#I been ~emotional~ over this it's embarassing

[pinkydude]

[hella1975]

by pure evil accident taob zuko's current mental state is the exact same as the one ive been stuck in for the past few weeks and that's a bit funny to me. like i started writing this chapter months ago and knew what i was doing with it even longer ago and suddenly ive manifested it into reality. we are both facing the horrors rn

[cerealmonster15]

lowkey feel like im gonna throw up and idk if thats the anxiety or the chocolate from earlier LOL

[jimines]

.

[whiskygoldwings]

The Tattooist

The first clone trooper client she tattoos is an act of remembrance.

The man stands forlorn and desperate in the reception area, his borrowed clothes fitting poorly on his slumped frame. His face is tight, like a man on the edge of screaming, holding it back by the skin of his teeth. She recognises this pain, and quickly ushers him into her workroom, calling for A'maa to take the front desk while she speaks to a client. He breaths slightly easier once they are no longer in public, and she gestures for him to sit on the well-worn sofa she reserves for guests.

“I haven't got many credits,” he admits straight up. “They don't exactly pay us. I just wanted to see what could be done for what I have.”

She nods and grabs a pad and stylus, settling herself into her armchair and crossing her legs. “Tell me what you want and how much you've got and I'll see what I can do.”

He swallows painfully, and reaches into his pocket. “I have exactly 134 credits,” he holds a handful of ingots, and she glances down before looking back at his face. “I looked you up; I know it's not much in terms of tattoos. It's just... It's all I could scrape together...” he stumbles over his words, embarassment curling his lips.

“And what you want?” She interrupts, halting his ashamed attempts at explaining himself.

He takes a deep breath, grimaces, then sighs. “My brother was killed in the last battle. His name was Star. The long-necks... The Kaminoans I mean, never let us mourn each other where they could see. But he's my brother. We were born of the same batch, he helped me when I struggled with the maths tests, we had each others backs... I have a million odd brothers, but he was mine...” He presses his thumb and forefinger into his tightly-shut eyes, choking back a sob. “I want to honour him forever. I want to carry him with me, in a way they can't take away from me.” At this he straightens, bringing his hand down to stare at her determinedly. “They can make us wash our armour off, take our possessions from us. They will have to flay my skin from me if they want to take this.”

She stares back, stylus against her lips, and feels a swell of righteous fury in her throat. She's always had a mild force-sensitivity. Not enough to make training her of any worth, but enough that she can get a feel of a person, enough she can get a taste of their emotions.

This is a proud, strong man. And he is not broken by the hardships he faces, as much as he should be.

She will honour his brother with him.

The design practically leaps from her stylus, as she coaxes little stories from him. Little tales of his brother. His name was Star, he tells her first, and she sketches the rough outlines of one. He named himself, the man tells her, not giving his own name. Named himself after the balls of fury in the universe that were always out of their reach of Kamino. He laughs quietly, painfully, as he tells her the first time they had snuck out on a rainless night, when there was a brief respite in the clouds of Kamino, and by chance, there was a meteor shower over head. They'd all been amazed, confused and delighted by the sight, their little squad of five. One of the trainers, a kind man named Kal, had chuckled and told them “That'll be a shooting star” when they ask him about the phenomena, and Star had whispered to him in their bunks that night that he had decided on his name.

“I used to call him a shooting Star when we were in sims,” the man admits, a crooked grin on his face. “He kicked me in the shin for it once. Think he actually kinda liked it though.”

She adds a trail of dust behind it.

“He was so proud of being an ARF,” the man whispers. “So proud when I was nominated for ARF training alone with him. I was never as good as him, but he always took me with him, wherever he went. When the Commander told us we were getting the training, he basically hugged him. The Commander just gave him a pat on the back and told him never to do it again or he'd demote him quick as sithspit” the man snorts. “He didn't mean it, but Star'd never moved so bloody quick back into a salute, I couldn't help laughing at him, the idiot.”

She tabs out and finds a reference for an ARF troopers helmet on the 'net, and draws the trail of star dust bursting out of it and curling round to meet with the star itself.

“Our battallion wears green. Mainly olive-green. The commander started it, reminds him of the General I suspect. We became Green Company.”

The dust trail gathers sprinkles of olive green, the Star limned in the colour. She hesitates for a moment, then asks. “What markings did he wear?”

The man startles; she'd been loath to bring him out of his memories, but she wants to make it accurate. Needs to make it accurate really. She can feel how important this piece is to the man, and she finds herself strongly opposed to disappointing him.

“He had two stars on the left hand side of his helmet, one within the other.” The man indicates a point on his crown, above his ear. “And his visor was lined in green. He had a stripe vertically down the right hand side, ending just under the visor itself. On his chest piece...”

She lets him continue detailing his armour, drawing another star in olive green within the big one, then delicately tipping the helmet to conceal where the star would have been on the left. She's good, but it would have been too small to depict without potentially bleeding into a solid line, and she doesn't want that to happen. Instead, she marks in the line on the right-hand side, and ensures the big star is representative of what she imagines was on the helmet.

He's trailed off, staring sightlessly at his hands in his lap. She doesn't want to shake him, suspects alarming a trained soldier out of his own mind would be a bad idea. Instead, she uncrosses her legs, and clears her throat lightly. He glances up at her, and she smiles and extends the pad to him.

“Is something like this what you had in mind?”

He blinks at her, than reaches over and takes the pad. She sees the moment when he takes in the image. His eyes widen, and a tear he's been holding back since well before he got here slides down his cheek. He presses his fist into his mouth, other hand shaking where it holds the pad and he nods, clenching his eyes shut. “y-yes... Oh yes...” He stammers, voice thick.

“Where would you like it?”

“Over my heart,” he whispers. “I will carry him always in my heart.”

She stands abruptly, making him jump slightly and reaches out for the pad. “Okay, shirt off and lie down on the bed for me please. I assume as a clone trooper you're routinely screened for any blood diseases?” He nods, standing up with a slightly dazed expression on his face. She nods back and turns away, beginning the ritual of preparing her inks. She's playing a game of avoidance now, knows she won't take this man's money, and if she can keep him from asking about it she may be able to get it finished before he finds out. She suspects he'd do the honourable thing and refuse to get the tattoo. It'll be harder for him to do if it's halfway done. And while normally she'd insist on a full disclosure form and signature, she gets the feeling having no hardcopy evidence of what is about to happen will be a very good idea. The pad will need reformatting after she's done, but she's been required to do that for other clients who want their body art to be completely untraceable, so she doesn't store anything of any import on it for long anyway. She hears the rustle of cloth behind her and smiles slightly to herself, pleased at a plan going well. “Would you tell me more about him please?”

The man takes a deep breath behind her, even as she hears the bed creak as he clambers onto it. “He was always good at slipping by unnoticed. It's how he kept us both out of trouble back in training...”

She finishes mixing up the colours she needs as he begins to tell her about their childhood, what little of it there was. Checks her machine and cleans the patch of skin above his heart as he laughs about a prank played on one of their batchmates. It warms her and chills her at the same time, realising how little they had, but what great things they made of what they did. She prints out the stencil and places it over his chest as he whispers about Star easing him through the tail end of a nightmare, checking quietly that he's happy with the position before pressing the needle to his skin. He breaths in through his nose once when she starts, and she glances up at him, but he smiles and continues on into a story about when they first met their Jedi, and how Star gushed about her afterwards. She sinks into the meditative process of stamping lines into being, bringing colour to life, all the while surrounded by the man's soft voice building a memorial to his brother in their room.

When it's finished, the man looks surprised. “I thought it would take longer than that?” He blinks at her, “And be more painful in all honesty.”

She grins, “You did your research well hon, I'm good at what I do.”

He laughs and sits up, wincing slightly as the skin stretches around the wound. She squirts cleaner onto a cloth and holds it towards his chest, pausing before touching the tattoo for him to give a nod of permission, then wipes carefully across it, removing excess ink and stencil gently. Looking it over critically, she's happy with what she's done, knows she's poured herself into this tattoo as well. The lines are clean and crisp, the colours deep and rich. The helmet tilts up to look at the star above it, the trail of stardust sweeping behind it and curling up to emerge from the opening of the helmet at the bottom. Olive green accents in the tail, the line over the right-hand side of the helmet and around the visor, and the outer and inner two stars. She nods to herself, and grins up at him. “Ready to see it?”

He swallows nervously, but nods. She feels her grin quirk into a proper smile, then holds out her hand to him. He looks at it for a second, then places his own in hers, and she helps pull him from the bed. She keeps hold of his hand as she guides him to the full length mirror just beside the couch, and gently pulls him to stand infront of it. The hand in hers trembles as he stares at his reflection, taking a moment on his own face to gather his courage, then looks down at his chest.

The noise that punches out of his lungs is almost animal, and she grips his hand tightly. He cries openly, other hand reaching up to hover just under the tattoo as he looks down at his own chest. It's several moments before he can say anything, and she stands next to him the whole time, holding his hand as he clenches onto hers. He cries and cries, grief finally allowed expression, as she gives him silent comfort in proximity. His first words are “thank you”, and she smiles at him, as he starts to collect himself and turns away from her to try and pull himself back together.

“I'll give you a few minutes to check it over and make sure you're happy before I bandage it up,” she murmers, and steps quietly out of the room, giving him privacy in his sorrow.

A'maa glances up at her as she steps out, raising an eyebrow. Strictly speaking, she wasn't supposed to be working today, and she hadn't considered that A'maa might have had to turn away one of her own clients when she committed to tattooing the man. But A'maa glances over at the door to her workroom and shakes her head. “Don't worry about it Elaah,” she whispers, “Whatever it was, it was clearly important.”

“Yes,” Elaah whispers back, walking over to cradle herself in A'maa's outstretched arm, seeking the comfort of her own found family. “Yes, it really was.”

It's a few more minutes before the man opens the door, glancing around the edge of it. She quickly cuts off her conversation with A'maa and smiles at him. “Ready to get bandaged up?”

He nods and smiles, face a little blotchy from the tears, though neither she nor A'maa say anything. She gives A'maa's shoulder a quick squeeze, then heads into the room, leaving the door ajar this time. The man stands infront of the mirror again, gazing down at his new ink, and she quickly grabs the bits she needs to finish off. He smiles at her as holds the fake skin bandage up to his chest, carefully sizing it up to fit nicely over the tattoo.

“How much do I owe you?” he asks, and she shakes her head.

“Nothing hon, you paid me in stories.”

He protests immediately, as she suspected he would. “Too late hon!” she grins at him. “It's already on your skin and I'll throw your credits out onto the street after you if you try leaving them behind. Good luck winning this one!” She winks and pats him on the shoulder, turning away to grab his top and thrusting it into his abdomen. He grabs it and gapes at her, clearly not quite sure what to say, before straightening and flashing a sheepish grin at her.

“You planned this from the start didn't you?” He asks, pulling the top over his head and rolling his eyes as she throws him a cheeky wink and nods.

“I've got to give you something, this means so much to me... You have no idea...” He gulps and shakes his head, blinking fresh tears out of his eyes. “Tell you what, I'll make sure anyone else who might be thinking of getting some ink heads this way?”

She shrugs. “I'm not going to turn down customers, but you don't owe me anything. I just hope you think of Star whenever you see it.”

“I will,” he murmurs, a hand going to rest over where the tattoo sits over his heart. He glances up at her. “My name is Trix. I just... wanted you to know that.”

She smiles at him, and gently rests a hand over his own. “Thank you Trix.” she says, smiling up at him, “Thank you for everything you and your brothers do for us.”

He grasps her hand with his other one and squeezes it tightly for a moment, before turning around and walking out the shop.

[hier--soir]

a lover's pinch | three

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: joel gets a little birthday surprise, and you get a little too drunk. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, pining, f!masturbation [barely], sending nudes, joel finally locks his office door, dirty talk, the slightest slip of possessive language, uh.. ahem.. biting, protected piv birthday sex, a messy dinner party, excessive alcohol consumption [i'm talking embarassing], irritating men, soft!joel. word count: 10.3k series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: let the pining commence folks. hey siri, play brown eyed girl by van morrison. special thanks to @bageldaddy for the emotional support as i endured the labour that was the final hour of editing this. hope you guys enjoy! this is part three of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two.

Thursday.

A fortnight passes in the slow blink of a bleary eye.

Fall nudges Summer out the door, solidifying its presence in Maine with flaxen leaves and rolling grey clouds.

The rain comes at night. Rivulets of moisture that leak onto the windowsill, seep into the cracked wood there and fill your room with the sweet smell of petrichor. It clears before the sun rises most days, but you unpack of a box of sweaters and hang them in your closet, nonetheless. You enjoy communal coffees in the kitchen and try not to frown when the morning light doesn’t warm your legs the way it used to. Force yourself not to feel mournful when you get home one afternoon and find Pete on the sofa with a blanket over him.  

