that is."

Chan pulls back, his gaze intense. "Maybe I should."

As the song changes to something slower, you find yourselves moving closer. Your bodies align, fitting together like puzzle pieces. You can't help but notice how his muscular frame feels against yours, how his hands on your hips seem to burn through the fabric of your clothes.

Suddenly, Chan's lips are at your ear again. "Want to know a secret?" he whispers, his voice husky. "I'm waiting for you to proposition me. You’re fun, smart, and fucking sexy as hell."

You throw your head back as you laugh loudly, assuming he's joking. Hoping he’s joking. To your relief, Chan joins in the laughter, but something in his eyes makes you wonder if there was more truth to his words than you'd like to admit.

As you're processing this, your gaze drifts over Chan's shoulder, and your breath catches. There, standing in the doorway, is a familiar figure that makes your heart leap for an entirely different reason.

Changbin has arrived at the party.

Changbin’s eyes search the crowded room until they land on you, a cute smile breaking out on his face. As he makes his way through the crowd, you can't help but admire how he looks in his fitted jeans and dark, short-sleeved button-down shirt, clinging tightly to his muscles. He's holding a bottle of very expensive tequila.

Your radiant smile causes Chan to turn to see what you’re looking at. You disentangle yourself from Chan just as Changbin reaches you.

"Hey babe," he says, leaning in to give you a soft, sensuous kiss on the lips that makes you blush a bit and your knees buckle. His eyes flick over to Chan.

"Changbin!" Chan calls out way too loudly for how close the three of you are standing to each other. "You made it!"

Changbin grins. "Couldn't miss the big 2-1, could I? Happy birthday, man." He hands Chan the tall, slender, and elegant honey colored bottle.

Chan's eyes widen. "Damn, this is the good stuff. You shouldn't have. You didn’t need to get me anything."

"A little birdie told me it’s your favorite," Changbin says, his arm sliding around your waist.

Chan's gaze flickers to the point of contact before he grins broadly. "Well, let's put it to use! Shots with the birthday boy?"

Before you know it, you're knocking back shots 15 through 18 with Chan, Changbin, Jess, and Sam. The tequila burns a path down your throat, warming you from the inside out. You watch Chan and Changbin talking and laughing together. It makes you smile.

Chan gets pulled away again, leaving you alone with your boyfriend. "Dance with me?" Changbin murmurs in your ear, and you nod, allowing him to lead you back to the dance floor.

As you sway with Changbin, your arms around his neck, you can't help but notice Chan across the room. He's with a busty brunette now, her lips attached to his neck, but his eyes... his eyes are on you. The intensity of his gaze makes your skin prickle with heat.

"Everything okay?" Changbin asks, noticing your distraction.

You force yourself to look away from Chan. "Yeah, just... a bit dizzy from the beer and shots."

Changbin's hands tighten on your waist. "Want to get out of here?"

You nod, grateful for the excuse. As you're leaving, you catch one last glimpse of Chan being led away by the girl, disappearing up the stairs towards his bedroom. The image stays with you as you and Changbin make your way back to your dorm.

Once back in your room, Changbin's hands are on you immediately, his lips finding yours in a heated kiss. You melt into it, the taste of tequila still lingering as your tongues meet. His strong hands slide under your shirt, caressing the sensitive skin along your waist and up your back.

Your hands slip under his shirt, tracing the hard muscles of his back. His strong arms wrap around you, holding you close as the kiss deepens. All thoughts of Chan and his intense gaze fade away as you lose yourself in Changbin.

Changbin walks you backwards toward the bed, his kisses trailing down your neck. Gently, he lays you down, his body hovering over yours. His eyes are dark with desire as he looks at you, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"I've missed you," he murmurs, his voice husky, nuzzling into your neck. 

You inhale his familiar scent, letting it ground you. “It’s only been a couple days,” you whisper back. 

"I know. Tell me what you want," he growls, his eyes burning into yours as his hand moves between your legs and slides up your thigh before palming your pussy. You whimper, arching into him.

You bring his mouth back to yours and kiss him deeply before pushing him away from you. When he rolls onto the bed, you climb on top of him. 

“I want to make you cum,” you say seductively, although your words are a little slurred because you are slightly drunk. You sit up and reach for the waistband of Changbin’s jeans. You unbutton and unzip, then quickly slip your hand inside his boxers. You’re eager to practice your new fellatio skills on him. 

Changbin moans as your hand wraps around his hard length, stroking him slowly at first. You’re amazed at how much thicker he is than Chan, although the lengths are about the same. He watches you with dark eyes, his fingers tangling in your hair as you lean down to take him into your mouth.

The alcohol has made you brave and uninhibited, and you let yourself get lost in the sensation of pleasuring him. Your tongue swirls around his tip before taking more of him into your mouth, bobbing your head up and down.

Changbin's grip on your hair tightens as he lets out a low groan. "Fuck." He says your name as he grunts, thrusting his hips up to meet your mouth. You continue to suck and lick him, figuring out exactly where to focus to make him unravel.

Changbin's moans spur you on, and you work him harder, taking as much of him into your mouth as you can. Your spare hand cups his balls, gently massaging them as you deep throat him. His salty taste fills your mouth, and the more he moans your name, the more turned on you get.

"Oh... fuck, baby... that's it," Changbin pants, his hips bucking to meet your every motion. His hand in your hair tightens around the strands while the other grips the sheets beneath him, his knuckles whitening with the effort of restraining himself. His breathing is ragged and uneven as he thrust his hips upwards, and you know he is close.

Soon enough, he reaches his climax with a strangled sound emerging from his throat, spilling his hot seed into your mouth as you swallow every drop. He pulls you back up to meet his lips in a passionate kiss, tasting himself on your tongue.

Breathless and satisfied, Changbin rolls over onto his side and pulls you close against him. "You are fucking amazing," he whispers in your ear.

A warm feeling spreads through you at his words complimenting you. And despite the alcohol still clouding your mind, it feels good to be desired in this way by someone who you have such strong feelings for.

As Changbin holds you in his arms, sleep soon takes over.

You wake a few hours later with a throbbing headache and an arm draped over your body protectively holding you tight. You smile softly, remembering the events of the previous night. When you realize it’s still dark out, you turn your body to rest your head on Changbin’s buff chest and fall back asleep.

When you wake again, you feel lips kissing down your torso. “Mmmm. Morning.”

“Morning, babe,” he whispers in between kisses. This is new, Changbin being proactive physically. But your adventurousness over the past few weeks has emboldened him. And you like it. 

“Can I use my mouth on you to make you cum now?”

“Yes. Please.”

Changbin smirks and continues on his southern journey. He tugs your shorts and underwear down, throwing them onto the floor, then settles between your legs. When his tongue finds your sensitive bud, you moan loudly. 

Changbin's tongue expertly flicks against your clit, sending waves of pleasure through your body. His hands grip your thighs as he continues to lick and suck you, his movements becoming faster and more intense.

You squirm under his touch, craving more. "Changbin,” you pant. He deposits kisses down your folds, and when he reaches your hole, he slides his tongue in and swirls it, causing you to jump from the unexpected intrusion. His grip tightens around your thighs, his fingers squeezing into the flesh, as he presses his nose against your clit then starts to fuck you with his tongue. It feels glorious. You can’t believe this is what you’ve been missing out on by taking it slow with Changbin. 

The walls of your pussy start to clench around his tongue, causing him to withdraw it, replacing it with fingers eager to thrust in and out of you. Simultaneously, he returns his mouth to your clit. He sucks it between his lips and alternates between flicking and nibbling until you can no longer control the motions or sounds coming from your body. Then your body suddenly stills; seconds later an explosion rocks through you, starting from your clit and spreading through the rest of your body. Changbin continues to suck your clit throughout the orgasm, causing you to see stars each time he pulls on it. Eventually, you have to push his head away from you. 

“Bin, please stop,” you whine in a whisper. He laughs, depositing one final kiss on the sensitive area before returning to lie next to you.

You turn on your side to face him, the two of you staring lovingly into each other’s eyes. The heat from his body seeps into yours. “I’m excited for more mornings like this,” he whispers, bringing his palm to your face. 

“Oh yeah?” You use your thumb to wipe your wetness from his chin. 

“Yeah.” A smile spreads across his face. “The prospect of waking you up every morning with an orgasm is exciting.”

“I wouldn’t say no to that.” You lean in and capture his lips in yours. The taste of yourself on him is intoxicating, and you can’t resist deepening the kiss, losing yourself in the moment.   

[melliae]

Hong Lu, An Analysis-Prediction

Before beginning, as always, I've to clarify something: I haven't read Dream of the Red Chamber. My best source of information are the thematic connections drawn in the Reddit sub of Limbus, and that only gives me a slight idea of what Project Moon may have in mind.

So, everything below here is complete and utter speculation based on my own knowledge and impressions about Hong Lu's character, Sins, EGOS, and Abnormalities. Beware, and feel free to comment your own opinions!

Now, let's go with the post!

What We Know

So, I think the best way to start this analysis is by recapitulating Hong Lu’s overall character so far. For that, we need to return to the first ever explanation of his personality: the “resume” given in the game page and during his presentation in Selva Oscura.

“As such, he has a certain admiration for a free life; but occasionally, he may make ignorant and unsavory questions in regards to the food cooked by a certain other Sinner or other aspects of the low-lives' lowly culture. [,,,] However, it is important to note that no sarcastic undertones are contained in his curiosity-driven inquiries, so it is ill-advised to let them get physical over it.”

As a general thing… It surprisingly holds up! Don’t misunderstand me, though. It isn’t that the description is perfect; it’s just not untrue. In fact, his first even line in the game, about Dante’s head being some sort of trend and not waiting for an answer, totally falls there. Similarly, there are several other moments showing Hong Lu’s innocence and naivety without any ulterior or hidden motive, from wondering if the casino workers of Canto II were trying to make the Peccatula their pets (likely because his grandmother collects weird animals) to unintentionally insulting Outis’ watch in Canto VI. I’d say the biggest proof of his lack of experience is the moment in Canto V where he adjusted the LCCB badge of a pirate that very obviously wasn’t a member of Limbus. Though all of his weirdness may derive from the fact that his elders—which are weird as hell—are his point of reference.

Now, since his most notable trait has been explained, we can move into the discrepancies of the description, and the biggest one is mentioned at the end: that under Hong Lu's comments there is no sarcasm—which is a complete lie! This man is a menace, and the Sinner’s experiences in District 20 during To Claim Their Bones and Canto VI shows it, from agreeing Caiman’s assessment of LCB to joining Nelly’s teasing, including his lines while helping Heathcliff with his appearance and clothes. But arguably, my favorite example of this is the horror story he told during Canto V that scared Sinclair and which he only finished when the latter ran away. Don't tell me Hong Lu was being innocently insensitive back there: Sinclair was visibly shitting bricks, and the pretty boy here is keen enough to masterfully play the most compassionate and kind member of the League of Nine.

“Brother Young-ji was a man of kindness. He was not one to rashly harbor spite or reproach for others. You resemble him in that sense.” - Yi Sang, Blossoming League of Nine Littérateurs, Canto IV.

Though I suppose the difference between them is that Hong Lu clearly has a more optimistic and fun-loving attitude. This is an obvious trait that he has had since his childhood, when he played with and complained about his “cheating” siblings, sneaked into the dining hall of his manor for snacks, and simply didn’t follow his family’s rules. But since we know his family is extremely strict (if not outright sadistic), this sanguine streak may have developed (or gotten worse) as some sort of defense mechanism, which is seen better with Wakashu Hong Lu and his “lack of manners.” In fact, all of his Identities show an unnatural or improper calmness about his situation, no matter how horrible it is.

Another thing to highlight is his inquisitive, curious, and surprisingly understanding nature. While most of the examples above, especially him playing Young-ji, are proof of that, as it plays very well with his sheltered life. But I want to point out the best and most recent example of Hong Lu’s surprising contemplativeness: Time Killing Time. In particular, the most important scene is near the end, when Rodya and Hong Lu discuss his motivation to pursue the Time Reaper:

“I... just wanted to understand. Because, to me, the world was full of things I couldn't understand. In truth, I still understand so little of it. Why do people hang on so desperately to something like time? Something so... ephemeral?” - Hong Lu, Chapter 15: The Final Problem.

It’s normal to assume Hong Lu’s words are solely referring to the miserable monetary system of T Corp., but I don't think that’s all. We know that Hong Lu and Xinchun are well acquainted with the “immortality of the mind” the elders of their family are obsessed with, and what is immortality but infinite time? Thus, what Hong Lu asked there was why people hang on to the erroneous belief that life should not move or change, remaining constant and hence perfect for the rest of eternity. Yet, that isn’t what life truly is, right? It’s not for nothing that Hong Lu’s introductory quote is that “life has its vicissitudes as jade has its flaws,” which conveys his philosophy of detachment perfectly.

“When you’re distraught, simply remember that life goes on even if what you’re doing now doesn’t work out. Then, you’ll be free of worries.” - LCB Hong Lu

However, while the idea of detaching oneself from the whole without renouncing loving it is respectable, the way in which Hong Lu lives it is far from perfect, because detachment is not about carefreely admitting you will just simply gather the remains of your sister in case she is mutilated or readily accepting a horrible death just because you don’t mind dying. Even he himself admits from time to time, as with his jealousy over Heathcliff’s propensity to “ignore what he doesn’t like” (Rooms Past the Door) or Rim’s capacity to fly freely. In fact, one may even say that he hasn’t become detached at all, because doing so implies the complete acceptance of the “jade’s” beauty and flaws; Hong Lu, however…

“A thousand hours… Will a thousand hours have passed in the blink of an eye? [...] Then... I like that. Rip my time away.” - Hong Lu, Chapter 14: The Clock Tower of Fear, TimeKilling Time.

He has become detached from life altogether, and how could he not with the disaster that his family is? That likely was his only way to survive in such an environment, and unlike the rest of the Jia, he doesn’t seem to have that lucky predisposition for resentment and hatred. Even when his siblings tried to kill him the first time, Hong Lu didn’t come to hate them; he fully understood them because that’s the kind of person he is, just like Young-ji. However, since he realized such a thing through his big heart, he’s now fully aware that he will ultimately and cruelly die by their hands thanks to his love. In such a case, what other option does he have beyond merely “dancing”? A joke here, a sarcastic comment there, and a final appreciation for everyone so nothing is taken seriously and causes dissatisfaction, no matter how dim his eye becomes.

So, as of the 5th Walpurgisnacht, Hong Lu’s character can be summarized as follows:

Has a friendly, compassionate, and understanding personality that clashes against the violent and strict nature of his family.

Became detached over his own life because he can’t bring himself to hate and hurt his family.

His carefree attitude and sheltered life lead him to not understand some of the social conventions of… anyone who still has some respect for their own life.

Has a certain sarcastic and teasing streak, likely originating from both his personality and ideology.

There’s 1 aspect remaining that I didn’t mention above because I think it’s better to analyze Hong Lu’s EGOs first, to see what else we can rescue before giving a sort of “conclusion.”