And perhaps that’s why when you wake on Thursday to sunshine—to warm bed sheets, to blue sky, to bright whites and yellows coming through the window—you feel lighter. Start the day with a calm countenance that has you blinking sleep from your eyes and smiling drowsily as your fingers trail the windowsill and come off dry. You share a pot of coffee with Pete; let him explain soil vapour extraction to you for the fifth time. Listen, smile, nod, and don’t roll your eyes when he asks do you get it now? And when the time comes to get ready for the drive to campus, you are smiling. Shoulders loose, eyes bright.

It had been a tiresome couple of weeks.

As the middle of the semester drew closer, you’d spent days on end poring over a laptop with tired eyes and cramping fingers. Writing and editing—and then rewriting and re-editing—your first round of essays and analyses. Balmy afternoons spent nursing glasses of cheap wine with your roommates evolved to late night coffees alone in your room, eyelids drooping as you fawned over every word, every quote, every fucking comma – all of it for him.

Him who you hadn’t been alone with in almost fifteen days.

Him whose texts were seared into your memory, left unanswered on your phone.

Him who you could hardly look at during lectures, for fear of losing your train of thought.

Him who you were hellbent on impressing. 

Joel, Joel, Joel.

And as busy as you’d been, it hadn’t stopped the stares. Brief, intimate glances from down the hall in the history commons. The flash of a knowing smile as you shuffle toward the exit after a lecture. The graze of fingertips against your elbow, muddling your mind as you rush to meet a text translation study group.

Watching, waiting, wanting – a near insufferable task since that afternoon in his office.

Late into the first week you’d discovered that, upon focusing hard enough, you could still feel the ache in your knees; the rug burns his carpet had left on your skin. And then you shoved the memory of it down; compressed it somewhere deep inside, hidden away until you had the chance to open it back up again, and take your time with him like you truly wanted to.

And it seems today was that day.

You stare out the window for a moment. Sip your coffee and rake in the greenness of the grass, the cloudless sky, the ray of sun shining across your bedroom floor – and decide you’ll wear a skirt to Joel’s seminar.  

The pin on his shirt is blue.

Not cerulean, or baby, or steel.

Not like how the sky was blue as you drove to campus with your windows down. Not like clear turquoise waters on a white sand beach in Greece, or like a robin’s egg swathed in leaves and sticks. But a deep, rich colour. Royal blue. A folded circular pin, with two tassels coming out the bottom of it.

It’s the first thing you notice when you walk into the lecture hall – the thing your eyes snag on repeatedly as you wander towards the third row and tuck yourself into a seat. That vivid splash of blue against a plain white t-shirt. No buttons today; formal wear forgone in place of a simple tee that hugs the vast planes of his chest, snug against the thick span of his biceps. His arms are almost enough to distract you from the gaudy brooch.

Joel won’t stop moving at the foot of the room, pacing the same length of floor over and over again, waiting for the crowd to settle. Hands busy themselves at his waist, wiping a small square of cloth against the lenses of his glasses. A muscle in his forearm twitches with every swipe of fingers against glass, and the sight has a hazy flush rising in your neck. Despite yourself, you try in earnest to catch a glimpse of what the pin says. Bare thighs tensed in your seat as you tilt your torso forward, eyes squinting.

The last students wander in, and he’s shifting, sliding those glasses onto the bridge of his nose, and snatching the slide clicker from the desk. He offers a polite greeting to the room.

It doesn’t take long for someone to speak up. “Special occasion?”

Joel’s hands still, chin tilting down as he glances at royal blue and then back out at the group, a wry smile breaking across his face.

“Just a thing the faculty does here,” he clears his throat awkwardly, laughs a little. It’s a soft sound, his laugh. Tickles your ears and makes you want to smile in return. “Some of the others started it a few years back… they make everyone wear one on their birthday.” 

A chorus of surprised well-wishes chime from around the room, and Joel waves them away with a broad palm, shaking his head.

Even from three rows back you can see the pink in his cheeks; the resistance in his eyes as he intercepts the kind words soaring in his direction. You recognise a shyness there, an unwillingness to be the centre of attention, and it surprises you. Joel always seems so confident, standing week after week in front of 30 odd people and talking for hours. But you suppose then he can hide behind his words; behind years of knowledge and study and practice. When it’s about him? He falters. Tries to hide. You almost want to curse at him for being so endearing. And maybe you would – if it wasn’t his birthday.

“Nah, none of that,” Joel tuts, shaking his head. “Let’s get started, alright?”

He claps his hands once, and the sound reverberates through the quietening room. The fabric of his pants clings to the meat of his thighs, tightening around muscle as he rests against the edge of the desk. You fight to keep your gaze on his face.

“Today we’re gonna start with talkin’ about the instigators in our parallel texts.”

And you try to listen, you really do.

Try to focus on his words as he talks, spouting thoughts about antagonists of war, about Helen and Menelaus, about Paris of Troy, but you can’t get past the spread of his thighs against the desk. The way his body moves when he finally rises, wandering to-and-fro across the space. How his thick thumb presses against the clicker in his hand, slides shifting on the wall behind him. There’s a dull ringing in your ears, the rough spell of his drawl vibrating inside your mind, spinning it’s yarn, and tangling itself in the space where rational thought normally resides. Birthday. It’s Joel’s birthday. Your hands clasp in front of your face, knuckle snagged between teeth, biting down, clinging to some far reach of clarity; something to bring you back to the ground and halt the dallied trance you seem to come under whenever he’s nearby.  

Birthday, birthday, birthday.

As he discusses the Judgement of Paris, your mind wanders to a teacher you had as a child. A stern woman in her sixties who was fearsome among the gang of six-year old’s you roamed in. One year it had rained on your birthday, a spitting storm of hail and thunder. And when you cried, she told you that it only rains on your birthday when you’ve been a bad little girl.

It was sunny the next year, but she wasn’t your teacher anymore, and there was no one around to praise you for how good you must’ve been that year. For how hard you must’ve strived to achieve such wonderful sunshine on your special day.

A wry smile splits your face, tucked into the back of your hand, for you know better than anyone else just how bad Joel has been. And yet today, for his birthday, the sun shines.

He steps closer to the front row of seats, and your eyes glean across the lettering on his pin; the words Birthday Boy laid out in gold. A huff of laughter escapes you, and then your eyes are drifting up, past tan skin and scruffy facial hair, to find Joel staring straight at you. Dark, intrigued eyes. Assessing you, undressing you. Frowning.

“Somethin’ to add?” he clips.

The smile slides off your face. “Sorry?”

“Do you have somethin’ to add?” he drawls, unimpressed. The words slow and paced out as if he were speaking to a fool. “You seemed amused.”

“Oh,” you blink.

You shift awkwardly in your seat, straighten up, aware of every set of eyes in the room on the two of you. Joel’s face is stony, unimpressed. It’s the first time he’s made direct eye contact with you since you stepped into the room, and he is… on edge, clearly.

“No,” you decide on the safe answer, tone firm. “Nothing to add.”

He stares for a moment and then nods. Mutters a stern Pay attention underneath his breath before returning his gaze to the rest of the room. You scoff quietly, and swallow down the stab of embarrassment his words bring. The feeling is sour in your mouth, like the seed of a lemon is stuck behind your teeth.

Two seats to your left you hear a poorly concealed titter. Turn your head to spot a woman, maybe a year or two younger than yourself, giving you a pitiful smirk. You arch an eyebrow. Mouth what?

She simply shakes her head at you and turns to look at Joel, all glossy lips and doting gaze as she listens to his continued ponderings about Menelaus' role in the Trojan War.

You watch her for a moment. Note the way she laughs at his jokes, smiles as he goes off on a mindless tangent about something you aren’t paying attention to; hanging onto his every word. And you wonder if this is how you look to other people when you watch him. Another stark-raving Maenad, thirsting and possessed by the spirit of this Bacchant of a man. The Roaring One. The one with bedroom eyes and cheeks like wine. Joel Miller; fraught, brooding, and willing to embarrass you in front of a room of your peers to feel an inch of the self-control you've so easily ridden him of. A Dionysian fit to oppose the doomed Bacchant inside of you, whose mouth foams and eyes roll in ecstasy at the mere presence of him.

He crosses the front of the room, back and forth, and you imagine him as a bull of a man. Golden locks and thorned head, thyrsus in hand as he commands the attention of an enthralled audience. Corrals them to follow him, to adore him. And yet the image you create is distorted at best, a watered-down version of the truth, for what spites you the most is that he simply… doesn’t have to try. There are no attempts to convince; no persuasion in his voice, no dishonesty necessary as the room swoons for him. As you yourself yearn for him. Covet his touch, his body, akin to that of a God’s.

And perhaps there is some immorality there, some gross misalignment of hubris, that yearns to reset the scale. To remind this man that indeed you have knelt before him, but he knelt for you first.

The thought has your thighs pressing together.

“Well, Juno hates Aeneas because she hates Trojans. And for that we have Paris to blame,” he answers someone’s question with a chuckle. Gains a few scattered laughs in response. “Because we all know how Juno feels about Paris.”

You rise from your chair, legs shifting before your brain can catch up. Take careful, tip-toed steps towards the exit. Joel’s eyes drift in your direction, curious gaze draping over the bare skin of your legs as he talks. Just for a second though, a split second, before he’s looking determinedly back to the room, and you’re disappearing from his line of sight.

“And so, she thwarts the Trojans every chance she gets,” his voice grows softer as you stray farther from the door, until it’s nothing more than a vague purr down the hall. You wander into the women’s bathroom and slip inside an empty cubicle.

Birthday, birthday, pay attention, birthday, they make everyone wear one on their birthday, pay attention.

Your brain is abuzz, nerves alight as you place your phone carefully atop the toilet paper dispenser. Trembling fingers graze the hem of your skirt, the warm skin of your thighs, and yes you’ve been wet since you saw him. Turned on from just the sight of him, the sound of his mellow voice, the idea that maybe, just maybe, today you will get to touch him again. You can feel how it clings to your panties, sweet soft warmth pooling out of you, a dizzying wetness that longs for Joel to come and find you. To take you in his hands, tilt you down to his parted lips, and drink it from the source. 

Your fingers are cold against your skin. A delighted shiver swims down your spine as you graze them along the front of your underwear. Barely touching, hardly any pressure, simply grazing over the spot where your clit has begun to pulse. A little firmer now, you press against the thin material of your underwear, let it slip between your soaked folds. You bite your lip to contain a soft sigh, and smile as you feel how wet the material is getting. Once you’re satisfied you pull your hand away, leave a shimmering streak against your leg where you wipe your fingers, and reach for your phone.

Position one foot on the closed seat and rest your back against the cubicle wall, angling the phone between your spread thighs. Tilting your phone this way and that until the camera catches you in the perfect light; the flared material of your skirt bunched around your hips, the shiny smear across your inner thigh, the damp stain of slick against the front of your light blue panties. You take a few pictures. Trail your hand down your stomach and let it appear in some of them as well; fingers poised over the band of your underwear, just a tease. Finally content, you tuck your phone away, splash some cold water on your neck, and wander back into the lecture theatre.

Joel looks up when you walk inside. He’s seated behind his desk now, the room quiet as people jot down notes, eyes flitting between their laptops and the presentation displayed across the wall. Furrowed eyebrows and brown eyes shining with that barely-contained interest they always seem to hold when he looks at you these days. You offer him a nonchalant smile before turning your back to him. Sway your hips with exaggerated emphasis as you waltz up the stairs, slide back into your seat, and take your phone back out.

No one’s watching you now. Not your fellow Maenad, with her sharp judgemental eyes. Not even Joel. Your fingers dance their way into your text thread with him, and you select your favourite from the pictures.

You glance at the two lone messages in the thread, gaze lingering on the second message.

That can’t happen again.

Hesitation grips you, fingers hovering over the screen as you contemplate the seriousness behind the words. And then you hear him answer someone’s question, and the rough drone of his voice has you pressing send anyway.

Happy Birthday Professor x

You imagine you can feel the vibration of his phone. Feel it groan and shift in the pocket of his pants, screen lighting up. You wonder if he’s saved your name in his phone, or if a picture of underneath your skirt just popped up from an unsaved number. You try to focus on the article laid out in front of you. Stare at the messy under linings, at the notes on the margins made in your chicken-scratch handwriting, and wait.

It doesn’t take long to feel the heat of his gaze, almost paranormal in its effect. You can feel it’s weight – how it glides across your skin, sticky, viscous, and impossible to ignore.

When you glance up, you have to resist the urge to shrink into your seat. Joel’s face is a mess of emotions. Square jaw clenched tight; lips sealed. Stormy eyes that dart furiously between you and his lap, where you imagine his phone rests. Previously neat curls are now tousled and stressed over. You watch he glares downward, and drags tight fingers through the locks again. He doesn’t look up for a long time after that. Shoulders hunched forward, chin to his chest as he stares down.

Joel doesn’t stand up for the last 90-minutes of the seminar. Doesn’t smile, doesn’t joke. And he certainly does not look in your direction again. Not until the little hand on the clock strikes 11 o’clock, marking the end of his seminar, does he even entertain your side of the room. And not until the last student files out the door do you rise and meet him by the desk, a knowing look in both of your eyes.  

You walk ahead of him the entire way to his office. Joel keeps an all-too casual distance from you, but you can hear the weight of his steps against the hardwood floors. Can feel his looming presence over your shoulder – sense his bursting need to get you alone. You only fall into step beside him when the office door comes into view, and then he’s herding you towards it, palm pressing flat against the small of your back in trivial, insistent shoves.

With a final glance over his shoulder, Joel nudges you inside his office.

There’s music playing inside. Soft waves of sound undulating toward you from the record player, and yet when he drags the door shut behind him you still hear the undeniable click of his key turning the lock. The window is closed, curtains half-drawn, and the air in his space is warm; almost stuffy from lying dormant and empty for hours.

Silently, Joel makes his way across the room to where his record player sits. Your eyes trail him faithfully, trained on how his shoulder blades shift like tectonic plates beneath the thinning fabric of his shirt. The urge to wander forward and pull it off him is intense. To run your nails down his skin and leave marks on his body the way he’s done to you.

“You think you’re funny?” his voice comes, a low murmur that you almost miss through the music. He lifts a hand and pulls the glasses off his nose. Tucks them carefully onto the table.

“Funny?” you reply, mouth suddenly dry.

Joel shifts the needle, restarting the record. Momentary silence swells into a bright intro, and he’s turning to look at you, thick arms folding across his chest. Your heart is a galloping staccato behind your sternum. A bead of sweat glides from the hollow of your throat down your chest, dampening the fabric of your shirt.

“Sendin’ me that picture of your pussy all wet for me,” he tuts softly. “Knowin’ damn well, I couldn’t do anythin’ about it.”

You swallow as he takes a step towards you. His hands drift to the front of his body, and you watch with bated breath as long fingers begin working at the silver buckle on his belt.

“Y’gimme nothin’ for weeks, don’t even pay attention during my fuckin’ classes, and then…” he pauses, almost glaring at you. But it’s not contempt in his eyes. No, it’s something else, something deeper—black brown peppered with frustration and lust and… There’s a lump in your throat. Something heavy that presses against your windpipe and makes it hard to swallow.

“You get off on this, hmm?” he asks, voice gravelly. “Torturin’ me? Makin’ me wait?”

“I’ve been busy,” you murmur, eyes fixed on where he drags leather through the beltloops of his pants. He discards it on the ground between you – an offering, an invitation.

“Busy girl,” he murmurs dryly. “And what about now? Now that I’ve got you here all alone… you gonna make me beg for it?”

Your pussy clenches at the thought of him on his knees, palms clasped in his lap, and it has that slick heat pooling between your legs. You want to denigrate him the way you feel he has done to you. Order him to kneel, to apologise, to fucking beseech you. But Joel’s eyes are dark, face drawn as he watches you. And you know that you’ve already gotten even.

Royal blue swims in your vision and you give him your best smile. Shake your head and say, “Not today, birthday boy.”

Something glints in his eyes, hands twitching by his sides. You mirror him, finally inching forward a step across the carpet. His belt is solid beneath your shoes.

He’s shifting in an instant, swallowing the final stretch of distance between you until his chest knocks into yours. The breath rushes from your lungs at the contact, and his hands are clasping your face, mouth slipping against yours in a brutal collision.

It’s rough, messy, teeth knocking and chapped lips. It’s the first time you’ve kissed since that night at the bar, and it consumes the both of you.  

Joel’s body seizes yours, wraps around you and holds you to him, gripping the skin of your arms, your neck, your face, anywhere he can reach. Saliva pools in your mouth and wells into his, low sounds of desire being swapped back and forth between dripping tongues. There’s something desperate about it – how his lips bruise against yours. Something earnest and needy and urgent in the way his thumbs dig into your jaw, fingers tangling in the hair around your ears.

You’re gasping into his mouth, hands dropping to undo his zipper in a frenzied hurry. You can feel him behind the material, a firm bulge that becomes more and more evident as you work to get him undressed. His hands drop to your waist, your ass, and he’s pressing up, up, up the hem of your skirt, nails digging into skin as he squeezes and pulls you flush against him. Broad palms splayed across searing flesh, the tips of his fingers dragging dangerously close to where you’re aching for him. Your fingers shift from his pants to your own shirt, gripping the hem to tear it over your head—but Joel stops you. Bats your hands away and hoists you off the ground instead.

“Shit,” you huff in surprise, holding his shoulders for support as his arms tighten like a vice beneath your thighs and around your waist. He cuts you off with another sweltering kiss, and he’s moving. Stumbling blindly backward, a blurred mess of two people, all harsh exhales and clashing teeth, tilting back, back, back until his calves hit the armchair and he’s dissolving into it, dragging you down with him. Your knees sink into the plush fabric on either side of his waist, and his hands are on you, bunching your skirt up around your hips until your underwear is visible. He breaks the kiss and looks down quickly, lip curling upward as he takes in the sight of your barely covered cunt hovering over his lap.

“Fuck me,” Joel breaths. He cants his hips upward, clothed cock grinding against you. The pressure on your clit is exquisite. It has your nose scrunching up as your shallow breaths flutter the curls across his forehead. “Dress like this for all your classes?” he asks, fingers snapping at the band of your panties before his hand drops to cup your entire sex. “Fuckin’ filthy girl.”

“No,” you gasp as his palm settles over you. “Only—oh fuck, no, no, only yours.”

A rough sound escapes him, and he’s pushing the material of your underwear to the side. Thick fingers glide over the coarse hair on your mound, dipping in between your folds, right to the beating centre of you. You stare at his face while he stares at the swollen mess between your thighs. 

“S’damn right,” he grunts. His eyes are ablaze. “Just for me.”  

Your eyelids flutter closed, face warming at the words, and you’re whimpering as he rubs firm circles over your clit. Joel’s tongue presses against yours, coaxes your jaw open until it aches.

“So fuckin’ wet,” he marvels into your mouth. “Always so fuckin’ wet.”

A finger drops to your slick hole, slips slowly slowly slowly inside until the tip of it is curling against the soft spot inside you that he reaches so fucking easily. The air in the room is thin, his breaths a hot wash against your face, and a languid moan snakes its way out of your throat.

“Quiet.” Joel adds a second finger. It’s everything and nothing at the same time. Fingers so long, so thick – fingers that pale in comparison to his cock.

“I want you,” you gasp.

“Hmm?” he hums dangerously.

“Please,” your head tilts back, mouth ajar and thighs trembling as he works you open on his fingers. Joel lets out an impatient sound, and then his fingers drop from your swollen core, and he’s holding a condom. He must’ve pulled it from his back pocket, or between the cushions of the chair, but you don’t dwell on it. Don’t care where or how or why, too restless to be filled to ask; just give a pleased nod and lean back so he has enough room to free his cock from his pants.

The thick weight of it rests in his palm. He’s swollen and thick, the tip a deep rosy colour that reminds you of his flushed cheeks, his puffy lips, and has your mouth watering. And it’s wet with slick strands of precome that drip down his length to meet the movement of his fist.

“S’this what you were thinkin’ about?” Joel breathes shakily. “Got your cute little panties all soaked thinkin’ ‘bout my cock?”

“Yes,” you bite your lip. Watch him tear open the foil packet and roll latex down his length. You ignore the familiar urge to say forget it just take me I’m here and I’m yours just fuck me. “Please.”

“Fuck,” he hisses. Drags his cock against the dripping seam of your cunt. “Say that again.”

“Please,” you repeat, fingers twisting in the front of his shirt. “God, Joel, please.”

A sharp wet smack and a trembling gasp fill the air as he taps the tip against your clit, and then rests himself at the notch of your entrance.

“Show me how bad you want it,” he orders huskily, hands drifting to rest on the arms of his chair. “Go on, fuckin’—ride it.” 

Breathing heavily, you reach down to grip him. holding his length still as you lower yourself over his lap.

There’s a stinging resistance there – your body pushing back against the size of him, against the angle.

Joel’s fingers drape against your clit and he rubs soft circles above the spot where you’re connected. You grip the back of the chair, face twisted in muted concentration. 

“C’mon,” he breaths, jaw set with clear intention. “Fuckin’ drippin’ for me, y’can take it, I know you can. Yeah—yeah, that’s it.”

You sigh, body relaxing, and you’re pressing down, through. Sink down on him another inch, and then another, until he’s bottoming out inside of you and the skin of your thighs is flush with his pants and he’s making this rough, low sound from deep in his chest. Your mind goes blank for a moment, vision whiting out and lungs squeezing as you hold your breath and adjust to the sheer size of him, to the delicious burn between your thighs where he’s stretching you. And everything is soft and hazy around your mind, but you can see Joel’s eyes on you. The glassy, blissed out expression on his face as you clench around him. His hands drift to your waist, fingers groping bare skin underneath where he holds your skirt up.

“Fuck,” Joel pants. “So god damn tight.”

A pathetic whimper catches in your throat as you grind down, clit rubbing against the coarse hairs at his base. You’re so full, every sense heightened by the feeling of Joel, pressing you apart and making a home for himself inside of you.

Slowly—tentatively—you rock your hips forward, rutting against him in short, shallow movements. His hands encourage your body, guiding you along his cock as you gain confidence.

Soon enough your hips are lifting and dropping back onto him, over and over, tilting against him, doing whatever it takes to drag more hopeless sounds from his mouth. The music from his record player is a low, thrumming bassline in the back of your mind, every bright refrain of guitar punctuated by sharp gasps and elongated sighs.

Joel’s eyes shift from the space between your bodies to your face. Pupils blown, sweat beading along his forehead. Watching you, he seems to fall backward, into himself perhaps. His body goes slack against the armchair, head lolling back as he stares.

“Jesus,” he mutters lowly. “Missed this perfect little pussy.”

There it is again. Perfect, perfect, perfect. You clench around him at the word, rut your hips in a particularly rough movement that has Joel’s eyes rolling back and a guttural moan falling from his lips. His chest is heaving with ragged breaths, the tendons and veins in his neck on display as his chin tilts upward. A bright red flush has raised across the exposed skin of his collarbones, his neck. You lean in and lick the skin there, skirt your teeth across his pulsing jugular. Joel’s palm clasps the back of your neck, holding you against him. You can feel his thighs tensing below you, and then his hips begin to snap upward, meeting you thrust for thrust. The angle is harsh, and he's filling you to the brim, the tip of his cock bruising against the deepest part of you. You cry out against his skin, and the hoarse sound only spurs him on.

His wide palm shifts to hover at the base of your neck, slips beneath the collar of your shirt. Splays over your collarbone, dull fingernails grating against the skin above your breast, by your armpit. You lean back to let him see you, and his eyes drop to watch the way your hips roll over his lap. His finger snags on the strap of your bra and it snaps against your skin.

“Take it off,” you mutter urgently. Need to feel his skin against yours. Chest to chest. Heart to hea—

“No.” His hips snap up into yours faster, knocking the breath from your lungs. One hand grips the armchair, one his shoulder, trying to find some kind of leverage as he pistons into you from below. That fucking Birthday Boy pin is still stuck to his shirt, and blue flashes in the periphery of your vision. A particularly rough thrust has a loud moan parting your lips, but as soon as it begins Joel’s hand is crashing over your mouth, fingers gripping your face to silence the sound. Your eyebrows raise, silently questioning overtop his hand.

“Need to shut up,” he grits out. “Gonna—ohhh—gonna get us caught.”

You glide your tongue against his palm, taste the salt on his skin. Feel his fingers squeeze your jaw harder in response. And then your own hand is moving from his shoulder, fingers gliding across the sweaty skin of his neck, to slot over his mouth. You stare at one another, wild eyes locked, palms sealed over slick lips, and something fiery pulls taught between you. Liquid heat spreads through your muscles, tightening and loosening with every movement of his body against yours. You can feel the coil at the base of your stomach tightening. Your pussy throbs in a rhythm sympatico to that of your heartbeat, and your fingers squeeze around his face.

You can feel the vibration of Joel’s moans against your hand, and then his teeth are sinking into the soft flesh of your palm. For a moment you wonder if he’ll pierce the skin. Let your blood seep from the wound and spill across his tongue; a sacrificial offering. Drink you down, devour you as he lies within your body. You bite down on his palm in return, holding his gaze as your bodies grind and rut against each other.