About EGOs

Before any of you ask, no, I will not analyze Land of Illusion here; it’s best reserved for the next section, about Hong Lu Base ID. Instead, the first EGO I’ll deal with is, fittingly, the first one he ever received: Roseate Desire.

Roseate Desire originates from Pink Shoes, an Abnormality that evidently is an Aberration of Lobotomy Corp.’s Red Shoes, with their shared meaning being that of a single-minded and very violent obsession that’s impossible to resist—one of the purest expressions of Lust. But while Red Shoes and its EGO are fundamentally egoistic, not wanting to share the glory and pleasure of their desire’s fulfillment, Pink Shoes and Roseate Desire are of a softer shade, spreading their overwhelming lust to as many people as possible. The difference becomes clearer when you compare Rodya’s and Ishmael’s respective obsessions: the longing to be special vs. the desire to kill the “source of all evil” in retribution for all she has done.

Applying the former logic to Hong Lu, we can conclude first that he has a desire as strong as Ishmael’s hatred for Ahab, which is quite unexpected for someone who has basically given up on life! Thankfully, the Sin resources his version of Roseate Desire costs tell us a couple of things about his “fixation”: 4 Lust and 2 Envy. The dominance of Lust is self-explanatory, so that leaves us with Envy, which I commented on in the previous section: jealousy over those who can ignore and escape their problems—those who are “free.” Yet, since Roseate Desire and Pink Shoes are characterized by a sort of collective hedonism, so is Hong Lu’s wish to escape his family. Surely such a thing will bring joy to his cut-throat siblings.

And speaking about escapism, Hong Lu’s next two EGOs are all about that, beginning with the one whose Abnormality I analyzed in one of my previous posts: Dimension Shredder.

While Wayward Passenger is an Abnormality that is clearly about the trauma inflicted by W Corp.’s method of operation, it has a secondary meaning that Project Moon uses for its EGO too: being trapped in a horrible duty, necessity, or “path” that makes the individual envious of the life and possibilities others hold. This is best seen with Outis’ Dimension Shredder due to the Envy affinity, though Hong Lu’s Pride version isn’t that far off thanks to the Sin costs: 3 Pride and 3 Gluttony. Basically, it means that Hong Lu is “lost” due to external necessity, by things he can’t control (i.e., his family), but instead of resenting it as any other person would do, he takes pride in that, in having to follow a “terrible path,” because that’s the type of person he knows he is—the kind and understanding one that sacrifices himself.

The second EGO about escapism originates from LobCorp and hence from an Abnormality I haven’t analyzed: Soda and Opened Can of WellCheers, respectively. The two come from a Korean urban legend about people being drugged through juice cans and sold to fishing boats as slaves. Needless to say, the parallels with Hong Lu’s Soda are more than obvious: an envy born from a necessity (Gluttony) that grimly (Gloom) pushed him into a role he doesn’t want. Alternatively, and considering the ending of the Abnormality’s story log in LC, it’s the fulfillment of a fantasy born of jealousy, sadness, and necessity, though that doesn’t explain the Envy affinity of the EGO. Either way, nobody can deny that Soda stands for Hong Lu’s “murdered” wish to flee his circumstances.

The next EGO luckily is from another Abnormality I analyzed some time ago: Ambling Pearl and Effervescent Corrosion. However, unlike Rodya, who keeps the Abnormality’s original meaning mostly intact (safekeeping the “pearl”/one’s meaning from the “filthy” outside), Hong Lu gives it a twist: it’s not about protecting his “life treasure,” but something else

“Faust: For instance, let’s say that Hong Lu held a belief he was certain would be an unchanging constant as he lived in the City. Or, it could be a hope for some other psychological sustainment that has supported his life. Hong Lu: …Hmm. Faust: If that support suddenly collapses in a massively shocking event that causes one to let their “ego” go, his mind would crumble, so to speak. Hong Lu: …Well, I could see that happening. [...] Hong Lu: Hm… I thought I knew, but I can’t seem to elaborate on it with words right now.” - Chapter 3: Hell’s Chicken, Hell’s Chicken.

Unlike Rodya’s desire to be special and her notorious inner conflict, which is reflected in how similar her Corrosion is to a broken Ambling Pearl, Hong Lu is much more secretive about his opinions, usually referring to his frivolous comments instead of using the great insight he has, according to Dante. Nonetheless, even if we don’t exactly know the “core belief” he holds close to his heart (though we should have a general idea at this point), we do know that his version of Effervescent Corrosion, beyond Gluttony or the desire to survive, requires Gloom. So whatever Hong Lu is hiding, it’s far from happy, as his Sin weaknesses further show after EGO usage: weak to Lust and Sloth, to love and inaction—to the idea of not protecting himself.

In a similar vein, Hong Lu’s next EGO is entirely about sadness, as it comes from Blubbering Toad, aka depression incarnated. However, Cavernous Wailing isn’t a Gloom EGO but a Sloth one, and whose Sin costs are Gloom, Sloth, and Pride. That’s to say, Hong Lu’s refusal to take action and the resulting self-pity (“A heart shaken by sorrow bursts… like this.”) are fed by his sadness, indolence, and distorted self-perception, an aggrandized mental image of himself as able to carry all his pain without problem.

“It goes like this. Any of our siblings who managed to survive on their own up to the age of thirteen in our household will probably be a-okay even if they were to be tossed out to the middle of the Outskirts! Hehe…” - Hong Lu, Chapter 20, Canto VII.

Finally, the last EGO is the newly added Lasso, which comes from Rose Hunter, and really, its Mirror Dungeon Encounter puts it the best: Rose Hunter is the one who makes sure all stories follow their natural course, their flow, and “he” is no exception; the Hunter is willing to get lost if that’s the story it must obey. Fittingly, Lasso represents the same idea of not resisting one’s “tale” or “myth,” going along with what’s written not out of indolence or apathy, but because it’s necessary, akin to the motif of the “fetters of fate,” for example. In that regard, their underlying archetype is the same as that of the Orphic Ananke, the deification of the necessity that created the universe, which can be best understood through the following aphorism: existence came to be because it exists. Or put it in a simpler manner: you must follow your nature because that’s who you are.

Hong Lu’s Lasso, in the same way as Faust’s, requires first and foremost Gluttony to work, for that’s the entire deal of the Abnormality. Then comes the Lust requirement, which implies this “work” is also done out of either love or a twisted desire, a mania for things to follow their assigned nature or role. The final Sin cost is the variable one, which for Hong Lu is Pride again, his aggrandized sense of self that drives him to fulfill his role without complaining, solely out of love and necessity.

So, with all the EGOs analyzed, we can rescue the following:

Hong Lu, more than anything, wishes to escape the situation he has been put in. He wants to be free behind all those frivolous and/or insensitive commentaries.

However, due to his upbringing, he “murdered” those wishes so to speak, and remains walking the path his family has put him by many reasons, chief among them his love for them and his distorted perception of his own self.

Thus, all that longing and yearning for freedom remains hidden, barely able to see the light of the day except in the rarest of occasions. That’s likely his “pearl,” the thing that he ultimately hides for his own survival.

About His Base ID and EGO

You know, I have always been curious about why people are so adamant about Hong Lu being depressed. No doubt he has depression at some level, but I don’t think it’s as severe as people normally think it is because his Base ID simply lacks any form of Gloom. This is in stark contrast to Sinners such as Yi Sang, Gregor, and especially Ishmael, since she has a Gloom Base EGO as well. But if such is the case, then what does Land of Illusion means, since it requires Gloom to be used?

However, I think it’s important to understand Hong Lu’s Sin spread first, his psychology in this particular possibility:

His third skill, that is, his most inward and deep trait, is Lust. This Sin placement is only shared with LCB Heathcliff, whose devotion to Catherine is quite literally a multiversal constant as per Canto VI; everything he does, he does it for Cathy. Thus, Hong Lu must have a similarly romantic or affectionate nature, and we know that he isn’t the type to stop “loving” due to the cruelty of a person; his reaction towards the attempt against his life says enough. He even tried to understand the Time Ripper at some level during TimeKilling Time.

His second skill is Sloth, an inaction that’s much shallower but no less decisive, so to speak. One can understand it as deriving from his much more encompassing Lust or Love, which is to say that Hong Lu refuses to take action or initiative in his life out of the love and understanding, in a similar manner to how LCB Faust lets her every move be commanded by the Gesellschaft thanks to her need for self-realization.

Finally, his third skill, his most outward and shallow trait, is Pride. This position is only shared with the Base IDs of Faust (again) and Sinclair, although the former is the easiest one to understand: Faust is somewhat haughty without a doubt, but not egocentric or self-absorbed by any metric; she’s just socially naive and with a great deal of knowledge that tends to ostracize her by her own volition. Pride is, after all, the de facto Sin of distorted self-perception, of thinking you are more capable than you really are.

Again, all of this tells us what we already know: the kindness of Hong Lu, his indolence born out of said kindness, and the weight he alone bears on his shoulders. We can’t even say that he has a low self-esteem unless we include in that definition a “imposing limits on who you are,” which, yes, sounds right, but it leans too much in the territory of semantics for my taste. Furthermore, Hong Lu’s strange relationship with Gloom and sadness can also be contrasted with the Sinners I mentioned before, those with Gloom and whose Cantos are available:

Yi Sang was the living stereotype of the depressed person: cold, distant, unfeeling, dead inside, etc. Whatever you name, Yi Sang likely had it.

Ishamel’s emptiness and self-destructivity were well-hidden until her Canto, during which all hell was let loose.

And Gregor is possibly one of the most realistic approaches of all, as we can see with the flashbacks of his past during Canto I. Even so, he… well, remains somewhat functional (and I’m really stretching the definition there xD)

And don’t get confused. In this case, Gloom isn’t equal to feeling sad or being traumatized by any means; every Sinner has their own share of problems, and not all have Gloom. Sinclair had his family and town massacred thanks to Kromer's obsession with him, for example, and while I don’t doubt he feels a deep sadness and regret about it, he doesn’t have Gloom in his Base ID. The same applies to Rodya, her low self-worth, and her guilt about the fate of her neighbors, lacking any sort of Gloom as well. The most extreme and recent case of this is boss Sancho, who doesn’t have any Gloom skill at all, despite her character and story being more than fitting.

Therefore, Gloom, in the straightest sense and avoiding exceptions or little quips, refers to a deep-seated hopelessness, a melancholy that devours all dreams and hopes, causing one to become completely lost in life. In such a case then, it’s not that Hong Lu isn’t sad or, damn, depressed, but that he knows how to manage such emotions so they don’t overwhelm him as they do with Gregor, Yi Sang, or Ishmael. The same likely happens with his wish to escape and his jealousy, for he seemingly knows that no life is truly a “flawless jade.”

“In a way, we’re all ‘deprived’... and that can change a lot of things. Maybe there are things that we can understand only when we’re left with nothing.” - Hong Lu, Chapter 1: Wuthering Heights, Canto VI.

This self-control naturally falls in line with his inclination for Pride and Lust, creating a sort of “transpersonal” point of view that allows him to curb his emotions in order to understand others. It’s quite Buddhist or Taoist, no? This kind of detachment over life I explained before, I mean. In a way, it strengthens the theory of Jia family elders treating Hong Lu as a golden child, and while he doesn’t seem to really like the idea, he resigned himself to it.

“I can't do much about what I was born with~ To them... I was a gem of a child.” - Hong Lu, Liu Association South Section 5 Uptie Story.

He renounced all the transient things in his life, all of his wishes and sadness, in order to carry out his family’s expectations: the preferred family head candidate. And what is another form to call transient things? Illusions.

Land of Illusion is the culmination of Hong Lu’s hidden sadness, his yearning to escape that will forever remain out of his reach—or at least he thinks so.

“With this there is often, to a smaller or greater extent, a savior complex, or a Messiah complex, with the secret thought that one day one will be able to save the world; the last word in philosophy, or religion, or politics, or art, or something else, will be found.” - Marie-Louise von Franz, The Problem of the Puer Aeternus.

Hong Lu doesn’t believe himself to be a savior, naturally. But I cannot deny that it would be very much in character for him to imagine or fantasize about a world where he doesn’t have to fulfill his family expectations, where they can all be happy. That would explain the Lust cost of Land of Illusions, as well as the weaknesses to Envy and Wrath, which are a stand-in for the rejection of his innermost wish.

But alas, at the end, life has its flaws, and there’s no way Hong Lu will raise a fist against his family. Even if his survival depends on it, Hong Lu won’t defend himself because that would mean choosing and thus losing, and there’s nothing more terrifying to the eternal child than losing things. Death is a much more merciful and tempting possibility than acting and suffering.

“The puer aeternus very often has this mature, detached attitude toward life, which is normal for old people but which he acquires prematurely—the idea that life is not everything, that the other side is valid too, that life is only part of the whole existence. [...] So before he has gone down to earth, he already has the offer of death.” - The Problem of the Puer Aeternus.

In this regard, it doesn’t matter much Dante’s rewind or the actual existence of an afterlife. It’s the idea of death as a solution for a hard life, instead of confronting the problem itself, of standing up and withstand the uncertainty and pain of life.

AAt the end of his Canto, Hong Lu will have to stand up for himself and to carry on the pain. That's how a "child" becomes an "adult," or better said, an actual family head.

Post-Commentary

... Yeah.

To be honest, I don't know where the inspiration behind came for this. It just fell on me one day, like Faust's theory. But where I'm confident in that one, I'm completely lost in this post, especially because while the conclusion seems right (standing up to the abuse and expectations coming from one's family), the reasoning is somewhat flimsy? I don't know. I have the feeling that I'm retreating Canto VII's (and even Canto III's) story and themes somehow, though the similarities may be the reason of why Xinchun was introduced, maybe. That would make Don's confusion funnier xD

The final mentions of the puer aeternus (similar to the Peter Pan syndrome, but not quite) are due to how Hong Lu's character screamed "puer" to me, surpassing every other one. The fact his summary highlighted that he is a "bachelor" brought to mind this little quote of Marie-Louise's books:

“The two typical disturbances of a man wh ohas an outstanding mother complex are, as Jung points out, homosexuality and Don Juanism.”

If a man gets around too frequently, he'll obviously not get married. If he's gay, then even less reason to do so or look at women. In this case, the idea is not about the actual sexual orientation of Hong Lu (or the accuracy of the book's assessment), and more about highlighting his refusal to commit.

Also, as a funny note, The Problem of the Puer Aeternus has a fragment that's really similar to, from what I've gathered, the warnings the monks gave to the Stone at the beginning. Since the book also deals with the case of Saint-Exupéry and The Little Prince, there may also be something interesting regarding Demian (Limbus', not Hesse's).

Anyway, and repeating myself, if you have any other opinion or thought you want to share, feel free to do so! Similarly, if you notice any orthographical or grammatical error, let me know. It's difficult to see them, even when using several online tools...

[astorichan]

★♦ the pale king~?

★ - sad headcanon

-points at Ashe- Okay, so, in Shatter AU he knows exactly what he's sending Hollow into. He knows that they are not pure and he knows that they will break. He knows that the most likely outcome is Dream No More, where they die and Hallownest is completely destroyed beforehand, with the only hope being that to rebuild. He struggles to give them affection in what ways he can—which is promptly used against Hollow, in a way of "he was trying to manipulate me into loyalty"—and he's proud of them. The sad of it is that I headcanon him as having seen several possible outcomes. He'd seen the Hollow Knight ending, with them dying and Ghost taking their place, he'd seen Embrace the Void and Delicate Flower endings, all of it. And he'd seen the Shatter AU outcome. It was the least likely of all and it was the best one. He never hoped that it could come true, though, because it was a completely negligible chance, almost a delusion of hope that he didn't allow himself to feel. ♦ - quirks/hobbies headcanon

Stimming. Stimming stimming stimming STIMMING this man literally doesn't stop, and oftentimes it leads to small injuries whenever he absent-mindedly drums his fingers on a sharp detail that he is working on, etc. He also has a lot of... what to call it. He remembers the exact amount of times he has to turn his hand to screw something together and GOD FORBID one day that amount changes, for example. Associative memory is also something I like for him. He has an absolutely INSANE memory, and it is very closely tied to the sensual. He recalls stuff by assuming the same position that he was in when inventing/working on it, for example. Or by shifting stuff around on his table to be the same way as it had been on the day when he'd worked on the thing he wants to remember. Hobbies I'm basic with: engineering, machinery and the sort. I also like to imagine that he loves running the kingdom—he enjoys doing all the economic stuff, all the behind-the-scenes tedious calculations and planning. He just hates being a public presence is all; but he has to do it.

[canisalbus]

hey i just found ur blog and i love ur gay dogs. i love the way u do expressions and clothes! u rly nail the stretchy elastic look of skin that the type of hound vasco is has. also for some reason when i first rly looked at machete i thought to myself "its weird i dont do anthro art considering i dislike drawing human heads and giving ppl animalistic traits" so thanks for the, idk, inspiration? realization?

Thank you! I'm glad you like them!

[fictionadventurer]

Top 5 Arthur episodes?

D.W. Goes to Washington: It's a very close race between this one and #2, but I gave the edge to this one because almost every line here is classic. It's full of hilarious Imagine Spots and great D.W. zingers.

The Rat Who Came to Dinner: Another episode that's full of great jokes. The dynamic between Ratburn and Arthur's family is comedy gold.

The Contest: The pastiches of different animation styles alone puts this one in the top five, but it's also in service of some wonderfully absurd mini-stories with classic jokes. ("My brain was on cruise control" is the Arthur quote that gets the most use in daily life).

Buster Hits the Books: The pastiches of the different books are hilarious.

Arthur's Almost Boring Day: I had a very tough time choosing the fifth episode. I went with this one because the fighting between Arthur and D.W. reaches a hilarious fever pitch that goes beyond any other episode.

[neriyon]

Gotta ask for 15 and 20 for the pre-dawntrail wol questions! 😌

Pre-Dawntrail WoL questions

15. What would your wol be if they weren't the wol? What would they do as a job or career? Would they be happier?

Hawu'li would be some sort of travelling healer! Slowly going around from village to village, focusing on helping places that might not have their own resident healer. So technically not that different from now haha - just with a lot less god-killing and world saving, and more focus on individual cases.

As for how happy he would be: he'd defenitely like that and could not think of a better career, but he'd never meet even half of the people he meets now and I feel like that'd be a huge loss for him. Not to mention his separation anxiety would probably always stay around the ARR/HW levels (bad), since he might not have companions he'd slowly grow to trust to be there even when he can't see them at that exact moment.

20. What is your wol's best quality? What's the thing that they do that really gets stuff done of makes people like them? Hard mode: their own perception vs. a friend or partner's perception.

Hmm, I was first gonna say kindness, but maybe his very social nature? He's not afraid to start conversations and seems to naturally get along with people he meets. Like every time Scions arrive to a new location and start the "time to do some chores to get friends", chances are Hawu'li's already chatting up some random passerby. Leave him at it for a hour or so and he'll most likely return with 5 new friends ready to answer questions.

[awritersrejections]

I think part of the confusion is what is meant by "ride" and what is meant by "a horse." People see that and think "yeah, if I was at a country fair and there was a horse trained to be ridden by people who don't know how to ride, and there was someone who told me how to get on it, and I didn't have to go in any direction or do anything intentionally—yeah! could totally do that!"

What is meant is "do you think you, unassisted, could ride the average horse in the same way people ride a bike—that is, in a specific direction and with an ability to stop?"

I always thought it was like an exaggeration when horse people would talk about how silly it was for anyone to think that riding a horse does not require any particular level of skill or balance or anything, or even that they "drive themselves" (???) but just the tags on the reblogs of that "can you ride a bike and/or horse" post from me alone are demonstrating how overconfident some people are in their (often entirely theoretical!) ability to stay on an alive and moving animal with a will of its own.

[luveline]

𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐬

You’re in love with Spencer from the minute he gets you in his bed. [4k]

c: fem/afab. smut mdni, p in v sex, oral, fluff, aftercare, early intense feelings, spencer in sweetheart mode, flirting.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆

It’s a cold day in November when you see him across the bar. He’s sitting at a table of friends drinking from a tall glass of coke. He’s normal. Non-imposing, undeniably cute, laughing with a smile that shows his teeth. His tie is to his belt and his suit jacket’s been thrown over the back of the chair. 

He looks like he might have fun with you, if you can catch his attention. Something about him seems… eager to please. 

You watch him, and you watch his friend. He seems more your usual type, muscled, confident. He’s the key. You let your gaze linger on the curly-haired boy until the friend glances your way. You give him a look. Hey, who’s your friend?

You look away once you see an arm rise. There’s elbowing, arguing. You sit relaxed at the bar and twists your straw through cherry spritz, ice cubes tinkling. After a minute you think, Oh, come on. After two you worry you aren’t his type. 

Then comes salvation. The curly haired boy slots between your seat and the next, beckoning the bartender forward with a nearly perfect, “Excuse me?” 

“Right there with you.”

You wait. He seems cute, but you’re not trying to take him home if he doesn’t have the chops for it. And not because you see yourself as some deadly thing to be pleased, but you can’t spend another night fluffing someone else’s feathers. 

“Hey,” he says finally, surprisingly without the nerves you’d read before. He must’ve breathed through them. “How’s it going?” 

You lift your gaze from the dark purple of your spritz. The first thing you notice are the beauty marks you couldn’t see before, along his cheeks and hiding among a light shadow of stubble. “Hi, handsome,” you say softly. You can’t imagine him liking a firm touch, but that might become more apparent later on. “Nothing’s going on, I suppose I was just waiting for you.” 

“Yeah?” he asks. 

“Mm-hm.” 

He puts one arm on the bar. You let your eyes dawdle on his hand. “Are you here alone?” 

“I was with a friend,” you confess, lifting your gaze to his, making steady eye contact for as long as he’ll allow you to. His gaze flits to your mouth as you continue. “But she met somebody. I was told not to wait up.” 

“So you’re in need of company?” 

You tip your head to give him the best glance at you, all eyes and gentle smiles as you nod. “Would that be you?” 

“What are you drinking?” 

“Cherry spritzer.” 

“Can I buy you another one?” 

“Just one, please.” You believe in the overarching reach of sexuality, of being with someone, but you don’t believe in drinking and sex, nor allowing a man to pave the way. “This is my first. If I have more than that I’ll be too tipsy to do what I want tonight.” 

“What’s that?” he asks. 

You tap your nose. The boy —the man— to your delight, seems to like the gesture very much. 

The bartender approaches. Your unknown, lovely looking man asks for a coke and a cherry spritzer, extra cherries, though you didn’t tell him too. He nods to your little plate of cherry stems and asks, “Can you tie a knot?” But before you can answer, he adds, “I’m good at it.” 

Spencer proves to be good at a few things. Kissing, touching, his face in sweet places and his spit-wet thumb to a nerve. One moment you’re sitting at the bar wondering if he’ll take you home and the next you’re taking a taxi, you’re lying in his bed being stripped of your stockings, being laid on top of. You didn’t know he had it in him, this sweaty, adoring kissing in the dark; there’s a difference between kissing for hunger’s sake and kissing with love, and for some strange reason Spencer doesn’t seem to know the difference. 

“Have we met before?” you ask, the ache between your legs sharper than ever as his hand flirts with the boundary of your stomach and the apex of you, begging to go back there and prolong what he’d started. 

“No.” His lips are on your neck, kissing as he slips a finger behind your ear. “I’d remember.”

His chest pushes into yours again, triggering a breathy gasp as the button of your nipple takes the brunt of him. He turns your face, that flirting hand abandoning your wanting cunt to squeeze at your sides, your ribs, the soft hill of your breast. 

“Do you wanna cum again?” he asks softly. The best part is that he’s earnest, not a second of bravado in it as he lays his lips against your cheek. 

You could. He’d done stuff with his mouth you’ve never experienced before, fingertips teasing your wetness as he told you something about tantrics and pleasure, his hand under your knee, holding you open. You’d felt so suddenly out of control and —and honestly, you’d thought yourself half in love with him for the way he was kissing you alone. No shyness, but softness. No rushing, no annoyance when it took you time to tip into pleasure. He’d been delighted when you seized, had sat up to draw the climax out with circles, matching pace to your rising chest. 

You slip a hand into his curls and treat him with the same sweetness he’d given you, kissing him like you love him: for whatever time this is, you really do. He’s the prettiest boy you’ve ever fucked. All it took to meet was a snowstorm and a need to escape the rigid cold. 

“I think you should fuck me now,” you say, scratching his scalp lightly, not so frantic, no more pulling. “Please.”

He kisses you, kisses your jaw, and doesn’t pretend he isn’t eager as he snatches the condom from the dresser. For a while things are giggly and breathless, nervous for a pause, then achingly tight. You stay and Spencer wraps his arms behind you, kissing your neck as you let your leg fall to the side. 

“When did you tell me your name?” you ask, breathless again as his kiss matches his rhythm, slow grinds of his hips, flirting as his hand had been, just a few inches from filling you completely. 

“I don’t remember,” he says through a kiss.

“Spencer.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I just thought I’d try it,” you say, covering your eyes with your hand as his hips flex and he touches that worst part of you over, and over, and over. 

Spencer turns your face to take your hand, slowing to a crawl. He checks your gaze, and sinks into you again. Slow fucking, long kisses, his hands rubbing up the juncture of your neck and down again, then stroking your arms, comfort for a pain you don’t feel. 

“What do you want me to do?” he asks quietly. 

“Just this.” 

“No, but what do you want?” he asks, lips pulled into a smile that didn’t quite make it into a laugh. “What feels best? I can get you there again.” 

So you end up more on your side than your back. He helps you lift a leg over his hip and then he’s back to kissing you senseless. You can’t think of anything but being kissed, being fucked, it doesn’t just feel like an okay pastime with a vaguely handsome guy heightened by a drink, it’s fucking with intent. He curls an arm behind your back to hold you against him and he lets you have everything. 

Something must give you away, a shaking leg, the way you breathe; he knows you’re ready before you do, kissing down your chest as his hand sinks between your hot thighs. Slick or not, he finds where he wants to touch, your eyes filling with heat as he slows. 

He draws it out. The second his lips find your chest you trip into cumming for the second time. You hadn’t realised he was close but you cum and he quickly follows, his nose at your collar. He sounds insane. Beggy, breathy moans, a shade from laughter.

“Can I keep going?” he asks just under your ear. 

You can’t say yes fast enough. He’s kind, ignoring your desperate tone. 

You don’t count the number of times you fuck that night. It’s not clear, really. They aren’t separate occasions. You come down and he’s stroking the skin of your neck as you catch your breath, drawing lines down your arm, murmuring, “You okay?” as you nod and slip a hand behind his back. 

He hugs you like he’s known you for years. When you kiss his blushing chest, kiss downward, he turns breathless. It goes on like that for a while. Afterwards, he situates himself between your legs and lets his weight force your thighs into your abdomen, just enough to feel the pressure, searching kisses pressed to your knee. 

It’s not that you fuck all night, it’s just different than before. And when he encourages you under his sheets to lay behind you, there’s a part of you that wants his hand to stray between your legs again, no matter how tired you are. 

“I’d say sorry for keeping you up, but you sounded like you liked it,” he murmurs in the dark, wrapping a solid arm around your stomach and pulling you tightly to him.

You have no regrets. For perhaps the first time ever, it feels as though all your gasps and teary sighs were adored, and not just smugly kept. “You didn’t notice me falling asleep?” 

He laughs at your teasing, his breath kissing the back of your neck. “When did that happen?” 

“…I don’t want to fall asleep, now.” 

“You don’t have to… I can make you a cup of tea, or…” He draws another line down your arm, ending in a swirl before your elbow. “You could shower.” 

Both sound nice, but no. Your legs are still weak from being held, the ache of a good fuck taking home in your stomach. Truthfully, nothing could make you wanna leave whatever it is he’s doing to you now. The shape of his lips warms your shoulder. 

“That was amazing.”

“You’re amazing,” he says, wrapping you up all over again. He can’t decide how to hold you. You grab his hand and keep it there under your breasts, letting your eyes flutter closed. 

How can he say that? He has this strange way of touching that’s making you feel yards prettier than you usually do, and he’d just fucked you like a dream. You couldn’t manage that sort of pleasure alone. 

“Where have you been hiding?” you whisper, toying with his fingers. Might as well do everything you can while you can. 

“Nowhere.” 

“So where have you been?” 

He takes a breath. “Turn around?”

You begin turning and he takes you like a dance, leaning in slowly to kiss you, until his smoothness gives way to a smile. He pulls back. In the barest lick of light from the window, you can see a blush spreading across his nose. 

“Sorry. I should ask, I shouldn’t just kiss you,” he says, cupping your cheek. 

How might you go about marrying this boy? You decide to play it cool, kissing him until you fall asleep in his arms, your lips still parted for another lazy press of his as he pulls the sheets over your shoulders. 

—

You wake to something new. There isn’t a man against you hinting for a morning tryst, nor an empty bed, a note to let yourself out when you’re ready. There’s a real, gentle hand on your neck. It slides to your shoulder and rubs. 

“You okay?” a voice asks. 

You force your eyes open, blurry vision further occluded by a face. 

His hair is damp. Like he showered a while ago. Spencer’s hand travels to the back of your neck and touches accordingly. “I wouldn’t have bothered you, but it’s almost one. I was worried you might be sick.” 

You close your eyes, smiling, better when he scratches the back of your neck with short nails. “I was up late.” 

“I know, I’m  sorry.” 

You wait for him to tell you why you have to leave, any manner of excuse, but nothing comes. 

“So are you? Okay?” he asks gently. 

“I’ll leave soon.” 

“That’s not what I’m trying to say. If you’re not sick, you can go back to sleep.” 

“And just lay in your bed all day,” you murmur, disbelieving. 