Your back arches suddenly, and your forehead knocks against his as your orgasm steadily approaches. Joel’s eyes stay locked on yours. Your shoulders begin to lock up, thighs burning, but he doesn’t let up. His hips collide with yours at a devastating pace, and his free hand drops between your thighs. The pad of his middle finger circles your swollen clit, and you jerk against him, every nerve inside your body fraying and sparking.

Joel slurs a curse against your hand and then you’re coming with a haggard whine into his hand, walls constricting around him in a vice grip. You close your eyes only to discover that royal blue is stained on the inside of your eyelids, unavoidable. He is unavoidable. Even in the darkness of your own mind, he lurks. The smell of him in your nostrils, the taste of his spit in your mouth. You think you hear a garbled version of your name spoken into your palm, and then a stinging sensation rips across your ass as Joel starts to come, fingernails dragging across skin, as he grinds his cock desperately into your pulsing heat. Your eyes flutter open, body shivering with the aftershocks of your high, and you watch him. Admire the way his jaw softens beneath your grip, teeth retracting and leaving dull indents on your skin in their wake.

There’s a low pinch between your thighs. It rings out minutes later, a sullen ache, as you lift your hips and let him slip from your wet clutch. His hands fall from your body, and you suck in stale air, taking a clumsy step off his lap to stand shaking on the ground before him. There are circular white marks on his cheeks, lingering reminders of how you held him, smothering his wanton groans of pleasure. You watch them slowly fade to pink, and try to settle the unsteady breaths that wrack your frame.

Your fingers drop lazily to adjust your underwear, but then those hands are tilting your hips, encouraging you to turn until your back is to him. They slip beneath your skirt, find purchase on the band of your panties, and slide the drenched material down your legs. You step out of them, and gasp in surprise when he flicks your skirt up again. A shiver travels down your spine as he glides a finger through your swollen cunt.

“Joel,” you whimper, lips poised to say that it’s too much, too soon, that you need a second to breathe.  

But Joel exhales a quiet groan, and something sharp nips the sensitive skin of your ass. Peaking over your shoulder, you find Joel’s mouth there, wet tongue soothing over the mark his teeth made on your flesh. There’s a slip of blue clenched in his fist, held protectively in his lap beside his softening cock.

You feel the vibration of something against your skin, a murmur of words that you can’t quite make out, before he pulls back. Retracts all points of contact, carefully removes the condom, clears his throat softly as he tucks himself back into his pants. The tell-tale sound of the moment drawing to a close. You swallow down that familiar tang disappointment and hold out a hand for your underwear.

And then Joel surprises you.

This soft, teasing smirk lights up his face, and Joel knocks your hand away. A huff of surprised laughter escapes you as he rises and wanders toward the desk. You watch, stunned into silence, as he drags open a drawer on his desk and tucks that blue slip of fabric inside. It slides closed with a definitive thud, and Joel falls down into his desk chair. His eyelids must be heavy, because they droop closed while you watch.

There’s a damp patch at the bottom of his t-shirt that has your face in flames, but he doesn’t seem to care, chest rising and falling with deep breaths as his body relaxes into leather. Your legs tremble as you grip the strap of your bag, taking that as your cue to quietly head for the door.

“Liked your essay.”

You pause with your fingers on the door handle. Turn to find that his eyes are still shut.

“You’re only saying that becau—”

“No,” Joel interrupts, the firm tone a sharp contrast to his lax frame. Eyes open now. “It was good.”

You hum quietly and rock back onto your heels. Unsure of what to say, you settle on offering him a small smile. He nods in return. The silence drifts back in, and you find yourself unable to speak until his eyes close once more.

“Happy birthday, Joel.”

So softly, so as to not disturb. And you aren’t sure whether he heard you or he’s already fallen asleep, but you do notice the corners of his mouth tilt upward ever-so-slightly.

Friday.

A crimson tablecloth covers the expanse of the table. Deep dark red, almost brown, reminiscent of old blood.

Plates smeared with remnants of a dinner long-past litter the surface, dirtied knives and forks stacked precariously atop them. Sauces have hardened to thickened globs on the China, sticky and stale and calling out to be cleaned. But the end of the evening is nary in sight, as Ian, your gracious host, deposits another bottle of wine onto the table.

“It’s a Cabernet Franc,” he slumps back into his seat at the head of the table, directly opposite you. “My parents brought it back from their trip to Bordeaux this past Summer. A gift.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes for the thousandth time in three hours. Pour yourself a generous glass and taste it. Say, “I’m more of a Merlot fan,” despite being drunk as all hell and having zero knowledge to help discern between different wine grapes.

Pete offers a supportive smile, and you watch as his friends light fresh cigarettes that send plumes of smoke to the already stained roof of Ian’s apartment.

Ian’s girlfriend Claire, a wildlife and conservation biology undergrad, is draped across the chair to your left. Eyelids half closed; her slim fingers grip a half-smoked joint for dear life, hand hovering dazed in mid-air between her thigh and her face. You think back on the words Pete spoke to you this morning in the kitchen – there’ll be another woman there, don’t worry. And Claire’s great, I swear. You try to reconcile his words with the girl beside you, and the dank smell of burnt weed drifting toward you through the air. She’d been high when she arrived, and after speaking a measly three words of greeting in your direction, had sequestered herself to a chair and smoked through the entire dinner. When none of the others batted an eye, you held your tongue. And their nonchalance became clear when, upon completion of the meal—overcooked chicken, sticky carrots, and undercooked parsnips—Ian and Henry lit up cigarettes at the table too.

You weren’t sure why you agreed to attend the dinner party.

They’re really cool, Pete had blabbered into his mug that morning. We do it every Friday. It’ll be nice to have you meet some of my friends.

Oh, Pete. Cool, they are not.

Henry and Ian, friends from one of Pete’s environmental engineering units, are filthy rich. The kind that you can smell from a mile away. The kind that radiates from their expensive clothes, their manufactured pearly teeth, their god-awful haircuts. The kind of rich boys that have their own apartments in Portland, paid for by a Mummy and Daddy who holiday in Europe every summer—a trip that Ian has managed to bring up at least once an hour since the moment you met him.

The one beautiful, stunning, gorgeous saving grace is that there is alcohol – enough to ply yourself with in order to deal with Ian, who asked what your postgrad was in and replied slyly, “Oh, a fun one.” Ian, who, upon learning about your translation internship in Greece, said, “Sounds like you had a marvellous vacation.”

In return, you sat like a good little house guest—ornament—and listened to the three of them talk ad nauseam about engineering. Consume glass after glass of wine, decline cigarette after cigarette; you get profusely intoxicated as they debate—interrupt each other—the validity of different pollution control policies.

It’s not until early in the fifth hour of the dinner that Ian raises the topic of philosophy.

“It’s curious, that’s all,” he says, cigarette hanging limply between wine-soaked lips.  “That these old guys would just hang out all day and… what, talk? Never understood why people rave about Socrates and Aristotle all the time. Just a bunch of sad sacks that liked the sound of their own voices a little too much, if you ask me.”

You hum against the rim of your glass, decidedly unbothered. Nothing you haven’t heard a hundred times, in a hundred different ways. His dining chairs are stiff, and your ass is aching against the heavy mahogany. Pete shifts awkwardly to your right. You can feel him looking at you, trying to gauge your impending reaction, and your face remains placid, numb from all the wine rushing through your veins.

“Is that what your degree is like?” Ian asks. “A bunch of old guys who love to listen to themselves talk?”

And that almost makes you crack a smile. You respond with a lacklustre shrug that neither confirms nor denies his suspicions, and definitely don’t think about—

“I don’t know,” Henry slurs, shooting a pointed glance in your direction. “I used to date this girl—”

“You fucked her once,” Ian interrupts.

“—Rita—"

“Rose.”

“—and she studied all that shit. Used to tell me about that guy who, he, uhm,” Henry pauses. Belches loudly. “He said something about God committing suicide and like, we’re his body or—wait what is it?”

“Mainländer,” you nod, mildly surprised. “Yeah, it’s a creation theory of sorts – God commits suicide to create the universe, and we’re all living on his decaying corpse.”

“What do you think of that?”

“Of a potential God’s potential suicide?”

“Yeah,” Henry grins dopily.

You sigh. “Would’ve been cooler if he left a note, I suppose.”

Henry guffaws loudly, leans back until his chair is balanced precariously on two legs. The cigarette falls from his fingers to his lap, glowing orange cherry leaving charred ashy marks on his jeans. If you were more sober you might’ve said something. But as if were, you just laugh and drain the final dregs of wine from your glass.

“So, your degree involves stuff like that?” Ian asks then.

“Sometimes,” you hum, already bored with the hint of mockery you sense in his tone. “We study the societies as a whole, so yeah, there’s talk about philosophy on occasion.”

“And mythology,” he wiggles his eyebrows from across the table, fluttering his fingers in the air. “Must be fun to talk about made up ideas all day.”

Henry clears his throat roughly and plucks the cigarette out of his lap, all remaining hints of laughter filtering into silence.

You stare. Feel your hackles rise. Sharper this time, as a more acute sense of irritation floods your system. “You do know that Greece and Italy are real countries with real histories, right?”

Claire moves for the first time in fifteen minutes, takes a long drag from her joint. Exhales in your direction.

“Sure,” Ian shrugs. “But you have to admit, all the stuff about the Greek Gods is a little silly.”

You spare a quick glance in Pete’s direction and find him wearing a tight, awkward smile, looking at you with something apologetic in his eyes.

“Silly,” you repeat the word slowly. It as though your brain is working at a thousand miles a minute, desperate to catch up with the conversation. Constantly two steps behind wherever Ian is dragging you. And he’s giving you this smarmy, sympathetic smile that screams oh your poor thing, you have no idea how poor your future job prospects are, and you’ve seen that smile a hundred times, had this conversation a thousand more, and you can suddenly envision yourself reaching across the table and pouring your glass of wine into his lap.

“And what about the rest?” you ask tersely. The collar of your shirt scratches against your neck, and his cigarette is spilling ash onto the fucking table, and he’s an asshole, and you want to throttle him for getting off on belittling you.  

“The rest?”

“The rest,” you nod. “I suppose I can admit that those gods are silly, so long as we’re also admitting how fucking laughable biblical Gods ar—"

Pete says your name sharply. You pause, seal your lips shut. He shakes his head almost imperceptibly, the wary glint in his eyes a reminder that you’re a guest in Ian’s apartment. Ian’s apartment that was paid for by Mummy and Daddy; Ian’s apartment that has a crucifix above the kitchen entryway.

“More wine?” Pete asks smoothly. He’s rising from the table before you can respond, lifting the bottle and pouring a swell of red into your glass. Ian’s grin broadens, and a fresh round of irritation flares across the back of your alcohol sodden brain.

“Gimme a second,” you mutter, pushing your chair out. Your body sways as you stand, blood rushing to your head. Blinking the dizzy spell away, you grip Pete’s shoulder for leverage and make your way past him, shuffle down the hall and into a swanky bathroom. Your feet are heavy, mind a blur, as you collapse onto the toilet seat and rest your face against the cool tiled wall.

“Silly,” you grumble under your breath. “You’re fucking silly… asshole.”

Digging your phone from your pocket, you squint against its harsh light. Fingers fumble across the screen to your messages app. Tap Nora’s name, and hold your finger against the voice memo button.

“Nora,” you mumble, nose squished against tile. “It’s awful, you... I need you to save me.”

There’s a roar of laughter from the dining room.

“Why do men always have to be the smartest person in the room?” you continue as the sound dies down. The tile is cool against your skin, a welcome reprieve from the boozy flush that’s taken over your body.

“Pete is such an—” hiccup “—asshole for inviting me to this, I swear—”

Your phone hits the ground with a sharp clatter, and you curse, torso tilting forward as you reach clumsily for it. When you tilt the screen back to your face, a jolt rushes through you. You stare for a moment, dumbfounded, at the picture. There’s the soft sound of rushing water in your ears – your pulse, you realise.

“No,” you mutter, senses sharpening the longer you stare at the picture; your soaked blue panties. At the voice memo underneath said picture, that had certainly not gone to Nora. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, no.”

A moment of painful clarity comes when you make out the delivered sign below the voice message. Blurry eyes dance across the screen, vaguely deciphering the capitalised word MILLER. Panic swirls in your stomach, a churning writhing thing that feels a lot like nausea.

And then a text appears.

Are you drunk?

Your thighs are still numb from sitting for so long, so you slink dejectedly onto the floor and type out a response.

yes

that wasn’t for you

Ten minutes pass. You stare at the bright screen until worn-out tears prick in your eyes.