“If you wanted to. Or… you can shower, and I can make you something to eat.” His thumb takes to your cheek. One night stand sex can’t be something he does often, or there’s a real possibility that he’s the first man to ever do it right.

His eyes are so much bigger than you realised. “Do you wear glasses?” 

He stammers, embarrassed, “How would you guess that?” 

You raise a hand to his face and draw a short line against his nose. “You have the marks here. Were you reading?” 

“Just while I was waiting for you.” 

“What do you do?” 

“What?” 

“I didn’t ask what you do, I don’t think we managed to ask each other much of anything,” you say, rewarded for your vulnerability with a chest-aching smile, his canine teeth peeking from under his lips. He still looks kissed, lips a shade of sore you’re sure you’d see on yourself in the mirror. 

“I work for the government,” he says, catching your hand to cradle your wrist, “for something called the behavioural analysis unit.” 

“Like, statistics?” 

He lets your hand fall against his chest, a thin grey t-shirt under your knuckles failing to hide the shapes of him, of which you’d explored at length last night. You kissed as much of his chest as you could and it hadn’t felt like enough, Spencer leaner than you’d realised with a stomach on the soft side, easy to kiss relentlessly. 

Your mouth is drying thinking about it. Spencer watches you wordlessly, before saying, “I guess it is like statistics, especially for me. We try to think about serial criminals in terms of their motives. It’s an attempt at math for something not usually quantitative.” 

“And you’re good at it.” 

“I’m good at math, yeah.” 

“Probability of a,” —your breath betrays you, slightly too hopeful as it catches— “morning kiss if I brush my teeth first?” 

His eyes light up. He leans down carefully, and gives you a chaste, firm kiss. 

You forget that you’re naked, not worried about being shy. The sheets fall away from you as you lift up to meet him. He holds them to your naked waist, the other hand skirting just below your breast. You wish he’d touch you like he did last night, but he isn’t so forward. His kiss is kind. You frown as he pulls away. 

“I had a really great time, last night,” he says, tip of his thumb setting your nerves aflame as it drifts over your skin. “Really great.” 

“Me too.” 

“And you’re okay?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Nothing hurts?” he asks. 

“No, of course not.” Your confusion clears. “No, you weren’t like that. I think my legs might be aching but that’ll go away in the shower.” 

“I can run you a bath, if you want. It’s a half bath so you might not be able to stretch out, but it’ll help.” He gives you a smile. The familiarity between you doesn’t want to ebb. 

“Shouldn’t have showered without me,” you say, soft, lest playful be something he doesn’t want on a new day. 

“My hair was greasy. Someone kept touching it.” 

You sit up. Spencer’s hands fall to yours.

It’s hard not to play with someone’s hair when it’s in their face, and when they’re trailing kisses in warm places. He doesn’t blame you really, you can see it in his eyes. 

For a pause, you just sit. 

This is nice. Not being thrown out, left with that aching gap in your chest like you gave something you hadn’t intended when it started. Sex will never be easy again, you realise, not when you know it can be good. 

“You’re not working today, are you?” you ask. 

“No, why?” he asks in turn, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. 

“Maybe we…” He waits. He’s pretty enough to force your hand. “We could get to know each other,” you say, gaze taking refuge on his hands. “If you want to.” 

”Really?” 

“I’ve never had that with someone. Maybe we’re, I don’t know, compatible in more ways than one.” You remember yourself, lifting your head, startled by the sheer want in his expression as he holds your fingers. “You’re handsome, and you seem kind. We could have fun.” 

“We could have so much fun,” he says, that flushed blush already spreading across his nose again. 

You draw a line up his chest. “I might need help getting my back, in the shower. That’s not a tight squeeze, is it?” 

“We might have to stand very close.” 

You giggle wildly as he pulls you up, worse when he drapes a sheet over you worrying about the cold. It’s treatment you could grow used to. 

— 

Spencer’s trying to figure out how he got here. You, across the bar sending him looks —Derek swore you were— and the second he got to your chair he realised you were out of his league, but he had nothing to lose beside his pride. 

Then there was you, in bed, pulling on his tie murmuring sweet somethings, sweet pleadings, really, taking another kiss as he moved as you asked. 

Then you, the morning after. You’d slept for long enough to scare him, but when you woke you were exactly the girl you’d been the night before, only slower. Ever so slightly bashful. We could get to know each other. 

Spencer’s not sure how he managed it, but you don’t go home. And on Monday you go to work and come back. On Tuesday he meets you outside of your building to take you for dinner, and you come back with him again, another night up in his arms, tangling his hair with enthusiastic fingers. The sex is good, it is, not just ‘cos his past catalogue of lays were with women who wanted casual experiences solely, or those few times with Ethan where it ended too fast and left him useless. You fuck him like you love him. It’s crazy, except he’s acting the same way. 

When you’re not fucking you’re in his lap, or sitting at the coffee table with your face on his thigh driving him crazy, or you’re laying with your feet tucked under him telling him something about you. He is desperate for the details. 

Like, this is it. You’ve pulled your chair as close to his as humanly possible and thrown both legs over his, basically sharing his seat as you laugh around a messy mouthful of Thai noodles. 

“Don’t look, I’m being disgusting–”

“You’re never disgusting, let me–”

He’s heard you pee. He’s kissed you all over. The human aspects of you don’t bother him. 

“Spence, can you–”

“It’s going up your nose–”

“–stop, holy s–”

He pinches your nose clean. “Tada. Kiss now?” 

“You wanna share?” 

“Yes!” 

“No.” You press your hand to your mouth before he can lean in.

He lets you swallow your mouthful. Your ankle is cool in his hand. When people talk about love, it’s about meeting someone, the dates and the phone calls, the big questions. Spencer didn’t know you could do it like this. Every time you go home, you’re asking if you can come back or pestering him to come your way. 

“Can I kiss you now?” he asks imploringly. 

“No, we’re done kissing for a bit. I want another one of those massages.” 

He can’t joke about it or he’ll turn crimson. You enjoyed a polite leg massage, until he got to your thighs, and things got out of hand. 

“No massages.” He taps you under the chin, letting his hand travel wherever it wants over the side of your face. 

“Fine, no massages. Unless you want one?” 

“No, we agreed tonight we’d just– sleep. My boss is onto me.” 

You wink involuntarily as he cups your cheek, his fingers pushed lightly over your eyes.

You aren’t fiends, but finding someone who matches as you do makes it hard to abstain from the fun. Last night was tame, though; he’d made sure you were happy and fallen asleep to grateful neck kisses. Tonight, he won’t say no, but these all-hours affairs have to stop. Derek’s suspicious of him, Hotch has the situation entirely sussed, he's sure, and Spencer’s sixty percent sure Rossi saw you both outside of Quantico tonight kissing against a toll booth.  

Not that it matters. Spencer has a good feeling you’re not a fling. 

“I got you some stuff earlier,” he says. 

You pull his hand from your face and ask, “What stuff?” 

“Like, stuff you need here. I don’t know what you like, but there’s a cleansing balm– are you allergic to chamomile?” You shake your head. “Um, it might be weird, I got you underwear, just ‘cos of the situation yesterday–”

“I liked wearing boxers, they were snug in a certain region is all–”

“–and some shampoo. That sort of stuff. Just so you can stop suffering with mine.” 

“You know what shampoo I use?” 

“I deduced it.” 

“Ah, yes, mister profiler,” you mumble, bending into your knees to hold his face. “If I hadn’t looked you up online I’d think you were a stalker. How can you guess my favourite ice cream flavour when I never told you?”

He smiles shyly. “I just can.”

“Is there anything else you’ve guessed about me?” 

“Every meal with you takes a half hour. You’re easily distracted.”

He laughs as you protest, “You’re distracting! You don’t need to guess that.” 

“You distract me, too.” 

You gather yourself up and stand over him to kiss his nose. “Spencer,” you whisper, your fingers sliding into his hair, “thank you. You don’t have to buy me stuff, I could’ve just gone home.”

“I don’t really want you to.” 

You raise your head to see him eye to eye. “I don't want to either. This is… I like you.” 

He hums, wrapping his arms around you. The hugs are rarer than kisses, but only because you’ve shared so many of the latter in the dark. He’s been thinking of kisses as the extension to fucking, that they’re okay as long as it’s done in bed, but the more time you stay, the more kisses you’ve shared for no reason at all. You kissed his cheek on the train earlier and he felt it like a shock, tipping his chin down to peck you on the lips, your arm curled behind his back as the traincar rattled over a bend. 

“I like you too,” he laughs. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, of course I do.” 

“Not just…” 

“It’s not just the sex,” he says, waving his hand behind your shoulder as you curl into him all over again. It feels amazing. 

“Should we go out, then?” 

“We do.” 

“No, should we date? We could be partners, officially.” 

Spencer can’t take it, scooping you into his lap, though you do sit obligingly on his thigh. He shifts to take the weight. 

“Please, let’s be partners,” he says softly. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t, it’s still soon.” 

“Five days and counting. That’s longer than some marriages, you know.” 

“Maybe we can be, like, tentative boyfriend and girlfriend. If you change your mind, no hard feelings.” 

“And if I don’t?” he asks. 

“Then we get married in Vegas.” 

“You could meet my mom.” 

“I’d love to meet your mom.”

“Do you really wanna be my girlfriend?” he asks. 

“I mean… there’s not such a big difference in dating and what we’re doing, right? This is relationship stuff, we just sort of skipped the awkward first dates.” 

“We did,” he says, failing to hide his grin. 

You stroke his cheek with your nose.

Your attempt at abstinence doesn’t last, but neither party is to blame. You have to celebrate somehow. So you finish your takeout dinner and wash dishes bumping hips. He locks the door for the night and you, giggling, struggle to change his A/C. When he drags you by the sleeve to the bedroom, he doesn’t intend on jumping right into it, and for a while he doesn’t. You lay on top of him between his parted legs and he spends a sluggish hour stroking your hairline, listening to you talk. But his devotion turns to your ear, and he’s kissing behind it, and you’re hitching yourself up his chest soon enough. 

“That cherry spritzer was worth it, huh?” you ask lowly, scratching his jaw as you sit over him.

You really are pretty, amplified by your syrupy smile. 

“I guess that depends what you think. Was I as good at making knots as I promised?” he asks. 

“I can’t remember.” 

“I can remind you?”

“That might be prudent, Dr. Reid.” 

“I never should’ve told you about that,” he murmurs, your lips atop his, ready to be parted. 

“I would’ve found out eventually. I’m gonna find out everything about you, honey.” 

Spencer lets his eyes shutter closed. Me first, he thinks, giving in to another endless kiss. He has the advantage, after all. 

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆

thank you for reading!! if you enjoyed please consider liking reblogging or leaving a comment/reply it makes my day and I am so grateful<3 

[ice-creamforbreakfast]

Poppy - A Collab by Ice-CreamForBreakfast & Surely-Sims

::Download:: (Patreon - Free)

You know I never pass up a chance to delve into 60s mod fashion, so when the wonderful Surely-Sims asked me to collab on this set for her character Poppy, the answer was always going to be yes!

This collection of seriously sixties (and like one eighties dress but shhh) fashion is perfect for that dinner party, stakeout or just looking better than Beryl at the local potluck.

Item descriptions below:

Wolfsbane Dress - A suspiciously 80s, woven mini-dress with diamante detailing and contrasting colours. Did you time-travel to the future for couture? Naturally.

Daphne Set - A sweater and pants set, perfect for day to day comfort while still looking better than Doreen Parker who works the reception at the local doctor's practice.

Foxglove Dress - A sleeveless mini-dress with a pleated hem and bow detail on the neckline. Perfect for a summer garden party, but breathable enough for a casual heist.

Heliotrope Dress - Why bother keeping up with the Joneses when you can simply make Marjorie Jones jealous enough to curse the day you were born. This button-down, belted dress is simple, chic and classic.

Larkspur Dress - The Larkspur Dress shows just enough while leaving the rest to the imagination. Made with a fine, but surprisingly sturdy fabric, you can be sure that your secret weapons remain concealed.

Cardosanto Bikini - Looking for fun in the sun, with enough space to conceal your throwing stars? The Cardosanto bikini has you covered. The belt ring? Emergency parachute cord.

Daffodil Sunglasses - Why bother with rose tinted glasses when you can see the truth (and through walls) with these floral frames?

Hyacinth Hair - Cleaning up the scene of a crime, but want to look chic while doing it? Look no further than this flippy 'do with a rather fashionable bandana!

Triffid Sunglasses - These sunglasses look really cool. That's it! No secret powers....or are there?

Nightshade Gloves - Not only are these heart-cutout gloves incredibly stylish, they don't leave fingerprints anywhere! Jessamine Earrings - These fabulously mod earrings make a statement, but could also take someone out...so don't whip your head around too quickly.

Holly Earplugs - Block out his snoring while tuning into your favourite bugged phoneline to lul yourself to sleep with these very stylish earplugs.

Holly Earrings - Love your Holly Earplugs, but prefer to hear what's going on around you? These earrings are perfect for you. Sadly they can't pick up radio signals, but they can pierce skin!

Oleander Earrings - These earrings will set you squarely on the list of Oasis Springs' most stylish sims! If they don't, simply take them out and throw them at the journalist who dared to write the list.

 Looking for more? Grab Surely-Sims' part here! And check out the amazing Plott Legacy while you're at it

[fireinmoonshot]

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Fem!Reader (Twisters) Summary: You're a new addition to the Storm Par team and Tyler finds himself fascinated with you from the very beginning.

It’s been a long and stressful day, so you assume that the group of tornado wranglers hanging about the large red truck by the stairs are feeling the same way as you – exhausted – and will let you head upstairs to get some much needed rest.

You are, however, incredibly wrong. 

“Hey, you’re the one with the Storm Par team, aren’t you?”

You force yourself to a stop on the first landing and turn to the group, all of their eyes staring up at you, and nod. “And you are the ones that make videos on Youtube.”

Boone, one of the only ones who’s names you’d gotten earlier today, laughs. “You say that like it’s a bad thing, but I’m taking it as a win since you know who we are, as well as the other million people who subscribe to us.”

It’s hard not to smile at least a little at his cockiness. If you had a million subscribers on Youtube, you’d probably also have let it go to your head a little. 

You try and excuse yourself from the conversation then, assuming it’s over, and take a step towards the stairs, but yet again – you’re wrong. This time, it’s the tall, gorgeous blond man that speaks. Tyler Owens.

“I don’t think she’s subscribed to us, Boone.”

You can’t help it. You bite. “What makes you say that, Owens?”

He grins up at you from his spot on the back of the truck. “Am I wrong?” 

“That’s not an answer.”

The others in the group laugh and whoop, obviously enjoying the back and forward between the two of you. You assume that it’s rare for Tyler Owens to get that from anyone, let alone a fellow storm chaser that he’s never met before in his life. 

Tyler looks at you for a few moments without saying anything and you take that as your cue to leave, stifling a yawn as you turn away and head up the staircase. You can hear the others chattering back at the truck as you reach the top of the staircase and move to find your room, desperate for a warm shower and a comfortable bed. 

You’re so stuck in your own thoughts that you don’t hear someone bounding up the stairs behind you. 

“Hey, Storm Par,” Tyler Owens’ voice surprises you.

You look up from the key in your hand, having been checking your room number, and meet his eyes. “Were you that desperate for an answer on whether I’m subscribed to your Youtube channel that you had to follow me up here?”

Tyler chuckles to himself. “No, surprisingly not. Just figured I’d come and ask you how you’re doing and didn’t think you’d want an audience for that question.”

You’re a little surprised by his kind nature. Judging by what you’d seen of him so far, he was more of an act first, think later kind of person. And maybe he still was since he’d run after you so fast. 

“How I’m doing? I met you twelve hours ago.”

He flashes a grin. “I can’t ask someone I met twelve hours ago how they are?”

“Well…” You hesitate, a little lost for words. “I’m fine, just tired. I haven’t done this storm chasing thing in a couple of years and it’s going to take a bit of getting used to, especially working with a team like Storm Par.”

You don’t owe Tyler an explanation about everything, not about why you haven’t done it in years, nor why you’re a bit apprehensive about the Storm Par team. But you figure, since he’d been so kind to follow you up here to check in on you, a small explanation is the least you can offer him in return for his kindness.

Tyler nods. “Listen, I know my team can be a little much sometimes – in a good way, don’t get me wrong – but if you’re ever after a bit more fun than the suits and PhD’s of Storm Par, I’m sure we can squeeze you in.”

You snort. “They do not wear suits while storm chasing.”

“How do you know? You’ve only been here for twelve hours, Storm Par.”

Tyler smirks as you narrow your eyes at him. “Not my name, Owens.”

“Go and get some rest, you’ll need it for tomorrow.” He can see that you’re exhausted, and even though you’re happily playing along with him, he’s not the type to push it too far. Especially when it comes to you, apparently. “I’ll make sure no one disturbs you.”

“You gonna set up camp outside my room?”

“No, not for someone I’ve only known for twelve hours. But I will guard the stairs incase Javi or Scott come looking for you,” he smiles, amusement in his every word. “Go on.”

You listen to him, eyeing him carefully one last time before turning and heading towards your room, which you think is at the end of the corridor. Just as you’re putting your key in the lock, you hear him yell out behind you.

“If you can’t sleep, you can always look up Tornado Wranglers on Youtube!” 

[elodieunderglass]

Laura’s thoughts ranged over a wide field, even now. Sometimes she said rather amusing things, and displayed unexpected stores (General Stores) of knowledge. But her remarks were as a rule so disconnected from the conversation that no one paid much attention to them. Mr. Arbuthnot certainly was not prepared for her response to his statement that February was a dangerous month. ‘It is,’ answered Laura with almost violent agreement. ‘If you are a were-wolf, and very likely you may be, for lots of people are without knowing, February, of all months, is the month when you are most likely to go out on a dark windy night and worry sheep.’

Henry and Caroline glanced at each other in horror. Mr. Arbuthnot said: ‘How very interesting! But I really don’t think I am likely to do such a thing.’ Laura made no answer. She did not think so either. But she was amusing herself with a surprisingly vivid and terrible picture of Mr. Arbuthnot cloaked in a shaggy hide and going with heavy devouring swiftness upon all-fours with a lamb dangling from his mouth.

This settled it. Henry and Caroline made no more attempts to marry off Laura. Trying to do so had been a nuisance and an expense, and Laura had never shown the smallest appreciation of their trouble.

- “Lolly Willowes,” (1926) by Sylvia Townsend Warner. Early feminist/fantasy fiction.

This passage is set prior to 1905, and it is extremely fun to read about the interior life of someone 100 years ago, who “violently” introduces the werewolf element to survive a boring conversation.

RIP Laura, I’ve only read 30% of the book and I know in my heart that touching grass was not enough for you and your restless, yearning heart. You would have done numbers on the internet

[neil-gaiman]

Hello!

Thought this might be fun. Context: I was with my boyfriend this morning, we’ve been together for more than two years and circled around each other for an embarrassing amount of time in our teens, we met as competitors, Physics Olympiads. Now, we both have some very specific kind of almost opposite personalities. Quite literally night and day, and the fact is reflected on our clothing, I always dress in black/dark grey/burgundy, jeans and blazer or shirt, he tends to wear almost always light colours and shades of blue/khaki (I mockingly call him “blueberry porridge” at times), shirt and pullover or simple tees. We found out about the existence of Good Omens right after S2 was released, since in our department at Uni (Physics) our colleagues, probably also thanks to my customary round shades and partially dark red hair, started referring to the two of us -to me in particular- in a very peculiar manner you might have an idea of. We had to watch the series and read the book. We discovered our colleagues were far more right than it seemed (it’s positively creepy). It became our main source of entertainment. There have been plenty of such conversations, and fights came to an end exactly like this, but the scene that happened this morning was so spontaneous on his part that had me laugh particularly hard so here I am sharing it.

I came back from a small walk, threw my sunglasses on the lectern I have in my room and kicked off my shoes as I usually do. He glared at me as he usually does when I act like that (he’s the “untie your shoes one at a time, loosen the laces a bit and neatly put them near the bedroom door possibly on the same tile” kind of person). This time he added “You see, we couldn’t possibly have children, you’d teach them all the wrong things, you savage”. And I answered, sarcastically and without thinking too much about it “THEN you’ll teach them the good ones so we’ll cancel out and they’ll grow up normal”.

We silently stared at each other for a good 5 seconds. And then he just shouted “HARRY THE RABBIT” and energically waved a towel he was holding in my face.

My life has been a fucking storm till some time ago, and now it’s almost 8 months of it being like this every day. Seriously, thank you (also for the disastrous first kiss. We can relate, for surprisingly analogous reasons, but that’s a bit too personal to share online. What I’d like to say is, even with so many people not liking that part, we ultimately rebuilt our trust in each other thanks to it). Now I have my daily dose of “Get thee behind me foul fiend” every time we try to get through some door at the same time. And every time he says that he lets me get through it first, and I get to give him an annoyed “when-are-we-growing-up” look we both know is as phony as a three-dollar bill.

My heart has been warmed.

[littlcdarlin]

My Burning Sun Will Someday Rise

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | read on AO3

summary: Joel and reader finally make it back to the hotel & all that sexual tension is resolved. tags: daddy kink, big age gap (Joel is 49, reader is 23), dbf!Joel, Joel has a lovely belly, Joel is a little mean, praise kink, Joel calls reader "kid", unprotected piv (very stupid, wrap it up kids), creampie, cunnilingus, face-sitting, (resolved) sexual tension, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, forced orgasm (not really? kinda sorta?), smut with a little bit of plot, no use of Y/N, afab!reader, reader has hair

Note: finally, the last part is here! I hope you’ll enjoy it, I had a lot of fun writing this. It’s one in the morning so forgive any typos — I wanted to post today. Thank you for the consistent love on this story, I really appreciate all your messages and comments <3

Joel positively drags you back to the hotel, one arm slung across your shoulder, your hastily packed bags in the other. He’s quiet, and you’re afraid that talking will break the spell, that he will hear your voice and remember who you are, and what he’s planning on doing to you. You’re nervous. Excited, yes, but nervous – you’ve been with people before, drunken hookups with collage boys who wanted to get off as quickly as possible. None of it felt like this, you didn’t want any of them as people. With them, it was about the sex itself, with Joel it is almost entirely about him.

Your thoughts are racing in your head, insecurities bubbling up inside of you, things that didn’t matter when you slept with those other people you barely knew – will Joel mind that you aren’t clean shaven? Does he expect you to be more experienced than you are? Are you even good in bed, or will he be underwhelmed, and secretly think you are pathetic?

You want this, more than you have wanted to be with someone maybe ever. But that want makes you vulnerable, strips you of any nonchalance you might have clung to if Joel was anyone else. He isn’t some collage boy who won’t remember you in the morning, he is your father’s best friend, for whom you are a more than controversial choice. Sleeping with you is a threat to his friendship with your father, and still, he’s ready to risk it, he pretty much told you as much. That gives it a level of importance you aren’t used to when it comes to sex.

When you reach the hotel, Joel hurries past the reception before the kind lady can stop you, and despite your nervousness, it amuses you. Joel presses the button to the elevator impatiently, making your stomach flutter. He’s so shameless in his desire for you, not embarrassed by this open display of wanting to get to his room as quickly as possible. You would have worried about looking needy, but not Joel. He’s secure, and solid, and unflinching.

The doors open, and as soon as you’re inside, Joel crowds you against the wall of the elevator, catching your lips in a kiss, before moving his mouth to your neck. You exhale shakily at the feeling of him sucking on your skin, the beard burn a surprisingly welcome sensation.

"They’ve got cameras," you breathe, a weak attempt at regaining some sort of dignity, while Joel quickly unravels you under his mouth and hands.

"Fine by me," he just answers, "Should ask them for a copy to take home with me."

Your knees threaten to buckle at those words, his admission that this isn’t just a holiday hookup, that he will want you just as much when you have left this paradise and returned to the world outside of your bubble.

"Careful, baby," he says, one hand holding you steady by the waist, his lips ghosting over your jawline.

Baby.

With a sudden ding!, the doors open again, and an elderly couple steps inside. Joel stops kissing you, but doesn’t step away, his hand still on your waist, his big body still close to yours. You offer the couple an awkward smile, and barely register the judgement in their eyes as their gazes flicker over Joel’s hair specked with white, because Joel’s hand starts moving again. He slips it under your shirt, no his shirt, rough fingers drawing featherlight patterns on your sensitive waist. His touch is teasing, clearly meant to get some sort of reaction out of you in front of these strangers. Joel’s getting off on this, you realize, on being seen with you, on people knowing just what he plans on doing once you’ve reached the third floor. You bite the inside of your cheek and do your best not to let show how you ache for him, how his gentle touches are affecting you. If you look at him, you know your resolve will crumble, so you pointedly look at a point over his shoulder, and try not to shudder.

As soon as the doors open again, you and Joel get moving, and a nervous chuckle escapes you when you meet his eye. His expression is hard to read – blatant desire, but also something more gentle, something that calms your nerves. It’s Joel. He didn’t leave you hanging when you needed to borrow a bike, didn’t make you feel stupid or guilty for it being stolen, and he won’t make you feel stupid now. That’s what you like the most about him, you think, as his hand ghosts over your back and he leads you towards his room, the way he makes you feel at ease. Whatever the opposite of shame is, that’s what Joel brings out in you.

You reach the door, and want to push it open, but Joel stops you, tilting your face towards him with a gentle touch.

"You don’t have to do this," he says seriously, "we can just go back to the beach. No hard feelings."

You appreciate his consideration, the way he seems to be aware of a certain kind of pressure or expectation his age creates for you, but the idea of going back now, when you’re so close to what you want, makes you want to weep.

"Getting cold feet?", you ask lightly, and he smiles at you, a fond smile, one that seems oddly out of place given the situation.

"I’m just sayin’, I get it if you changed your mind or something. I assume this isn’t the way you…usually do things."

"No," you say, holding his eye contact. "Usually they’re twenty-five years younger."

Joel’s face is a perfect mask, not sure what to make of your remark. You reach up, your hand gently touching his beard, and your eyes glide over the wrinkles around his eyes from years of laughter, the white in his hair, his warm irises.

"God…you’re so fucking sexy," you breathe, and there it is again, that color his cheeks only turn when you compliment him.

"I haven’t changed my mind, Joel," you say honestly, looking directly into his eyes. "Have you?"

"No."

His voice is deep, and he finally, finally opens the door, eyes still on yours.

As soon as Joel pulls you into the room, his lips are on yours again, your arms wrapping around his neck, as he walks you over towards the bed. He’s bigger than you, much bigger, and it only really occurs to you when your knees give out under you, and you land on the bed, sitting in front of him and gazing up.

He looks imposing, almost threatening, if it wasn’t for that expression he has on his face – something behind the desire. You feel safe in his hands, safe to give yourself over, not just in the physical sense. He looks so capable, so easy to trust. His hand comes up to your face, tilting your head up, and you move easily for him, letting him mold you in any way he wants.

"That couple," you begin as you watch him watch you, take you in, "they knew exactly what we were doing."

His hand travels over your throat, and although he doesn’t squeeze, it’s exhilarating to think how well it fits into his palm. You shudder as he pops open the first button of your shirt – his shirt.

"You liked it," you add, voice breathy as the tips of his fingers ghost over your collarbone.

His eyes snap up to yours, and you give a small smile, almost teasing.

"Didn’t hear you complainin’," he answers, holding your eye contact. "Think I should mark you up, so that the reception lady knows, too."

It shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does, but you press your thighs together to relieve that terrible ache. Joel notices, and smirks almost imperceptibly, opening another button on your shirt. He’s taking his time, building tension by making you wait. He’s good at this, you think.

"But then she would stop calling you my Daddy," you breathe, trying hard not to close your eyes under Joel’s touch. Joel cocks an eyebrow, hands lingering on your shirt.

"Don’t tell me you enjoyed that, kid," he says, voice low, eyes intense. You flush, and wonder if he’ll kick you out now, if you have finally made things too weird to continue, but Joel keeps gazing at you, ever steady.

"Cat’s got your tongue?"

You swallow, and let out a shaky exhale. Joel pops open another button.

"That why you kept repeatin’ it to me? Cause it turned you on?"

He’s teasing you, dragging it out of you despite your embarrassment. He wants you to revel in just how debauched it is what the two of you are doing, and you get closer to giving in with every second. Joel’s fingers trace over the swell of your chest, finally visible now that he’s opened most of the buttons, and a weak sound escapes you.

"’S that it, baby?"

"Yes," you breathe finally, your cheeks burning. Joel’s answering smile seems oddly satisfied, as he opens the last button, lets the shirt glide over your shoulders and slump down on the bed in a little heap of linen. You swallow.

"Yes," he repeats, eyes trailing over your body. You wish he’d hurry up and get his hands on you, but with the way slick steadily leaks into your swimsuit, you can’t really complain. He sure knows how to play you like an instrument.

"Say it, then," he says curtly, a simple order, and you briefly close your eyes. It’s almost too good. His eyes are locked onto yours when you open them, expectant and blown wide with desire. He has stopped moving, and you realize he wants to hear you say it before he’ll go any further.

"I…I want to call you Daddy."

Your stomach curls up with need when you hear Joel groan, his resolve quickly crumbling, as he crashes his lips against yours again. He licks into your mouth with urgency, and it’s possessive in a way it wasn’t before, like he wants to claim your mouth. The thought makes you whimper, and Joel trails one hand over your side and down to the waistband of your swimsuit. You didn’t bother putting on your shorts again, just walked to the hotel in your bikini and shirt. His fingers slide under the thinnest part, right on your hip, and he lets it snap against your body. It doesn’t hurt, but the sound makes you groan.