Doing okay?

tired

ate bad food, drank alotta wine

Probably time to go home.

cant drive

thought you hada phd? telling me to drunk driev

bad profeseor

Five minutes. Pete knocks on the door to ask if you’re okay and you assure him that you’re fine.

Where are you?

You type out the address carefully. Wash your hands in the sink and combs wet fingers through your hair to tame your appearance before skulking back into the dining room, where the vulture awaits you.

“I’m going,” you announce blandly. Claire is asleep, you think. Ian and Henry are playing an aggressive game of cards. Only Pete looks up.

“How are you getting home?” he frowns.

“Got a ride,” you mutter. Collect your things and give his shoulder a brief squeeze before slipping out the front door.

The air is cool outside the apartment building. A sharp breeze whistles through the parking lot, snakes it’s way beneath your clothes to curl against your skin. You welcome the chill. Rub lazily at the goosebumps on your arms as you glance at the last text from Joel.

Be there in 20.

You’re perched on the stoop when headlights finally appear. You curse, eyes smarting as you duck to avoid the harsh fluorescents, and then a black truck is idling a few metres away, engine purring. The passenger door kicks open and you squint, trying—and failing—to see inside through the darkness. Until—

“Get in.”

You’re barely in the car before Joel is pressing a bottle of water into your hand. The plastic is sweating, damp with condensation, and you sigh in relief. Press it against your neck, your face.

“Drink it,” he says sternly. You crack an eye open and look at him. He’s so close. Just a hairsbreadth from you, in a soft t-shirt and jeans. Glasses on the end of his nose. Fluffy hair—bed hair. There’s a soft frown on his face that dips and rolls in your vision. A downward tilt to his mouth as he puts the car in drive and tears away from Mummy and Daddy’s apartment.

“Hey,” you give him a lop-sided smile.

“Hey."

“Were you in bed?”

“You stink,” Joel ignores your question. “You chain-smokin’ in there? Christ.”

“Not me,” you huff in frustration. Take a small sip of water, careful not to spill on the seat. “They were smoking at the table. While we were eating.”   

“Who was?”

“Pete’s friends.”

“Who’s Pete?” Joel grunts. He’s got a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel, and his eyes are set on the road. Only when you don’t respond does he look back at you.

“Who’s Pete?” he repeats. Something stony in his voice. You smile.  

“One of my roommates,” you offer. “Why? You jealous?”

“Quit it,” he bites out. “You gonna tell me where you live or am I s'posed to guess?”

Your smile spreads into a full-blown grin as you type your address into his phone. He snatches it from your hand and tells you to drink it all. You sit in silence for a while after that. Roll down the window and let your hand rest outside the car, fingers fluttering as the wind whips past them. He’s driving fast, green traffic lights blurring in your vision, and you feel your head spin faster, harder. Mumble under your breath.

“What?” he asks, voice too loud.

“Slow down,” you repeat, inhaling a deep breath. You feel him ease his foot of the gas instantly, a hand coming to hover over your knee.

“You feelin’ okay?” he murmurs.

“Mm.”

You let your eyes slip shut. Just for a second. A minute. And then—

“Hey.” A firm hand is on your shoulder. Thumb pressing into the skin beneath your collarbone. “Wake up.”

You jolt upright in the seat. Rub a palm roughly against your eye. Forget that you’re wearing makeup until you see black smeared across your hand.

Joel is saying something as you climb out of his truck, but you don’t hear it. Too busy pressing the door shut behind you and stumbling up the paved path to your house. Cool metal slides in your palm, numb fingers grappling for purchase. You scratch the key against the door’s aperture once, twice, and then feel it slip from your hand. A wave of dizziness hits as you watch it clatter against the ground.

“Shit,” you grumble. Bend down to pick it up. Rise and try a third time as silver swims in your vision. You hear a car door slam, the sound of heavy footsteps approaching, and slur another impatient curse under your breath.

“Let me help,” he says from behind you.

“It’s fine,” you protest, skin searing with embarrassment.  

“C’mon.” Joel’s warm hand covers yours. Pries the key from your palm and unlocks your front door in a one easy movement. “Let’s get you inside.”

“I can do it.”

“Just let me help you.”

You practically float down the hall, buoyed by the thick arm around your waist, towing you along. In your room, Joel clicks on the lamp in the corner. Dim orange light envelops the space as you fall back onto your bed with a huff, shirt riding up to expose a sliver of your stomach.

“You need more water before you sleep” he says. “And a fuckin' shower.”

“Mmm,” you agree, eyelids fluttering. “I'm… just gonna lie here for a second.”

The responding sound is that of heavy footsteps disappearing down the hall. A fleeting rush of liquid somewhere in the distance. Your eyes close for a minute, maybe two, and reopen to find Joel’s broad frame hovering in the doorway, holding a glass of water and gripping the doorknob as he assesses your most private space. Your eyes are hardly open, but you can see him in the dim light. Glancing into the darkness of the hall and then back to you, slumped messily against the pillows. After a thick moment of silence, he steps decidedly across the threshold, and closes your bedroom door behind him.

As you watch him, you begin to feel a sense of startling clarity.

Joel Miller, in your house. Joel Miller, in your bedroom. Joel Miller… seeing you make a complete fool out of yourself.  

“Oh fuck,” you blurt out.

“What?” Joel asks sharply. He rounds the bed in two quick strides, and then he’s pressing a glass of water on your side table and sitting beside you. His weight on the side of the bed has the mattress dipping, your body tilting onto your side to face his back. A wave of nausea strikes suddenly, and you suck your lips into your mouth. No.

“Y'oughta warn me if you’re gonna be sick,” he warns.

“M’not.”

“You better not.”  

“I won’t.”

“Think you’ll need about ten of those,” you hear him say. “But one glass is a good start.” 

But there’s already an ocean inside you. Rocky, white-wash waves that lap at the walls of your stomach, press against your lungs, and have your mind swaying even as your body lies still. Fingers, moving faster than your brain, seek purchase. Crawling across the sheets to snag your index through a belt loop on the back of his jeans. Chilled skin against worn denim, an anchor. Something sturdy to calm the eddying current inside you.

“What’re you—”

“Did you have a good day yesterday?” you interrupt, eager to distract yourself.

Joel is silent for a while. Keeps looking down at you until he finally says, “Yeah,” so quiet that your ears strain to hear it.

There’s a hint of something there that you can’t quite read. An emotion that he holds clasped in tight hands, just beyond your reach. You let it be, mind distracted by the soft orange light emanating from the lamp. When you close your eyes it glows against the back of your eyelids, vibrant swaths of sunset and marigold that make it hard to fall asleep just yet.

“Seventy, right?” you tease.

An indignant scoff rings out, and you squeak as a set of rough fingers pinch at the skin of your exposed stomach. The quickest touch, just a graze of flesh, before he’s pulling back. You laugh easily, open your eyes to look at him again.

“Careful now,” he warns. But you can see humour in the lines by his eyes, the quirk of his lip.

Your finger wiggles against his belt loop, tugging on the material there once. A tired patience in your eyes as you wait.

“Fifty,” he finally concedes, smile wavering as his gaze darts to the sheets.

“Mhm,” you murmur. Lips part as you let loose a low, impressed whistle. It comes out as more of a lacklustre exhalation of air. Joel’s shoulders are shaking with silent laughter when he meets your eyes again, a little more relaxed. “The big five-oh, huh?”

“The big five-oh,” he repeats simply. Tired as you are, you can see the question in his eyes. This searching, curious thing that rakes across your features, waiting to note any hint that you might be perturbed by the fact.

“S’nice,” you offer quietly instead. “Get any good gifts?”

The muscles in his neck strain, shirt tightening around his shoulders as he turns to look at you head on. Soft eyes gleam with something darker, teasing, as his lips pull into a lazy smirk.

“Sure,” he agrees, voice low, suggestive. “Good’s one word for it.”

Warmth floods your stomach and your toes curl. But you falter under the intensity of his gaze, a weary heat rising in your cheeks as your gaze lowers to his collarbone.

“Hey," you say quietly. “Look, I appreciate you helping me out tonight, I just…”

Joel’s eyebrows pinch the middle of his forehead, relaxation dissipating as he stares.

“Sorry,” you grimace, skin on fire. All of a sudden, your finger feels swollen in his belt loop, a promise that you can’t keep, the fabric branding hot against your skin as the words tumble out of you. “I’m just, I’m pretty wasted, and I’m grateful, you know, but I don’t think I can—we probably can’t fuck tonight—"

Joel says your name quickly. His hand is gripping your bedsheets, sun-kissed skin against pale yellow. “We’re not fucking.”

Unwitting relief courses through you, and you nod slowly. “Yeah, okay, I just wasn’t sure if you thought maybe… I don’t know—"

“Thought that if I gave you a ride home you owed me a fuck?” he asks plainly, expression tight. A dark, frustrated laughs spills from his lips and his shoulders are tightening, muscles shifting beneath his t-shirt. “That’s not how this goes, darlin’. So don’t go thinkin’ that way, ever, y’hear me?”

You blink, eyes wide. Suddenly alert. Feel the warmth in your stomach spread to your chest, your thighs. Darlin’.

“Okay,” you murmur. “Yeah, that’s—how does this work then?”

The indent between his brows only deepens as he gazes down at you.

“You call the shots,” Joel says. “I thought that was well established by now.”   

His brown eyes look so soft in the dim lighting of your bedroom. Honeyed and golden in the warm orange haze. You stare at them for so long that you lose track of whether or not he’s answered your question. Forget everything that isn’t the lines beside his eyes, the dark speck of his pupils, the wild hairs of his eyebrows. You feel yourself drift closer to sleep again.

“Pretty,” someone says faintly. You. “You’ve got brown eyes.”

“Jesus.” He’s still frowning.

“Brown-eyed girl,” you sing—slur.

“Alright, Van Morrison,” Joel grumbles, the lines in his face softening. “Drink up.”

You do as he asks, gulping down half the water while he watches. His fingers rest cautiously at the base of the glass in case you drop it. And when you’re finished, he takes it from your hands, stands. Another wave crashes inside you when the mattress shifts in the absence of his weight, and you drift, unmoored, onto your back again.

Joel is staring at you. Towering over the bed, hands jammed awkwardly against his hips. His presence so large, so looming. He crowds your small space, his size ensuring that there is no room for another; only you and him, you and him, you and him, and you call the shots. You squeeze your eyes shut, determined to block that thought out.

“I think I’ll go to sleep now,” you mutter. “If that’s alright with you, teach.”

Joel says something, but it’s a far away sound. You tuck your face further into your pillow.

You think you hear him say good night, or some version thereof, but you don’t hear him leave. Don’t hear his boots on the hardwood, or the creak of your bedroom door. Don’t hear his truck start up outside.

And when you wake, alone, you find that droplets of rain have settled on your windowsill, marking another wet September morning. But you don’t frown as you drag a sweater from your closet, nor as you draw the curtains and clamber back into bed. Don’t yearn for the warmth of Summer as the dull ache of a hangover ricochets inside your skull. For you can smell Joel on your sheets; can still feel his presence lingering in the corners of your room.

And that’s warm enough for you.

tags: @lovely-ateez @nana90azevedo @stevie75 @evyiione @dameron-grant-spector @brittmb115 @ashhlsstuff @casa-boiardi @sinfulrock @bbyanarchist @murc0cks4eva @hopplessilse @joeldjarin @anoverwhelmingdin @bluevxnus @kelp-dreaming @prettyinpunk85 @spacelatinos4life @iluvurfather @daisies-yellow @mrsquill @sarap-77 @sunnywithachanceofjavi @alleyy-katt @zeida @mendessi @love-the-abyss @myrealmofchaos @a-roving-woman @punkshort @gracie7209 @whichwitchwanda @fellinfromthetop @bitchwitch1981 @suzmagine @lmariephoto37 @harriedandharassed @cumberpegg @tonysttank @ourautumn86 @my-tearsricochet @shotgun-shelby @5oh5

thank you for reading! x [and idgaf okay i was gonna put that birthday boy pin on him no matter what shitty excuse i had to come up with]

[videogamelover99]

OKAY BUT LISTEN. LISTEN. I WANNA BREAK DOWN SOME OF THE PANELS FROM THIS SCENE CAUSE UH. This is like a powerpoint of the audience realizing the Sheep are not Chuuya's friends.

First off, baby? Baby. Also Chuuya's body language in the art is so, like, embarassed/self-conscious teen, except instead of the problem being hanging out with the wrong people in high school its...Mafia-level stakes. Anyway, Chuuya curling up while hiding from his "friends" immediately gives you a sense he is not the one in control.

Dazai-like expression who? Chuuya is putting on a mask so eerily similar...it gives us some great parallels.

Chuuya unnecessarily apologizing to Shirase? Yeah. Straight from the book.