His hands roam over your body relentlessly, squeezing, and tracing, and feeling the swell of your hips, the dip of your navel, your spine, your breasts. You almost don’t notice him undoing your swimsuit, until he slides off the top part, and runs one finger over your pebbled nipples. Your back arches and your hips twitch towards him, but he doesn’t give in yet, just teases the sensitive nubs while you whimper into his mouth.

Then he unties the little bows on your hips, and just like that you’re bare before him, your swimsuit coming undone with one tug of his fingers, while he’s still fully dressed. He’s disturbingly good at undressing you, something that used to be an obstacle to sex now a sensual part of it. You want to feel embarrassed at the amount of wetness between your legs, but when Joel’s fingers slide over your stomach and down to your throbbing core, he groans into your mouth.

"Jesus, you’re drippin’," he breathes against your lips, breaking away to watch his hand press circles into your clit. You try hard not to twitch under his gaze, his blazing eyes and skilled touch. Another whimper escapes you, as he keeps rubbing and watching your reaction, like he wants to take you in before continuing.

It’s embarrassing how quickly he gets you to the brink of an orgasm, but when your hips twitch towards him with little control, he stops, his eyes meeting yours again. You watch him lift his hand up to his mouth and suck his fingers clean, eyes not leaving yours. It’s the most erotic thing you have ever seen, the way he closes his eyes at the taste, and you wonder how you haven’t come yet.

"I’m gonna eat you out," he says, and it’s not a question. Immediately, insecurity floods your veins – you haven’t had someone do that before, and the men you have heard speak about it said they didn’t enjoy it.

"You don’t…I mean, you can just…", your voice trails off. Joel stops in his tracks, watching your face and cocking a brow.

"You ever been eaten out?"

"No," you say quietly, "and you don’t have to."

"I know I don’t have to," he says, and he sounds almost affronted, like he can’t believe you would think he didn’t enjoy it. "You want me to?"

"I just…know some people don’t enjoy it much," you mumble and look down. Joel’s hand comes up to your face, tipping your chin so you have no choice but to meet his gaze.

"I want you to come on my tongue," he says, "and then again on my fingers."

You almost whine at that, embarrassment seeping out of you easily, and Joel traces his thumb over your lips. You let it slip into your mouth and suck, swirling your tongue around it.

"Alright? You let me take care of you," he mumbles, eyes trained on his finger between your lips.

"Okay," you say, when his thumb slips from your mouth, and then quietly add "Daddy."

"Good girl," he answers, and a wave of heat rushes to your loins. It’s fucked, what you’re doing, completely fucked, but so good you think you might cry. You were scared thinking about it for too long would break the spell you two seem to be under, but the more you do, the more turned on you get. You have Joel Miller in front of you, calling you a good girl and about to make you orgasm multiple times.

"Lie back, baby," Joel says, and you do, sinking into the pillow that smells like him. Joel keeps watching you, and when he kneels down on the bed and gently spreads your legs with his hands, you think you might come from just that sight. But you hold on, because something about Joel wanting to eat you out, not even having taken off his own clothes, makes you curious. 

He kisses your ankle and trails his mouth upwards, over your inner thigh and your hipbone, until you almost tremble.

"Jesus, Joel," you mutter, hips twitching on the bed, trying to get closer to him without your permission. He looks up at you, pressing his thumb to your clit again, and you curse. It’s not exactly painful, but it’s so much, almost too much.

"That what you call me?"

He doesn’t let up, his touch so insistent, you wonder how he expects you to come up with a single word.

"S-sorry," you stutter, grinding against his hand. "Daddy."

It thrills you to use that word, to know it gets Joel off, enough that he chastises you for using his real name.

"That’s right," he answers, and finally he lets up, placing his big palm on your thigh instead. Then, he leans down, and presses his mouth to your clit, flicking his tongue over it. It’s unlike anything you have felt before, and you actively have to will your hips to stop twitching, afraid to somehow hurt Joel. But he notices, ever perceptive, and breaks away, his mouth and beard already covered in your wet.

"Get up," he says, and you feel your anxiety rise again, questions of what you could have done wrong. He waits, but raises his eyebrows.

"You wanna come, or not?"

So you sit up, confused, and watch as Joel lies down on his back.

"Straddle me," he orders, and you move towards his lap, but he shakes his head. "Over my face, come on, baby."

You stare at him. His expression softens when he sees your disbelief, and he gives you a smile.

"Told you I’d make you come on my tongue, didn’t I?"

"Yeah, but Joel, that’s…"

Your voice trails off. You aren’t sure what you want to say – dangerous? Really fucking hot? You’re still sitting by his side, when he strokes one hand over your thigh, a soothing touch.

"I don’t know where you get the idea from that I don’t enjoy eatin’ you out," he says, his voice almost stern, "but you get that right outta your pretty head. Now, will you do as I say and sit on your Daddy’s face?"

Your mind goes a little blank when Joel calls himself that, and you feel helpless to do anything but nod, give him what he really seems to want.

"Words, baby."

His hand trails up your thigh and over your stomach.

"Yes, Daddy."

"Good girl," he answers, looking directly into your eyes, his strong hands grabbing your waist and helping you move, hoisting you up until you’re hovering over his face.

"If I need to breathe, I’ll tap your thigh, alright?"

"Yes," you breathe, quickly adding "Daddy".

Joel’s hands force your hips downward and although the sensation of his mouth under you is exactly what your throbbing clit was begging for, you’re tentative and unsure of what to do – you don’t want to hurt Joel. 

"Move, baby, make yourself feel good," you hear Joel say, voice muffled by your body. You rock your hips forward once, and let out a groan – your clit bumps into his nose, and you feel him lick into your folds. His hands grab your hips, and he starts rocking you against his face, setting the rhythm for you, and and you feel yourself leak onto his face and into his mouth, as you start moving along with him. His beard feels scratchy in the most delicious way, as he lets you fuck yourself on his mouth, his thick tongue darting out.

"Fuck," you moan, "Fuck J-Joel, Daddy, fuck!"

It’s a lot to take in, Joel Miller’s head between your thighs, lapping at you like he’s starving, like he can’t imagine anything better than having you sit on his face. His strong nose keeps nudging your clit, again and again, and your movements slowly becomes more confident, though also less controlled.

Joel’s hands keep encouraging you, and you’re closer than before, right at the brink of coming all over his face, when Joel groans into your dripping cunt. The vibrations send you over the edge, and you practically sit down on his face with all your weight, but he doesn’t stop you, just lets you ride out wave after wave of your orgasm and chant a mixture of his name and daddy.

You get off of him with shaky legs, afraid you suffocated him, but he smiles up at you, looking absolutely wrecked – his hair is tousled, beard and face drenched in your juices, jaw a little slack. He reaches up to cup your face, and you go with his touch easily, laying down next to him. He rolls over until he’s half on top of you, watching your red, panting face, and slants his mouth over yours. You can taste yourself on his lips, can feel his soaked beard against you, and although it should be impossible after just having come, you throb at the feeling.

"So good for me," Joel mutters against your mouth, and trails his hand downward, over your stomach and to your overstimulated clit. You twitch under his touch, your body unsure if it wants to get closer to Joel, or get away from him, and he chuckles.

"She spent?", he asks, his tone a little amused, when you squirm under him. "That’s okay, baby, I’ll give her a break."

Instead, he slides his fingers through your folds, gathering wetness, and finally pushing into you. Your body opens up for Joel more than willingly, and although the stretch is tight, it’s not nearly as painful as you’re used to, you’re too wet and relaxed for that. 

Joel watches your face, your fluttering eyelids, as he pumps two thick fingers in and out of you in shallow thrusts. You whine – you know you’re being vocal, too loud for a hotel room, but you can’t bring yourself to care, not when Joel curls his fingers against that spot inside of you that makes you see stars. Your hips twitch upwards, and Joel smirks.

"There we go, baby, there we go," he mumbles, moving his fingers relentlessly, and already you can feel another orgasm building. He doesn’t let up, just lets you whine under him, thrash around, because his touch is almost too much, too good, too intense, but just right. 

"Give me another one, baby, come on," he coaxes, and you think your ears start ringing when his palm starts grinding into your clit with every movement of his hand, the tips of his fingers pressing hard against your insides. "You just let Daddy make you feel real good."

It feels like bursting apart, when you come again, some tight coil snapping and Joel practically wrenching the orgasm out of you with his relentless hand and dirty words.

"Daddy," you groan, your hand coming up to your face, as you bite down on your knuckle. Joel watches you with bright eyes, lets you tremble until he can tell it’s too much, and only then does he slip his fingers out of you. 

You’re weak, exhausted from the intensity of your pleasure, and Joel chuckles when you sigh, watching your glassy eyes.

"Okay if I fuck you now?"

You think you’d let him kill you, if he really wanted to.

"Yes," you breathe, "please."

He finally – finally – takes off his shirt, arms flexing, chest sprinkled in dark hair, his belly protruding over his trunks. You wish you had a camera, or a chisel so you could scratch his glorious body into a block of stone. He’s hard in all the right places, and soft in the rest, and with a jolt you realize you’re allowed to touch now, no longer confined to watching him swim from your deckchair.

"Jesus," you breathe, sliding one hand over his biceps, as he unties the band of his swimming trunks. You know you’re hindering him, but you can’t bring yourself to stop your hand from trailing over his chest, and down to his belly.

"Fuck, you’re so goddamn hot," you mutter when he slides the trunks over his hips. Then your mind goes a little blank, because finally his bulge isn’t confined to his trunks anymore, finally he’s naked in front of you, kicking his clothes onto the floor.

He’s big, just like the rest of him. Long, and thick, and uncut, and dripping in precum, the dark hair at the base of his cock a harsh contrast to the reddish skin. Joel closes his fist around himself, pumps twice, until you tentatively put your hand over his. His cock twitches, and you feel a little overwhelmed with power. Joel let’s go and lets you do the work, your hand much smaller than his. He looks even more imposing like this, as you move your hand up and down his length.

"Wanna suck it," you say suddenly, and you’re not entirely sure where the words come from, but you know they’re true – you want to get him into your mouth, feel him use your face the way you used his. Joel groans.

"God, you’re killin’ me," he answers, eyebrows furrowed, voice wrecked. You squeeze your hand a little tighter, just to hear him make his little sounds again.

"I’ll come if you do, baby, and I’m not sure I have two rounds in me," he says, regret lacing his voice, but his words make you clench around nothing – his age turns you on more than you thought possible.

„And I need to fuck you tonight,," he adds, and wraps his big palm around your wrist, so you stop moving it over his throbbing cock.

"So fuck me," you breathe instead, eyes wide and glued to his. You watch his expression change, something primal take over, and suddenly he’s on top of you, his hips pressing into yours.

"Again," he orders, almost growling.

"Please fuck me, Daddy," you whisper, your stomach clenching and unclenching in anticipation. Joel looks like he might come from just your words, but after a moment of collecting himself, he kisses you briefly.

"Alright, pretty girl, I’ll give it to you real good," he promises, and aligns his cock with your entrance. "You’re so goddamn fuckin’ wet, I can slide right in."

And he does, pushing his hips into yours. You feel the stretch of the thick tip, the widest point almost bordering on painful, and you bite your lip. Joel slides into you slowly, breathing into your mouth and making you feel everything. Then the tip is sheathed inside of you and Joel groans quietly.

"Grippin’ me so tight," he mutters, consistently pushing on, "halfway there, babygirl."

Your pussy flutters around him, clenches and unclenches, as he keeps going, and going. You feel full, and still Joel pushes on, until his hips are fully pressed into yours, and you feel him deeper inside of you than you have felt anything before.

"Breathe, baby," he reminds you, and you let out a shaky breath you didn’t notice you were holding. "Attagirl."

When he pulls out of you again, you make a raspy whining sound, your stomach clenching at the intense drag. Joel’s hands start trailing over your body, yours are gripping his shoulders.

"Look so pretty, all stretched out on my cock," Joel praises you, and God, the mouth on this man. If you weren’t so exhausted from the first two times he made you come, you would be trembling. You groan weakly, as he pushes back in, and starts moving at a quicker pace, setting a rhythm he likes. He punches into you with precision, angling his hips just right, and then he’s nudging against that spot inside of you.

"Ah…Daddy!"

"I’ve got you, sweet girl," he groans, moving both your wrists over your head, and pinning them down with one big hand – he easily engulfs you. You tug against him, testing his grip, and your hips twitch upward when you realize you can’t get out. He’s fully in control now, his cock nudging into you insistently, and you can only take it. You’ve never felt so cared for, as now, getting fucked raw by Joel Miller.

He doesn’t kiss you, but he keeps staring into your eyes, and it feels weirdly intimate. His movements become faster, more forceful, his belly nudging your body with every thrust. You whine, your body unable to do anything except for letting another orgasm build, one you didn’t think yourself capable of. The corners of Joel’s mouth twitch, when he feels you clench, and he fucks you harder.

"Daddy," you yelp at one particularly deep thrust, but Joel doesn’t let up – you don’t want him to. "Wanna come, p-please."

"You wait for my permission," Joel answers. Your belly feels like it’s on fire, tightly coiled with the need to just let go, but Joel wants you to wait, so you will wait. Anything, you think, anything. Joel’s jaw is slack, his brows furrowed, his free hand rough on your skin, but not unkind. You clench around him, and try your best to hold off coming, your eyes falling close.

"Eyes on me, kid," Joel orders, and despite your concentration, your eyes snap open. "Fuck, that’s it, my good girl."

My girl.

Joel fucks you like it, like you’re his. It’s possessive from beginning to end – the way he looked at you when you first wore his shirt, how he wouldn’t back away from you in the elevator. He plays your body like it’s his, dragging the pleasure out of you, and it makes your head spin. You can feel his thrusts go sloppy, can feel his restraint cracking, and your eyelids flutter a little.

"You want it inside, babygirl?"

You didn’t talk about that. You know you should say no. The head of his cock nudges your insides, and Joel’s free hand presses down on your stomach, feeling himself inside of you from the outside with every thrust.

"Yes," you breathe, "yes, please, Daddy, I w-want it."

Suddenly Joel is the one who has to close his eyes, as he keeps fucking into you.

"Fuck, you come for me first, baby," he groans, sliding his hand down to rub at your overstimulated clit. It’s too much, right on the brink of painful, and you thrash under him.

"I c-c-can’t Daddy, it’s…", your voice trails off, lost in the impact of his thrusts, but Joel keeps rubbing tight circles.

"Yeah, you can, baby, you know why?"

You don’t have it in you to answer, so you just stare into Joel’s eyes. You feel something wet on your cheek, and realize you must be crying, crying from how good you feel, how full.

"Cause I said so."

Your pussy throbs, clenches, and Joel moves his finger over your clit faster.

"Come for me, baby, I’ve got you," Joel drawls, and finally you do, your vision going white, your muscles going slack as you let Joel drag his cock in and out of you, the pleasure white-hot.

"Fuck, good girl, that’s my good girl," Joel groans, thrusting into you faster, until he presses into you harder than ever before, and you feel his thick cock twitch and throb against your cervix. Something hot bursts into you, and Joel keeps fucking into you for a couple more seconds, his eyes falling closed. Then, pulls out of you, your pussy fluttering, and he falls down next to you on the bed. You feel like jelly – you couldn’t move if you tried. Joel’s cum leaks out of you slowly, an odd, but pleasant sensation, and you sort of wish he would push it back into you.