Insane over Shirase's solid B+ gaslighting. I don't remember if these lines are from the book, but Shirase implying Chuuya's the one "acting like a tyrant" when he literally didn't do anything?? Except ask politely for favors? Throughout the whole conversation he's been the polar opposite. But hey, maybe Shirase's just projecting.

Haha, "somehow".

Nothing to add here except Shirase's body language in this is SO much better than the anime. In the anime he just acted mad and kinda hot-headed. Here he's smiling, acting friendly, giving off those "ofc I'm on your side Chuuya but you make it so hard for these made-up reasons" vibes. Shirase is opportunistic, manipulative, he believes he has control over Chuuya, and therefore his ability.

Of course, Dazai can tell immediately what Shirase is doing. That Shirase has more power over Chuuya than Chuuya does over any of the Sheep (which is once again reinforced by the body language. Shirase's arm over Chuuya's shoulders, swamping him. Being physically taller than Chuuya. Chuuya just kind of standing there, passively.

Also despite what Shirase seems to believe, he and the other Sheep are not one bit smarter than Chuuya. They're eagerly celebrating their victory when Chuuya can clearly tell this is some sort of plan on Dazai's part.

Dazai destroying any leverage they had over Chuuya and yet knowing there's some reason Chuuya is doing this anyway. Offering him a choice.

As I've said before (and it's more obvious than ever in the manga) Shirase's using it to gain Mafia territory by getting some of their members captured. I've stated this before, and we do get a confirmation:

The "self defense rule" is something Chuuya explicitly created. To not strike unless provoked. I have a lot of thoughts on this and why but that's not for this post.

And we have!! Dazai getting pissed off on Chuuya's behalf!! He's scary.

(Spoiler alert: they are not his friends.)

Ahhhh

Ahhhhhhhh

Guys I love this chapter. Because on one hand, Shirase, like the rest of the Sheep, have very legitimate fears. They're literally a bunch of kids that used to be preyed on by other organizations, and if Chuuya is not guaranteed to protect them, then...well...they're in horrible danger, really.

The problem is that Chuuya is ready to protect them. But they don't trust him, and it seems they never have. The whole thing is built on Shirase (and probably the others) holding some kind of emotional and social power over Chuuya, therefore guaranteeing their safety. But when that's not longer the case, well, they don't trust Chuuya to protect them. I'm curious how the manga is going to adapt Dazai's whole "meat" story later on because the issue isn't a selfish conflict of interest. The issue is trust, and the lack of it between Chuuya and the rest of the Sheep.

It's like the Sheep built their gang on high school clique rules, and didn't realize Chuuya's not just operating out of a sense of obligation and need to belong, but genuine care. Anyway, that's all I have to say. The art is beautiful.

[loveephia]

how some of the HQ boys react when you have a cute sneeze. (suna, kuroo, bokuto, sakusa, and ushijma.)

content: (🦷) tooth-rotting fluff, suna is a buttwad, kuroo momentarily becomes a scientist, bokuto thinks your sneeze came from a kitten, sakusa is a meanie.

⚠ warning/s: none.

SUNA RINTARŌ

when he first heard it, his face was straight and stoic as always

but his mind is all like, "that was the cutest thing ever."

so now, whenever you wind up to sneeze, he pulls out his phone, ready to record you

THEN IT UNSATISFYINGLY CUTS OFF YOUR SNEEZE.

you glare at suna and mumble a, "this is all your fault."

suna only sticks his tongue out

one day, he will GET that video.

KUROO TETSURŌ

did that sneeze??? come from YOU????

is it even scientifically possible for it to sound THAT CUTE

"can you do it again?" he asks

and you stare at him with nothing but confusion behind your eyes because how.

"why?"

"i'm conducting an experiment." he insists

you fake a sneeze for his satisfaction, and kuroo's face drops

"that's not a sneeze."

"sHUT UP, TETSU!!! I'M TRYING."

BOKUTO KŌTARŌ

"huh? was that a kitten?" bokuto asks dumbfoundedly

and tHAT ALONE EMBARASSED YOU SO MUCH.

you just nod along to his question, and he starts looking around for the kitten

YOU CAN'T CORRECT HIM NOW.

HE FULLY BELIEVES THAT THERE'S A HIDDEN KITTEN IN THE FUKURODANI GYMNASIUM.

when you sneeze and you happen to be with bokuto OUTSIDE the gym, HE THINKS THE KITTEN FOLLOWED YOU TWO.

"pspsps, where are you, little kitten?!"

you want to dig yourself a hole and lie there.

SAKUSA KIYOOMI

have you guys ever read that one chapter in the haikyū-bu!! manga where sakusa goes absolutely manic over that one roach in his room

bro was willing to burn his belongings and room DOWN TO THE GROUND.

this man loves you,

just clearly not enough to be near you or your sneezes right now.

"ten feet apart or else."

"but i want kisses.. D:"

despite him blushing over how cute it sounded, he's not going anywhere REMOTELY close to you until you've been diagnosed as a HEALTHY HUMAN BEING BY SEVERAL OF JAPAN'S BEST DOCTORS.

USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI

he probably shows the least emotion from everyone else

but he'd be lying if he said it didn't make his heart flutter

just a little bit

he hands you a tissue and asks if you need water as well

HE'S?@(#?# TAKING CARE(@?#( OF YOU!?(#? RAAAAAAAHHHGHGGHHHH

useful for the future

when you two get married, yakno LOL

© lowercase intended | loveephia

[paradisedumpling]

So Beautiful

TROPE: idol!minji x idol!reader; falling out of love but it's okay; based on so beautiful by dpr ian

CONTENT WARNING: mentions of homophobia; hidden relationship; not proofread

SYNOPSIS: a love story between two lovers with a flawless ending

_________________________________________

"So beautiful..."

Gentle fingers tracing your face accompany the words, Minji's dark eyes looking with such deep emotion at your features that it makes your heart pound inside your chest.

"So, so beautiful..." A low whisper and Minji's leaning down slowly, her gaze meeting yours and never leaving.

She stops just a few centimeters from your lips, her warm breath hitting your skin. Minji gently caressed the crown of your head, a smirk growing on her lips as she looked deeply into your eyes.

"So mine."

You closed your eyes as Minji finally pressed her lips against yours in a soft, slow kiss. Hand tangling with your hair, she slightly scratched at your scalp, a soft sigh leaving your mouth as she did so.

"All yours, baby." You murmur softly as the two of you pull away to catch your breaths.

Minji hums in a low tone, the familiar smirk returning to her lips as she looks down at you with her dark eyes again.

"All mine..." Giving a quick peck to your lips, Minji hold your face with both hands gently, tilting your head to this side and that as she ran her gaze over your entire face with care. "So beautiful."

---------------------------------------------------

Minji looked up at the clock on the wall for the fifth time in the last ten minutes, looking down at her phone screen after as it remained black. The words being spoken by her produce director no longer registered in her mind as Minji's eyes once again flickered towards the clock, counting down the second for this meeting to be finally over.

"–And I think that's a wrap everyone! Now go home and rest, we have a lot to prepare for the tour!" The words filled Minji with relief. Not by the true meaning behind them, but the realization she could finally get up and leave.

She would have felt embarassed for getting up from her chair so quickly like she did, but her attention was solely focused on her phone as she texted you. A reply popped up on her screen mere seconds later, the corners of Minji's lips pulling upwards as she read your texted and dashed outside of the meeting room.

Your own studio wasn't too far from where she was, and with only a few minutes of your quick exchange of texts Minji was knocking on your door.

"You came fast." A giggle scapes your mouth as you let her inside, walking back to your desk as you start gathering your things to go home.

"I didn't want to wait any longer to see you tonight." Minji whispered on your ear as she stood behind you, a firm hand on the small of your back as she looked over your shoulder at the papers you were neatly organizing in a folder. "What are you working on?"

"Just a song, lover." You turn your head to the side to give Minji a quick peck on her cheek, stuffing the folder inside your bag as you pulled away from her. "Come on, I'm hungry." Minji laughed softly at your words, nodding as she followed you to the studio door, her hand easily finding the small of your back again, almost in instinct.

The walk towards the elevator was filled with a joyful conversation and a soft exchange of gazes, falling into a familiar dynamic you two shared only with each other.

Your pinky fingers were laced together as the two of you waited for the door to open, face so close to one another as you exchanged smiles that you found yourself being filled with an immense desire to kiss Minji's soft lips.

And you almost did, had it not been the ding of the elevator arriving snapping you back to reality, facing dropping as the doors slowly opened and you could see there was people inside.

Minji watched with a small frown as you immediately dropped her finger, taking a step aside to put a certain, more friendly, space between the two of you.

You entered the metal cubicle in silence, no sights of the loving actions the two of you were just sharing as you both stand in opposite side of the elevator, gaze looking everywhere but at each other.

"Oh, hey! I didn't know you were still here." A mutual friend of yours, a boy from a boy group under your company, greets you with a big smile.

"Ah, you know how it is..." You smile politely back, Minji quietly watching the exchange from the side as she took not of how he leaned closer to you, his smile getting slightly bigger as you replied. "I'm having a comeback soon, I just wanna polish some songs before the album releases."

"You work too hard sometimes." Minji couldn't help the scowl on her face as she forced her eyes not to roll in annoyance at his sudden worry. "You need someone to remind you to take care of yourself!"

Your eyes immediately flicker towards Minji at those words, the two of you exchanging gazes for a quick second before you averted your eyes.

"Don't worry." The smile you held was slightly awkward, but still polite, pressing yourself a bit more back on the cold metal of the elevator as the boy leaned closer again. "I got that covered already."

Before anyone could say anything else, the ding of the elevator signaling you had reached the bottom floor and the doors opening had you leaving quickly, with only a hushed 'goodnight' being spared towards the boy.

Minji didn't waste any second following after you. She looked around when you were both far enough from the elevator, making sure no one was close before she pulled you close to her by the arm.

"Can't he see you're taken?" She whispered in annoyance, and you caught her rolling her eyes as you turned to face Minji.

"He doesn't know."

"I know." Minji sighed frustratedly, pulling you into a tight hug. "We should tell–"

"We can't." You say firmly, looking into Minji's eyes with a familiar pain on your gaze. "We shouldn't even be hugging here in the first place."

"Just because we were almost caught a few times, doesn't mean we'll get caught because of a hug." Voice lowering to a gentler tone, Minji really tried her best to reassure you as she looked around again, squeezing you tighter against her as she saw no one was around yet.

"You don't know that." You say softly, albeit still with a firm tone.

You two remain quiet for a few seconds, each of your minds swirling with thoughts you both new you'd soon reveal in a night you managed to sneak inside Minji's dorm, both too restless with pent up anxiety and longing to sleep properly, instead choosing to exchange deep conversations about the risks of your shared love for one another.

"Did you know..." Minji whispers after a while, a finger softly tracing over your tense eyebrows as she gave you a soft smile. "You're so beautiful?"

"Idiot." You gave her a quick kiss on the lips, looking around nervously before you pulled away from her embrace with a mischievous smile. "Come one, let's go to the karaoke, I miss having you singing just for me." You held out your hand for her to hold your pinky again. "We'll just have fried chicken for dinner today."

Minji laughed at you, nodding her head while lacing her pinky with yours.

"Whatever you want, beautiful."

---------------------------------------------------

It had been days since you and Minji exchanged more than a few texts, a month since the last time you even saw each other in person.

She had left for tour with her group many weeks ago, but it had only been since you had your comeback that the interactions between the two of you had minimized to simple formality.

You were both busy with your jobs and life moved on. But you would be lying if you said you didn't feel a shift on your relationship.

Minji's replies seemed to be lacking the same emotion as they carried before. You could excuse it as simply tiredness from her tour, but not when Minji seemed so energetic talking to everyone but you.

It felt like her heart wasn't focused on you anymore. You knew Minji still loved you, she cared enough to still text a little everyday. But perhaps the distance had changed something.

And perhaps, even when you still loved Minji so dearly, the lack of time spent together and the lack of Minji's warmth had your love losing it's color day by day.

You just knew that whatever the future held for the both of you, your relationship with Minji would forever remain one of the greatest memories you'll ever have.

---------------------------------------------------

"Hi."

"Hey."

The greetings were exchanged softly, the awkwardness vanishing as soon as you stood closer to one another, the unfamiliar distance between your bodies symbolizing just exactly what this meeting meant.

This was the first time Minji was seeing you after almost seven months. You looked just like you did before she left, yet you had changed so much. And she figures that so has she, as you look her up and down with curious eyes.

Maybe the two of you had changed a lot over the last months, but it doesn't necessarily mean it's a bad thing. Or that nothing the two of you shared wasn't important.

After all, you both had managed to squeeze in this meeting on your tight schedules just to break up.