After a couple of seconds, Joel pulls you against him, your face coming to rest against his broad chest, and he presses a kiss to your hair. You inhale his scent, and your spent muscles relax further, if possible.

"You did so good," Joel mutters, "so perfect."

His hands trail up your side and arms softly, a soothing contrast to the insistent way he fucked you. Your mind is pleasantly quiet, all caught up in his voice, his scent, his touch, his spent leaking out of you.

"Thank you," you sigh, and Joel chuckles. You smile weakly.

"Wanna get cleaned up, sweet girl?"

"No," you manage, "just wanna sleep."

Joel huffs a laugh, and tucks you more tightly against him.

"I’ll wake you before dinner."

***

When he does, the sun is already sinking. He trails kisses up and down your face – the softest way you’ve ever been dragged back to reality and out of a dream, and the first time you think reality is more fantastic than anything your sleeping brain could come up with.

"Mornin’, sleepyhead," Joel mumbles, catching your mouth in a kiss, his lips moving against yours slowly. You sigh into his mouth, when he pulls away.

"We should take a shower, baby, and you need a pill."

You open your eyes, a little confused.

"A pill?"

Joel raises an eyebrow.

"I mean, I’m not opposed to children, but I think your Dad might be," he says, and you snort weakly. Right, you think, the morning after pill.

"I’ve got an IUD, Joel, don’t worry."

He presses a kiss to your collarbone.

"Back to Joel, are we?"

You blush, and he laughs. It’s blissful, and a little unreal – Joel Miller, teasing you about the debauched, perfect sex you had not two hours ago.

"You prefer Daddy?"

"It’s…got a ring to it."

You can hear the smirk, even though your eyes are closed again, and you’re stretching your tired limbs. You yawn.

"How about room service?", you ask, Joel’s hand softly stroking the hair out of your face.

"Hmm," he mumbles, trailing one hand over your stomach, "or… we take a nice shower, you let me clean you, we have dinner with you lookin’ all fucked out, and everyone downstairs will know what we’ve been up to."

Your eyes open, and although you’re entirely, completely spent, your thighs clench together. Joel grins.

It’s quite the picture – Joel, with an arm around your shoulder ordering two cocktails, the redness on your skin from where he sucked too harshly or his beard burned you. You can see it in front of you, the same waiter as yesterday bringing your food, except this time, Joel lets you use his fork to try his meal, and instead of hurrying down to the beach afterwards, he’ll kiss you slow and long, just because he can, in front of every other guest in this hotel.

„Yeah…or that."

[jinxs-gf]

The Human Spider

The Team x Spider!Reader

summary: you are this universe’s one and only spider-person.

warnings/content: set before the 1st episode of young justice s1, a few marvel references, this whole thing is from the perspective of the reader who’s basically Spider-Man so the writing is a bit silly…but I like it

word count: 2.1k

a/n: this is essentially an introduction to this world, I’m really hoping I can pop a couple fics within this little universe 😭🙏🏽 if not then…I’m sorry LMAO. only time will tell. ENJOY!!!

Life was good.

I mean, how could it not be? You got to fight side by side with some of Earth's greatest heroes. Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, Aquaman, Flash...oh and Black Canary and—

Yeah. It was great. Not to mention how incredibly easy it was for you to defeat the bad guys you'd fought. You definitely didn't have four near death experiences because of them!

Well you did, but they were completely your fault and not at the hands of a couple of phony villains. They happened before you got used to your powers and gone through extensive training.

It seemed like a curse at first, but now you take them with stride. Your super strength foreign as you'd broke nearly everything in your apartment (that hadn't been a fun thing to explain to your Aunt and Uncle when they came home to a trashed place). Sticky hands well...getting stuck to literally everything. The amount of money you spent replacing your clothes after accidentally ripping up your whole closet only trying to get ready for school...that was also not fun explaining to your guardians.

And the webs. Oh boy. You didn't want to think about it. The hole in your wrist that shot out webs like a proper spider freaked you out the most. You nearly turned yourself in to the government after that one. It was something that took the most mental work to control, the weird hole (yuck) closing up when you didn't need it.

The one thing you did appreciate immediately was the abs. Yeah, those were nice to wake up to one morning.

Today was just another day in your life. A simple mission happening in the middle of the city. Actually it was a pretty unusual mission, it wasn't the regular Ice Family or Joker cult you were fighting...but a Rhino. Seemingly a man in a Rhino cosplay. And his henchmen? Definitely not something you see everyday, but you have seen weirder.

Speaking of his henchmen...there was a lot of them. Enough to keep each member of the team occupied. They had insanely advanced weaponry, surprisingly keeping the fight going for a while.

You hadn't realized so many of the guys were on you now, all surrounding you and trying to shoot at you with guns that weren't spitting out regular bullets.

You look to your side and see your best friend (he doesn't think so but that's what you tell everyone so deal with it sucker). Speedy, Green Arrow's sidekick, Roy Harper under the mask, and Pain in the Ass (a nickname you'd affectionately given him) to you.

You were in a compromising position, one that you could easily get yourself out of. But now you've spotted an unoccupied Roy and you wanted to have a little fun admist the chaos.

"Hey pain in my ass! A little help here!" The men were now taking shots with their fists, all failing to land their hits of course. And your best friend had completely ignored you.

"Hellooooo you know I'm talking to you!"

"I told you I wouldn't answer when you called me that. And I thought I made myself very clear." Definitely referring to the embarrassing way he took you down in front of the team after harassing him all week with the nickname a month ago.

"Well you answered right now soo...."

An arrow suddenly flew right past you, nearly grazing your cheek. A couple more followed.

"Um hello?! You nearly took me out!"

"That's my way of saying cut it out while saving your ass. And don't your spidey senses detect that kind of stuff? Danger and threats? You should've seen them coming."

"Huh. Guess you aren't as threatening as you think you are. At least not with that silly little hat on."

He simply glared at you. He was definitely going to kick your ass later. (Again).

With your guys dealt with, you turned to watch as Flash and Kid Flash emptied out a school bus on the road. Well, watched was a strong word. The job was done before you could fully process what was happening.

And suddenly that same school bus was being throw your way by the Rhino-man. Directly above your head actually.

Uh oh.

CRASH!

This was the third time that's happened to you this week!

He had good aim, you'll admit. It landed on you perfectly, but thanks to your incredible strength he seemingly didn't know about (how could he not? You're literally the Spider-Person from tv! Spider-Person...pfft what a stupid name. No one seemed to come up with something better), the biggest indicator to this being his shocked face. Oh how you loved that look. You threw it right back at him. Jokes on Rhino-man, you also had incredible aim.

"It's gonna take a lot more than a school bus to take me out!" Although you could feel the nearly broken rib and bruises you'd need to get checked out before you went home today.

You sighed happily, dusting your hands, "light work to me. Maybe try one of those city buses next time? Might be heavier and more effective-"

The words barely left your mouth before a city bus was being throw at you, "Wait I didn't actually mean it!" You caught the bus this time. And although your senses knew the danger was coming, it was still a bus that caught you off guard with its weight. Your legs and arms quivered at the force of having to hold it up, you could feel every bruise spotted on your body with the strain and it was not fun. While your body healed faster than the average human, it definitely wasn't fast enough to recover from the previous hit.

The back of the bus was fully tipped to the sky. You prayed there was no one in this thing. And sure you were strong, but there was no way you could tip it back on its wheels without potentially hurting someone.

Luckily Superman helped you with that, seeing you struggle. He easily took it off your hands (show off) and maneuvered it so it was placed safely back on the road.

"Thanks Supes!" He gave a nod and his famous smile.

It was only a couple more minutes of fighting and cars being thrown around before the whole thing was wrapped up. The adults would give their words to the police and news reporters, blah blah blah...

While they did that, you and your best friends, the teens (the cooler ones) got together like you always did after a mission.

Superman is being interviewed by the infamous Lois Lane (the talk of the teen team, there was definitely tension there).

All while Wally stands a little behind them making faces and ridiculous poses for the camera. The rest of you stood out of shot either cackling or rolling your eyes.

Wally steps back, clearly offended. "What? All he's doing is flirting with her in front of a live audience. Remember what they said last time? No one's gonna be paying attention to me."

Robin snickers, "What? The whole 'no one can take Superman' 'but you sure can'?" He repeats their words in poorly done impressions.

"That was totally an innuendo!"

"Very mature KF."

"Hey! Robin and Spider laughed with me. And I saw Speedy’s smirk, he sat there trying to pretend he didn't find it funny. Maybe you should get that stick out of your ass, Aqualad?"

Roy, completely serious, replies, "Now that's no way to talk to the adults' favorite."

You perk up, "oh, me?"

Your friends immediately explode into disagreement, apparently in disbelief you'd think such a thing.

It was a simple story, how it all came to be. You got bit by a spider (totally cool about it).

Totally didn't scream your ass off because of it and stay paranoid the rest of the day, constantly thinking there was a creepy crawler on you...no. You found out the next day that you weren't actually paranoid—if you were in the first place, which you were not! Because apparently the spider had camped out in your clothes all day and night...

You totally didn't scream your ass off again that morning at the revelation.

You did scream at the sight of abs on your body that same morning though. And that's the only reason you'll ever thank the spider, forget the cool powers.

After that you thought it would be cool to use your powers for good, inspired by your uncle. You decided to have your own cool hero costume, symbol, and name (which you still haven't gotten. You originally thought of the Human Spider. People on the streets called it dumb, claiming they would not be calling you that). You had (unfortunately) been (TEMPORARILY!) named the Spider-Person. Which was insanely stupid and you needed to come up with something quick before it stuck completely. Maybe the Human Spider wasn't so good but it wasn't as bad as your unofficial name now!

Anyways, as for the cool hero costume. You had to use what you had at the time, which was...your normal clothes. Getting a costume online seemed cheap, and dressing up as an existing character in the media and saving people seemed wrong. It would only deny your identity as a hero. So you put on whatever clothes (mostly colorful pajamas) that you had, covered the bottom half of your face with a bandanna, and called it a night. And boy did that get you a lot of ridicule, but you got the job done, right? The only thing it didn't do was protect your body from scrapes and...stab wounds. You hated little knives.

You're not the smartest in the world and it's not like you had the money someone like Bruce Wayne could pull out of their ass and make cool superhero wear.

Once you were recruited by Batman, he gave you your own hero costume—no, suit. Every suggestion you made was followed. It was perfect. The mask had to be your favorite part though. Something you didn't suggest was the some type of magic on it, something called hammerspace. Basically you could have any type of hair, or ears...probably even a pair of headphones on your head and it won't show through. It'll seemingly disappear to this hammerspace (you weren't sure how it worked exactly, but it works nonetheless so you won't question it). The magic was done by a team member who was needed very rarely named Zatara. Another man with a silly hat on his head.

You attempted to try it with Batman to see if his bat ears would disappear (which was completely encouraged by Robin by the way. No- completely his idea!) He was not happy. (You got benched for a month...no patrols, no missions...and Robin got off scott-free! How was that fair?!)

Wally starts to bring up your part of the fight, specifically the bus incident.

"Hey isn't that the third time that's happened to you this week?"

You sigh, exasperated and playing it up, "yes."

Robin butts in before you could say anything more, "Couldn't you have caught them? Y'know with your spidey senses and incredible strength?" He has the nastiest smirk on his face. His smartass totally figured you out.

"Well yeah, duh. But it's fun seeing the looks on the bad guys' faces when they realize I'm not dead and I can carry a however many pound bus! Is that so bad?"

"No but it's embarrassing for us."

"What? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Yeah, our best friend who's powers include crazy senses that gives them insane reflexes? That best friend can't catch a big, yellow bus being thrown at them? Embarrassing." The one time Roy will take the claim as your best friend is when he's insulting you? Unsurprising.

Kaldur cut in, sensing your defense a mile away, "It is pretty shameful of you."

Your jaw dropped, even Kaldur of all of people was agreeing? Oh this is insane!

You point a figure at your friends, trying to get your threat across, "Well I find that incredibly offensive and you should all take that back before I-"

"Isn't the point of your powers to detect danger before it comes? How come that's the third time this week you've been hit by a school bus? It's embarrassing, Spider." Batman's monotone voice made his words all the more insulting. Your frown deepened.

You sigh, "Yup. Real embarrassing for me. I got that."

"No, embarrassing for me. I've got a reputation to keep up."

He walks away without another word.

"I can't tell if he was trying to joke around like you guys were, but I'm still offended."

"He was being dead serious. And for the record, so were we."

I wrote this before I wrote my Conner fic. I just realized I made Batman tease reader at the end of both fics…??

[roosterforme]

Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 2 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: The collection of letters that Bradley received from the fourth grade class provides him with entertainment while deployed. He takes the time to answer their questions and send a package back to the United States via air mail. But he has your email address. He also has a bit of a crush and some questions himself.

Warnings: Fluff, language

Length: 4100 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

A few days later, when Bradley was done with his training protocols for the day, he returned to his bunk with a different mission in mind. While he unzipped his flight suit, he eyed the box which was taking up most of his nightstand, and a smile found its way to his lips. He managed to find a notebook that nobody wanted along with a thick, padded envelope, and he was going to take the time to respond to the fourth graders who wrote to him. 

He'd spent hours poring over the letters, laughing at some of the questions from the kids and frequently picking up that one photo. He couldn't stop going back for more. For another look at you. Just one more look. Okay, this really was the last one. He had to toss it across the small room toward his duffel so he could focus on something other than your smile and the fact that he might have a tiny crush on a fourth grade teacher who knew absolutely nothing about him. Yet.

The note from Jayden was on the top, and Bradley opened it up and started to jot down a response.

Jayden,

It was so nice to hear from you and the rest of your class. To answer your pertinent questions, I am currently stationed on the USS Theodore Roosevelt. The most disgusting food in the mess hall is easily the cabbage rolls (which taste nothing like cabbage... or rolls). The best food in the mess hall is surprisingly the meatloaf. And yes, I would love to see a photo of your Cocker Spaniel. Please send one next time. I hope you're studying and doing your best in school.

Lt Bradley Bradshaw

The next note he decided to tackle was the one from Violet who had the tiniest handwriting he'd ever seen. The page had at least fifteen questions written out, but he decided to answer just a few for her. He had to squint as he skimmed through them again.

Violet,

You seem very inquisitive. That's a great quality to have, especially if you want to be a pilot someday. No, I did not attend the Naval Academy. I went to the University of Virginia. Yes, the Navy is way better than the Air Force. Yes, I can hold my breath underwater for three minutes. Yes, they actually made me do it. No, I don't think I could make it as a Navy SEAL. Yes, I have been staying hydrated and getting enough sun, thanks so much for asking. Keep studying hard, because you have a lot of school ahead of you before officer training.

Lt Bradley Bradshaw

Okay, so this was actually a lot of fun. Up next was a response to the note from Oliver, which made Bradley laugh every time he looked at it. 

Oliver,

Thank you so much for drawing the different Naval aircrafts for me. I hate to break it to you, but I actually do not fly the F-35 Lightning II. Yes, I know they look 'sickeningly cool'. Yes, I know it would be like 'slam dunking off the back of a dragon'. I guess I never knew I was jealous of those pilots until right now.... But I fly the equally cool if not quite as sickening looking F/A-18 Super Hornet. And yes, I would be more than happy to draw my own version of one for you. See below.

Lt. Bradley Bradshaw

The ten minutes he spent replicating his own aircraft to the best of his ability for Oliver churned out a pretty damn good result. He fished his phone out of the nightstand and took a picture to email to Nat when he had time, because she would find this whole thing amusing. Then he reached for the letters from Harrison, Nia and Jackie. He wrote his responses, and after a bit, he had a decent sized stack of letters all ready to go back to the fourth graders.

After a few more days, he worked his way through the entire class, and each kid would soon have a handwritten response on the way. He just needed to figure out what he wanted to say to you. The pretty teacher from the class photo that he now kept tucked in with his personal items. He worked on that one last, writing your full name at the top of the page and wishing you didn't go by the very non-specific Ms. which gave him zero clue as to whether or not you were married.

The package you sent was the nicest piece of deployment mail I have ever received. Thank you. I'm lucky it ended up in my hands. I'm impressed by how much all of your students have learned about aviation this year. I just hope I did them justice in regards to the questions they had for me.

I also hope you don't mind that I replied to each kid individually. They had some very amusing stories and questions, and I wanted to acknowledge all of them. But there was one question in particular that I was asked so many times, I thought I'd answer it here instead. My call sign is kind of a silly one, so it's okay if you all laugh. I go by Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, and my helmet is mostly red, yellow and black.

Your kids seem like a fun bunch, but I bet they keep you on your toes. Feel free to let them know they can write back to me again, but please include my name on the package this time. I don't know that I'd be lucky enough to have it fall into my hands again by chance. I'll just be here somewhere in the middle of the Pacific Ocean for a few more months, ready to answer any questions you throw at me. Hope to hear back from you soon.

Yours Truly,

Lt Bradley Bradshaw

The following day, he packed everything up and dropped it off with the rest of the ship's outgoing mail. There was a rumor that a helicopter would be coming to pick it up in the next day or two, and he wanted to make sure it got back to California and those fourth graders as soon as possible. On his way back to his bunk, Bradley stopped by the lounge to see if there was an iPad free, hoping to send a quick email or two. He was in luck. He also happened to have your email address memorized.

--------------------------

You yawned at your desk and checked the time on your computer. Within the next ten minutes, your classroom would go from silent solitude to mass chaos, so you took a minute to clear out your email inbox. You had a few messages from some parents and a reminder about Spirit Week from the superintendent. And a random piece of junk mail that must have slipped through the spam filters. You didn't know anyone with a US Navy email address, and you didn't know anyone named Bradley Bradshaw.

As you closed your laptop, you gasped and tried to pry it back open again as quickly as you could. The Navy! The package you sent a few weeks ago! Maybe it was someone writing back to your class! Of course it could just be someone saying they were sorry that they didn't have time to engage with your students, but you figured even that was better than nothing. 

"Come on," you whispered, entering your credentials again before your inbox reappeared on your screen. The email was just a few lines long, but it was addressed to you by name. You were smiling immediately as you read it.

I just wanted to let you know that I got the mail you sent to a deployed Naval Aviator. There's a package on its way to your school for your class. It should arrive in about a week or two. Your fourth graders provided me with several hours of entertainment, and I hope they find my answers to their many (and amusing) questions useful. Thanks for the laughs, and thanks for the photos, too. Can't tell you how much I've been enjoying them. Hope to hear from all of you again.

Yours Truly,

Lt Bradley Bradshaw

You squealed and pumped your fists in the air. Someone actually got the box! And he actually responded! The other, older teachers thought you were just wasting your time when you deviated from the lesson plans a bit. Literally all of them said there was no way anyone would write back, even though you took the time to go through the proper channels at Top Gun on North Island. But now you could rub it in their faces, all thanks to Bradley Bradshaw who sounded like he'd had as much fun with this whole thing as your class had.

Then your day really started as Violet and Oliver burst into your classroom, calling out your name with excitement in their voices. The rest of your kids followed behind them, already asking about the plans for the day and what kind of adventure you'd be taking them on in each subject. 

When you clapped your hands twice and said, "Good morning," they all clapped and replied with their own greeting, and then they sat quietly with their gazes fixed on you. "Guess who I just got an email from!"

"The president!" 

"My grandma!"

"My Cocker Spaniel!"

"Oliver's grandma!"

You just shook your head and tried not to laugh as you said, "None of the above. But do you remember when we wrote and packed up those letters for a real aviator in the military to read?" Most of the kids nodded, so you added, "Well, he emailed us! And he sent us some mail that should arrive in about a week!"

And telling them that was a mistake. Because you didn't know a moment of peace after that. Every morning, you had kids rushing into the room to see if the promised piece of mail arrived yet. Every day you had to disappoint them, but you were finding yourself a little disappointed, too. You wanted to know what this Bradley Bradshaw guy sent back. 

You'd responded to his initial email letting him know you and the kids in your class were delighted to hear from him and that you would let him know when the mail he sent arrived at your school. He didn't respond, but you figured he was busy. Too busy to constantly muck about with your class while he was thousands of miles away on a deployment. 

And that was what left you standing at your desk with your mouth hanging open in awe when the padded envelope did finally arrive one morning. Because when you carefully cut it open, you found not just one letter to the class but individual handwritten notes, one for each child.

"Wow," you whispered, pulling the note with your name written on the top out of the stack. This man seemed humble and sweet, and his letter made you laugh in more than one spot as you read through it. Then you read it again. He sounded apologetic about responding to each individual kid, but you felt like your insides were melting. Who would do that? Who would take the time to give individual attention to a bunch of nine and ten year olds besides you? And you were technically getting paid to do it. 

Bradley Bradshaw seemed willing to continue to engage with your kids, and you weren't going to stop him. Because starting that morning, he became something of a legend to your class. A celebrity. A real lieutenant in the Navy replied to all of their silly questions, and their love of aviation just grew from there. You figured you were going to have to keep your lesson plans going a bit longer while their faces lit up as you walked around the room and handed them each their notes. You had taken the time to skim them beforehand, often laughing at his sense of humor which seemed to jump off the pages.

"Can we write back to him?" Jayden asked as everyone read their notes from Lieutenant Bradshaw. "I have more questions."

You smiled and nodded. "Yes, you may write back to him." Then you postponed your geology lesson until the next day and let them spend the next forty minutes writing some followup letters. You took some pictures of them diligently toiling away at their desks, excitement on their faces. Then you bit your lip and sat down at your own desk.

As you started to construct an email letting him know the envelope had arrived, your thoughts drifted to what he might be like. Humble and sweet, for sure. But he also made it a point to tell you that the box from your class was the best piece of mail he'd ever received while deployed. Maybe he was a little bit lonely. Maybe he was single. Maybe he was stationed on the west coast. Your thoughts started to get ahead of you, and it was hard to reel them in when you imagined him excited to see another email from you. Smiling when he was handed another box from your class during mail call.

Dear Lt Bradley Bradshaw,

We got the envelope from you today, and my kids are absolutely thrilled! I'm not sure if you know how hard it can be to wrangle eighteen fourth graders all at one time, but they are currently sitting quietly and working on new letters for you to read. Once again, please don't feel obligated to continue correspondence if you're too busy. I'm sure you have other people you could be writing to who want your attention as well. I just wanted you to know they are overjoyed that a Naval officer took the time to answer their questions about aviation.

I have attached some photos as proof that they are sitting still. Thanks again for making their day.

You signed your name at the bottom the way you always would from your work email account, and then you attached the photos. After a brief debate about adding the selfie you took with Violet where most of your face was visible, you decided to just go for it. Adding it to the mix wouldn't hurt anything. It wasn't like this semi mystery man would be up all night thinking about you. 

But you found that you were still thinking about him when you went home to your silent house and made dinner that evening. Maybe he was a little bit lonely, but maybe you were, too.

-------------------------

It was amazing how infrequently Bradley found himself thinking about Vanessa. He was busier now with his duties picking up a bit more as his deployment wore on, but even when he was tired and in his bunk at night, his thoughts seldom settled on her like he was afraid they might. He didn't miss her or her half-hearted emails, and he wasn't craving the connection of reunion sex with her. 

Instead, he was thinking about what a group of fourth graders were learning about this week and what their cute teacher was up to. It had been a few days since you emailed him, letting him know that his package was delivered to your school. You made it sound like the kids were excited that he sent it in the first place, and when he really thought about it, he supposed some officers would have just eaten the snacks and tossed the notes in the trash.

He didn't reply to the email yet, still thrown off a bit by the pictures you attached. Your classroom was vibrant, and the kids were absorbed as they worked on more notes for him to read whenever they happened to be delivered to the carrier. But the photo with you in it held his attention longer than it should have. The fact that you were working at a school that was just a handful of miles from his damn house made him feel warm.

But what would he do about it? What could he do about it? Nothing. He didn't want you to think he was creepy. He still knew essentially nothing else about you. The only thing he could do was keep it friendly if not professional. Unless of course you did something to push the boundaries of conversation into a more personal realm. God, if you did....he didn't think he would be able to handle it. 

The next day, when he was heading out on deck to talk to the mechanics who were doing regular maintenance on the aircrafts, he took his phone. "Hey, you mind if I take a few photos of some of the engine parts? I want to send them to a class of fourth graders who will think it's cool."

"Go ahead, Lieutenant," the head mechanic replied. Then he smiled and asked, "You dating a teacher?"

Well. Wouldn't that be something? Bradley would never run out of curious pen pals. He would always have some fourth graders to take interesting photos for and to send notes to. He'd always have a classroom to visit as soon as he got home from a deployment.

He couldn't help but picture you as the teacher.

"Nothing like that," he replied, his voice a little gravelly. "Just writing to some kids who are learning about aviation."

After dinner, when he had a chance to use an iPad in the lounge, he did his best to put together a response to your email that would at least hint at the curiosity he felt. 

If all it takes is mail from three thousand miles away to get your class to sit quietly, then I should probably be writing to you every day. But I'm sure you're a great teacher. That's a given considering how much your students learned and shared with me. And I can assure you that I'm more than happy to take the time to write to your class. And you. Please don't think I feel obligated, because I do not. I want to.

I have attached a few pictures of some F/A-18 engine components as well as some of my cockpit controls. Each photo is labeled, but please let me know if you have any questions.

It was nice hearing from you.

Yours Truly,

Lt Bradley Bradshaw 

As soon as he hit send, he wanted to kick himself. Should he have included a photo of his face like you had twice now? Or did he already sound too desperate to hear from you and your class again?

"Shit," he muttered, looking around the lounge as if there was going to be someone here proficient in the art of getting to know a fourth grade teacher without sounding stupid. But it was too late now. All he could do was wait for the next mail call or hope you decided to write back to his ramblings by the next time he checked his email. 

-----------------------------

You were going to have to scrape your jaw off the floor. You had no idea what this man's face even looked like, but his hands were... something else. And his thighs... well, they were pretty great, too. It must have been too long since you got laid, because you were sitting at your desk in your classroom staring at the set of photos in your inbox, currently unable to look away from his right hand. It was wrapped around the throttle of his aircraft. It was elegant with attractive veins and rough calluses. You were sure that you were supposed to be focusing on the cockpit controls, but all you could see was that hand and his thick, muscular thighs below.

The next photo was no better for you. He was holding up his helmet with his call sign Rooster emblazoned across the front, and you were able to see his left ring finger. There was no wedding band. There was no evidence of an outline where a wedding band would belong. There was just his big, strong hand.

You whimpered softly while your students worked on their math tests. You couldn't help it as you took one last look before logging out of your email account. And now you needed to know if his face matched the very attractive image you had in your mind. 

When Jayden called your name, you rocketed to your feet like you'd been caught red handed. "Yes?" you squeaked, your voice sounding higher pitched than usual.

"I'm done with my test. May I have the hall pass and use the restroom?"

You handed it to him as the rest of your class finished working through the math problems. A few minutes later, when you collected the papers from them, Violet asked, "When is Lieutenant Bradshaw going to write back to us?"

It had only been a few days since you mailed him the second box of notes and some more snacks, but it made you happy that they were all so invested in learning more from him. 

"It will probably be a few weeks before we get anything in the mail. However... he did email me some pictures of engine and cockpit parts from the aircraft carrier for me to share with you guys." When you looked around the room, the kids were on the edges of their seats, excited expressions on their faces. With a laugh you added, "I was going to wait until tomorrow and use the projector to show them all to you, but if you're very well behaved for the rest of the afternoon, maybe I could pull them up on my computer for you to see them today."

Not two hours later, you were just as excited as the kids were to look at the photos... again. As they crowded around your desk, you opened up the first one of the cockpit to a barrage of questions. 

"Is that really his jet?"

"Is that the throttle?"

"What do all the buttons do?"

"Was this right before he flew it?"

Once again you were distracted, but you managed to click over to the next photo, and the kids gasped in delight. 

"His helmet is so cool!"

"It says Rooster!"

"That's his call sign!"

"Red is my favorite color!"

You just smiled softly and laughed. "Should we go ahead and start working on another list of questions for him?" you asked as you slowly scrolled through the rest of the pictures. "He said we can write back to him as much as we want to." When everyone cheered, you handed Oliver a marker and pointed to the board at the front of the classroom. "Let's start making a list."

You listened to all of your students call out questions for Bradley while Oliver wrote them down. Then Violet asked, "Can he send us a picture of his whole jet? From the outside of it?"

You cleared your throat and added, "Maybe he could get someone else to take the picture so he could stand in front of it. For size comparison."

Violet nodded, but you knew you were a fraud. Sure, it would be great for the kids to understand just how massive the F/A-18s were compared to an actual person, but you were the one who wanted to see all of Bradley. You were itching for it now. 

Later that night, you drank most of a bottle of wine and did something you promised yourself you'd never do. You logged into your work email account after nine o'clock. You skipped over the handful of unread emails from parents and clicked on the icon to compose a new message. With your liquid courage goading you on, you typed up a response to Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw and hit send before you could think twice.

Thank you for the photos. They were very enlightening. We especially liked the ones where you were showing off your cockpit. Or I did, anyway. The kids liked all of them and started on another list of questions for you. Good luck getting rid of us now. 

We were wondering if you could have someone take a picture of you standing in front of your jet. For size comparison purposes. And also because my students would like to know what you look like. Hearing from you makes our day even better.

You couldn't believe how forward you were being with this man who you'd never even met in person, but you fell asleep thinking about his hands and what they might be capable of.

-------------------------

This Bradley makes me swoon. I've never wanted to be a fourth grade teacher so badly in my life. There is something that's starting to blossom between them even though they haven't even met in person. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 3

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