"I just want you to know, I loved you so much Min." Your words are gentle and so is the smile on your lips. The past tense used did not go unnoticed by her, but instead of filling her with dread, it brought a warm feeling to her chest. "I'll never regretted anything, despite how dangerous it was."

"You'll forever be a piece of my life I will cherish forever." It was Minji's turn to speak, her eyes tracing over your features as if it was the last time, a warm smile taking it's place on her face. "Can we.... Can we hug one last time?"

"Don't act as if we still aren't under the same company." You giggled softly, stepping closer to Minji as she opened her arms, embracing you with a familiarity that brought a few tears to your eyes, but you refused to let them fall.

"I know." Minji whispered softly against your hair, engraving this last memory on her mind with great care. "I'll miss us, I'm not gonna lie."

"Yeah." You hummed softly, squeezing her body gently as you refused to let go just yet. "But it's was good while it lasted. We'll just hurt ourselves and our love story if we try again."

"I know." Minji pulls away just enough to look into your eyes, smiling softly as she held your face on her hands. "Goodbye, my love."

Minji wasn't simply speaking to you, but to all the history you shared together, and you knew it was finally time to let go. Yet, you don't feel regretful, and you feel warm knowing she feels the same way.

"Goodbye, my love." You repeat her words, one single tear scaping your eyes as you smiled gently, whispering to Minji your final farewell. "You were so beautiful...."

_________________________________________

a/n: heyyy, guess who's back with another short one they wrote while they should be sleeping?? hahaksjd, I've been meaning to write something based on ian's songs for ages so this was fun to do 😊

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thank you for reading!!

[leclercsbunny]

maybe if you loved me ♡ c. sainz

part five ♡ masterlist

anasainzvdec posted a story 12m ago

blanca watches you convene with ana animatedly, nodding and laughing along with the both of you as per usual, though she held an air of reservation and restraint, being deep in thought.

"sorry, i have an urge to use the restroom again." you sheepishly cut through her story.

"again? your bladder's gotten small or something?" ana comments amusedly.

"let me go with you." blanca stands up from her seat, making a face. "i think the oj got to me aswell." you gestured towards her smugly, as if to tell ana; look, i'm not alone in my struggles.

"fine, but hurry back." she playfully rolls her eyes.

blanca hooks her arm around yours, and you both depart to the restroom. you made small talk on the way, and went to do your business separately.

when you left the stall to wash your hands, blanca was already there. she looked as if she was... waiting for you. she looked serious, and somehow, bothered.

"is everything alright?" you ask her, feeling your heart drop.

"i say this out of the love i have for you and carlos." blanca utters slowly, watching your expression change. "but does he know?"

"i don't know what you're talking about, blanca." you wave her off, suddenly turning defensive.

"i'm sorry if i'm overstepping... but i cannot help but notice all these, very subtle tells." she says softly, not wanting you to get agitated. "you're suddenly queasy when it comes to certain foods, and you're drawn to sweets. like, crazy partial to them. you use the bathroom often, your waist is just.." she measures it with her hand. "and i think we've cultivated a friendship comfortable enough for a brazen comment about the evident size of your... nether regions."

"blanca," you hiss, feeling your cheeks warm with both embarassment and indignance, as you cover your body from her all knowing gaze. "i don't like what you're implying."

"and you didn't drink coffee. you need your coffee, you're like a.." she sniffles, suddenly finding it difficult to maintain her own composure, "fish when you drink those latte's."

"why are you crying?" you push her shoulders, feeling your own nose itch from the buildup of emotions threatening to just spill and topple the both of you. "this is your own freaking fault that we're having this conversation. be woman enough to finish it."

"you're pregnant." she said it with certainty, eyes welling up with tears, she didn't know wether from happiness or sadness. maybe both. it was supposed to be a joyful moment, one which had been your dream for such a long time. but instead your eyes were both red from the complexities of your current emotions, the information tainted with the knowledge of your current realities. "how far long?" she asks.

"still not sure." you rectify with a broken voice, wiping your tears away. "i took some pt, but i've been delaying the blood tests."

"makes sense," blanca reaches out to grasp your shaky hands, "what do you plan to do?"

"i don't know." you reply honestly. "i can only ever think about matteo, and.. and..." you shake your head resolutely, "i don't want anything to change with him."

"things are going to change, but it doesn't always mean a bad one." she tells you, "i know you're at odds with carlos, but— will you tell him?"

you shake your head, "he doesn't need to know." yet even you found it hard to believe.

"he's the father, y/n." blanca reminds you softly, "i know he's done something horrible, and there's no reason to his actions.... but it will crush him."

"he has a very fickle sense of loyalty, and i'm tired of waiting for him to change." you reply. "i don't need his wavering devotion in my baby's life. please understand me, blanca." you tell her pleadingly.

f1chai the carlos-yn-daniel drama bubbles over with more controversy as yn is embroiled in a shocking pregnancy scandal. spanish news outlets broke the news over the weekend, claiming the spaniard's long time, now ex girlfriend, has secretly been seeing one of the best child-rearing physician in madrid— neither carlos, nor daniel have been accompanying her, but one of the sainz' sister was discreetly pictured on one of her visits. this led many to speculate that yn is indeed with child, and have been for some time. the question of wether it is sainz's or ricciardo's have yet to be answered. the parties involved had declined to comment on this matter.

username what the fuck

username IS CARLOS A SHARP HITTER OR SOMETHING ?!?

username am not believing this until further notice

username LIES !! character defaming ones !! SUE EVERYONE !!

username LAWSUIT LAWSUIT LAWSUIT

username seriously why the fuck are people following her anyways...

username right !! she's a normal citizen and these people are all up in her business 🙄

username seriously. let the girl breathe fs

username wrong on so many levels

username this is better than any telenovalas 😭😭

username who's the daddy ? 🤨

username MAMMA MIA ??

username are we even doubting carlos... that man has a whole ass son

username just why? yn already had it good 😭😭😭

username she was running then tripped

username on sainz's lap...

username have to give it to him. well done !!

username get the bag i guess !!

username yeah 😭😭 atleast her baby daddy isn't some brokie 😭😭

username he's a cheater though

username **serial cheater

username 😭😭😭😭

[b4ts1e]

▀▄▀▄▀▄First Meet Ups▄▀▄▀▄▀(𝚐𝚗!𝙼𝙲)

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛'𝚜 𝙸𝚗𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚍𝚎𝚍: 𝙽𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚃𝚘𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚀𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚘𝚠𝚕 𝚡𝚢𝚡 𝙼𝙲 𝚂𝚘𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚝𝚢𝙱𝚘𝚢 (𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚍)

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐: Some are a tad bit more suggestive than the rest, just a heads up.

𝙽𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚃𝚘𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛

Anxiously he stood in the airport lobby, being in public spaces has never been their greatest strength- social anxiety sucks ass. However that wasn't the only thing he was anxious about- they were just about to meet up with MC. The two of them had been planning this for months, and now that MC has quit their old job (honestly it was about damn time) because they refused to grant them their vacation days- the two were finally able to be in each other's arms after seven months.

His phone lit up with a new notification, followed by another and another. The shit connection from the airport had delayed their arrival times.

"Landed, going to baggage claim.""Gods I'm nervous, but super excited!" "Toasty, where are you?" "Toasty" "Toast?"

Quickly they respond, foot tapping on the floor as his anxiety peaks. MC was in the building. They were so close. Excitement bursts through his chest, while the anxiety that they just couldn't shake- twisted their stomach into knots. What if he wasn't what they were expecting? What if they regret agreeing to come? The thoughts made him feel much smaller in the room crowded with people.

"Let me know when you get to the lobby, there's too many people here for me to get to the baggage claim."

MC had shot back a quick thumbs up emote, most likely focusing on their current task of retreiving their belongings. NakedToaster stood there, back to a beam, their foot tapping the ground faster now as he looked back and forth between the escalators that people were coming down from baggage claim on. When he saw an all too familiar person, typing away at their phone while going down the escalator before he got a notifcation- they knew it was them.

Carefully but also instinctively he navigated through the crowd, eyes locked on their target before he stood not even two feet away. "MC?" he spoke, reaching out and tapping the person's shoulder gently. They looked up shocked before a grin spread across their face, dropping their suitcase before jumping to pull the 6'4 giant into a hug. "TOAST!" they shouted happily, their grip tightening around his shoulders as they slowly return the embrace and a smile grew on his lips.

"H-Hey!" he said, internally beating themself up for stuttering like a fool. "C'mon let's get out of here. Too many people." they said before grabbing MC's bag for them and guiding them to the exit quickly, getting to his car. Once inside the vehicle he began to calm down a bit, "You alright? I know you don't do well with crowds hun, but I didn't think it'd be that bad. Do you want me to drive?" MC said quietly as to not overwhelm him, taking his hand gently and rubbing their thumb over the backside of it.

NakedToaster shook their head gently, offering his partner a soft smile as they blush slightly- giving their hand a gentle squeeze. "No, thank you though... I- I love you." he said softly, blush blooming farther across his cheeks and ears. MC giggles softly before Toast groaned loudly and rested their forhead on the driver's wheel. "I love you too Toast. But look at me for a second, please?" they asked, scooting closer to the center consol of the car. He picked up their head and looked towards his partner still flustered but curiously. "What gonna embarass me mo-" he started before being cut off softly as MC leaned over the console and kissed them gently.

It took a moment for Toast to register what was happening before they melted into the kiss, bringing a hand to cup MC's jawline gently- hand shaking from nerves. When the kiss broke, they both were blushing. "I- woah." he muttered softly, resulting in MC nodding softly in flustered agreement with a shakey smile before backing away to sit back in their seat.

With what just happened- Toast knew that once the month long visit was over, it'd be extremely difficult to let them go back to their house. But right now? That didn't matter to either of them.

𝚀𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝

MC paced around their house, rearranging everything to be perfect for his arrival. They needed something to do so that their nerves didn't swallow them whole, after all- Quest was coming to their house. He was going to be here, alone, with them- in all of his tattoed glory. Just the thought alone brought a small blush to MC's face before they shook the (possibly sinful) thoughts of him from their mind and contiued patting down the banket thrown over their coach for the fifth time in the last thirty minutes.

Suddenly the doorbell rang, the pre-set jingle flowing through the house- stunning MC to a stop. He was here. Quest was right outside the door, waiting for them. Quickly they take a breath, hoping to calm themself down at least a little bit more before answering the door. Wiping down their clothes from any excess dust, they take one last moment before opening the door- revealing a 6'0 man standing there in a dark blue turtle neck, a black cover up, matching slacks and a bundle of fresh red roses in his hands.

"MC! For a second here I thought I had the wrong house!" He said with a nervous chuckle, making them laugh a bit as well as they moved aside motioning him inside. "Come on in Quest, sorry I took so long opening the door. Was in the middle of something." they explained with a smile, fiddling with either hands nervously- being in person was way different then seeing this absoulte unit of a man in person.

He entered the house, looking around a bit before his eyes fall to MC's nervous form- closing the door behind them. "You alright? You seem more nervous then when SoceityBoy was in the Bloomic server..." he said softly, reaching out a free hand to them but not touching them- just in case. "Oh! I'm alright, just- it's different having you here. In my house. Rather than through screens... I- don't know exactly what to do first." they say with a small laugh, slowly guiding him towards the living room- him noticing the excessive preening the smaller of the two had done before he had gotten here.

"Well, let me try then. Here- I brought these for you." he said, extending the flowers to MC gently with a soft smile on his face. Graciously they accepted the flowers, giving them a quick whiff before looking back up to the tall man with a smile. "Thank you Quest, you really didn't need to get me anything- but this is...very sweet of you." they said, looking around for one their stored away vases to keep the gentle flowers in.

"I wanted too, after all..." he started before he gently pulled MC closer to him by the waist and leaned down towards them slightly. "I'm getting to see the most amazing partner in the entire world in person for the very first time, it felt like a necessary thing to do." he said lowly with a small smirk intergrating into his smile as he observed the blush that radiated off of MC's cheeks at their proximity.

Carefully, Quest put the flowers on the counter behind MC so they wouldn't get crushed before pulling them even closer. "Is this okay?" he asked softly, his flirtatious front falling as he took their comfort into account. After dealing with a terrible ex-boyfriend like SocietyBoy, he didn't want to make any moves that could hurt them in anyway- guess that's the Xander in him. They nod softly before their eyes flit between meeting his and his lips before they gulped softly- avoiding eye contact, but the nervous acts did not go unnoticed by Quest as he gently brought his lips to theirs. It was soft, but intense at the same time- all of the built up love and affection of six months of long distance crashing down on the two of them.

When the kiss broke, MC found themself instinctively following after him- not ready to be seperated just yet, and Quest happily obliged to his lover's desperate need for closeness. When they reconnected, the kiss was far more heated as MC gripped tightly at his turtleneck and he seemed to pull them ever closer to him as he pushed them against the counter. When it broke again, MC putting their hands gently against his chest as they looked down- catching their breath and trying to still their racing heart.

"I love you MC." he said through baited breaths. "I love you too Quest, thank you for coming." they replied with a smile, nuzzling into his chest and hugging him tightly.

𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚘𝚠𝚕

He was excited, having finally been granted permission to leave his college campus for good- shown by his architecture degree that was carefully framed and packed away in his suitcase that stood right beside him by the curb. Nightowl wasn't the type to enjoy driving, but lucky enough for him he has a loving partner in the same state that just so happens to be willing to drive for hours to bring him home. Some would call it 'going to fast' but it felt like it took too long for him.

It has been three months since he'd met and gotten together with MC, sure it was definetely a fast growing relationship- but it worked for both of them. And now? He was moving into their house, just to be closer physically. As a sleek, black Hundai Genesis G80 rolled around the entry corner he felt his excitement grow- despite the tinted glass he could see his lover in the driver's seat. When the car pulls to a stop by the curb in front of him, he started to grab his bags but paused when he heard the car door open and rushed speedwalking.

"Darling!" they said with a grin, wrapping him into a tight hug quickly before he could properly react. When the shock died down he laughed cheerfully and hugged them back just as tightly, "My love! Thank you for coming to get me, it feels so good to have you in my arms..." he said, nuzzling his face in between their shoudler and neck- memorizing their warmth and smell. MC laughed a bit, being slightly tickled by his hair brushing against their skin gently.

"It's no problem, it was an excuse to see you for one AND you're moving into my house so might as well." they say, putting a hand into the boy's hair letting him stay there as long as he felt like it. A comfortable silence erupted between the two, only the hum of the car's engine persisting. The feeling of his lover finally being in his arms was euphoric, and he couldn't stop his tendancies as he started to gently pepper kisses across the skin availible to him on the neck and shoulder space.

MC's breathing took a swift halt, the gentle kisses making their skin shiver- it had been so long since they were given this level of affection in person. It felt both foreign and familiar- but in the best way possible as they let out small shaky breaths. "Hun- we...we should get your bags into the car." they said shakily before nightowl raised his head and gave them the puppy eyes, letting out a light whine. "But gorgeous!!! I just wanna shower you with affection, pleaseeee??? A few more minutes???" he asked, puffing out his bottom lip a bit to intensify his pouty face.

MC laughed lightly at his silly shenanigans, cupping his face and placing a light peck on his nose before breaking from his grasp and grabbing his bags off of the ground to put them in the trunk. Nightowl stood there stunned for a moment before literally shaking his head like a puppy, a blush on his cheeks "H-Hey! You missed!" he practically shouted, making his partner laugh lightheartedly. "The sooner we get home, the sooner you can get an actual kiss birdy. I promise." they said with a playful smile before slipping into the driver's seat.

With a happy grin he got into the passenger side of the car, excited by the prospect of their house now becoming both of their home. Even as he sat down and buckled up, he couldn't sit still- his excitement evident and making MC chuckle a bit as they started the long drive home, a soft hand resting on his thigh the whole ride home.

𝚡𝚢𝚡

Xyx was focused, being more careful then usual on his motorcycle as he sped towards their designated meet up point- he was just moments away from the love of his life, MC. A grin spread across his face as he sped up a bit more, hoping to get there faster- he needed them close sooner rather than later, after all...it's been nine months since they've gotten together and they've never even within physical range of each other. Not once did he get to feel their delicate skin against his own, nor did he get to see their face bloom a beautiful red as he teased them directly and not through a screen.

Cat sat in front of him, strapped to his chest with a custom made helmet on their little head- they were also excited to see MC. After all, they now meowed at the screen everytime they realized Xyx was on call with them- pawing gently at the screen, trying to get to them. Eventually, he pulled to a stop in front of an apartment building, a temporary living arrangement they've made until they find a place they can both mutually agree on.

Quickly he got off the bike, turning it off and taking the keys from the ignition- putting the kick stand down and pulling off his helmet as well as Cat's. He entered the establishment quickly, carefully unstrapping cat from his chest as he approached the elevator- he knew which room he was going to already and had been given instructions for once inside the building. Apparentally, the staff at the establishment aren't permitted to show people to rooms without them having proof of rooming there- privacy and legal contracting stuff. Luckily they didn't question him as the elevator closed, and he went to the top floor- the bought out apartment he insisted on was of course the suite, only the best for the best.

He approached the door, setting Cat down on the floor before knocking and adjusting his backpack strap. The door swung open swiftly, revealing MC grinning excitedly bouncing on their toes and before Xyx could get a single word out Cat meowed loudly- pawing at their shins, making them giggle. "My two favorite beings are here! Hi hi!" they said excitedly, picking up the cat and pulling Xyx inside the suite. "So Cat gets a hug and I don't? I see how it is." he teases, pulling off his bag and leaning against the entryway wall.

"No no no! Hold on! The baby was just- she got to me first." MC defended quickly, hugging the feline to their chest and nuzzling into their fur. "Oh so it's a competition huh?" he says, a devious smirk on his face as his eyes showed he was planning something. "Y'know what? Yeah. Yeah it was, Cat just loves me more." they say turning around, acting overly sassy for show as they pet Cat's head gently- the feline releasing calming purrs.

Suddenly Xyx wrapped his arms around MC's waist, making them squeal as he picked them up from behind and walking to the couch- gently tossing them down, making Cat scurry off to explore. "H-Hey! X you could've hurt Cat!" they said playfully glaring at their boyfriend before he crawled over them, putting his face in their chest and holding them close. "She's fine, but right now? You're mine. If I have to prove it, I will. Mine." he muttered into his partner's clothed chest- his cheeks heating.

MC chuckled a bit, blush spreading across their cheeks. "How exactly would you prove that huh? Gonna make me wear a collar like a cat or something?" they tease with a laugh. He groans into their chest before lifting himself up, a soft blush on his cheeks and ears before he leans back down- face in the crook of their neck. It was a moment later that he was biting down gently on their skin, leaving soft red marks behind. "I'll think about that collar, but for now these will do." he says teasingly, kissing each one softly.

MC laughed fullheartedly, despite being flustered they found it adorable how he felt the need to show off that they were exclusively his. "You're a big softie under that memeable surface, and I love it so damn much." they say, hugging his head into their chest again. "Only for you." he muttered into their chest as he cuddled into them, listening to their heart beat- studying it and trying to match his own to it. "I never thought I'd get to say this to someone- but I love you MC." he said quietly, listening to their heart race slightly faster afterwards- making him smile. "I love you too Xyx, all of you." they said quietly in return.

The two stayed bundled up like that until Cat returned and hopped onto Xyx's back, curling into a ball and chosing him as her new bed for the moment- making him unable to move. It was a small family, but it was perfect for them.

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 2,942

[dolliestfairy]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ TW: Noncon, Housewife kink, Masturbation, threesome, nonconsexual kissing, breeding kink, jealousy, Double penetration(?), and a little pervert-y. lmk if i miss anything. chubby reader fics with no skintone of reader mentioned.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Word count : 2,2K

imagine having a duo who have a housewife kink.. like everytime they see you doing literally anything -- theres always this dirty unholy thoughts of them about you in the back of their mind, and the fact that they actually know it each other but never actually opened up to you. they always masturbate with themself, while thinking about your plump bellies swelling with their kids, having their babies, making them foods before and after they work, giving them kisses on their cheeks when they just got home, and then get pregnant again at the end of the night. one of the duos cant even see you straight in the face just because this thoughts really really devouring them. the one other can cover it better than their other ones but still.. they're still flustered as well.

this all will be out of the window when one of them start kissing you in the lips without your concern at all. the other one who witness all of it becomes heavy-jelly until they start to meet their lips on yours while the other ones just seeing both of you exchange each others saliva. and only a minute after that, the one that seeing both of you exchange each other saliva start to open your skirt up and take down your lower clothes, making you panic. you try to push the ones that has been swallowing your lips this whole moments but you forget both of them were strong. more strong enough to hold you down within it. when you finally get strip to naked, and they start to put their fingers into you, at this rate your emotions are mixed up. theres horny, angry, dissapointed, embarassed, and just.. want it to be over. you close your eyes to protect yourself from seeing those hornyble experiences, until one of them start slapping your cheeks, making you scream but the other ones who is pounding into you quickly shoved their hands into your mouth to shut down your screams. one of them starts begging the other ones to speed it up because they want to feel the feelings of fucking you too! but the one that was fucking you right there and then cant just get enough of you! i mean how could they? you're just so.. delicious, so delicate and.. plump, begged for their creams. its just a matter of time before the other ones start to be really really impatient until they cant take it anymore as they strip their own self naked and start to pound you in a different hole. at this rate.. you dont know what to do. all you can do is just.. stay there and wait until its over.. you dont even know which holes both of them pounding at. what matters is now that, you're doomed. and you're really really doomed to be their housewife. they dont really gave a shit about the fact if they can really impregnate you or not, but they do gave a shit about the fact that giving you a kid -- adopted or not, will tied you to both of them, together and forever.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ The Duos that i'm talking about are ;

SATORU & SUGURU [Jjk] MIYA ATSUMU & MIYA OSAMU [Hq] Rindou Haitani & Ran Haitani [tokyo revengers] Itoshi Sae & Itoshi Rin [blue lock] BOKUTO & AKAASHI [Hq] Tendou & Ushijima [Hq] Akiteru Tsukishima & Kei Tsukishima [Hq] HAWKS & DABI [Mha] SUKUNA & YUUJI [Jjk] Jiraiya & Orochimaru [naruto] KAEYA & DILUC [genshin impact] Stu Macher & Billy Loomis [Scream].

did i forget anyone!? insert ur fav!

[bruciemilf]

Okay besties, I have an idea for you;

AU where the justice league was rooted in a small town; everyone knows everybody and no one knows anyone. Not really. But them? Oh, they know eachother.

They knew Clark and Bruce would tie the knot right after graduation.

They knew Diana would take new York museums by storm. They knew Hal would grow into his dad's aviator jacket. They knew Barry would wear gold around his neck in the Olympics. They simply knew.

Except for the fact that Clark had no idea Bruce would go on to divorce him just to marry an old sparring buddy, -- Khoa something; he doesn't know to this day, and he refuses to learn, -- for reasons he wouldn't divulge.

And bruce didn't anticipate his ex husband being the one who would investigate his husband's murder.

Funny how death brings people together.

Not until Dick, their boy, his boy, too, - He's Jon and Kon's brother just as much as he's Jason's, Tim's, and Damian's, and no piece of shit paper could take that from him, - told him, a bone white paleness to his cheeks the day of his weekend.

Their home is chaos; Not a chaos he knows, a chaos he loves, but a disservice on their once home.

Four different cars parked in front of Bruce's manor, dark enough to blend in the depth of night, give Clark a pretty good idea of what he'll find.

" This is bad. This is really bad, right? Oh god, is he moving? He just looked at me, I SWEAR he just looked at me,--"

'' Who gave Barry coffee?" Clark doesn't want them to be shocked when he enters, because really, he's not supposed to be here. The spark of twisted pleasure when they see him Is small, but it's there. " Who died?"

Hal skips over the corpse currently occupying the living room carpet, a frenzy in his eyes, " We do NOT have time for your shit, Kent. It's bad enough Wayne dragged us along to his little graveyard shift,--"

Clark doesn't particularly want to know who's that Oliver tosses Russian words with over the phone, but he takes a pause, only to point sharply at the pilot, " As if you have anything better to do you plane crushing fuck--"

" One time! One time!"

" Quiet down! You're upsetting Bruce," Command and order came to Diana as naturally as flight does to birds; Out of them all, -- jaded and secretive and wore out by life like a pair of shoes, -- she holds the crown of stability for sure.

Clark envies her. Maybe because she's her, or because she has an arm around Bruce.

He's tired; And scared. Clark's pretty little ghost.

Blanket over his lean, strong shoulders, knees nestled to his chest, shivering under Diana's arms. His eyes haven't left the living room.

Not until Clark walked up to the bottom of the stairs, where he could catch a better view of purple and blue rendering Bruce's sharp cheek.

There's something undeniably demure about Bruce Wayne; Youngest of them, softest of them. Clark adored it; He's always been a beast of a man, -- granted, raised with Martha Kent's southern loving ways, but you can't make a puppy from a wolf.

Bruce very much disagreed, and told Clark as such. That they compliment eachother.

Clark can't help but be sad at Bruce's softness now; But he's not stupid enough to think Bruce weak, and God help you if you're that man. Maybe Khoa was that man.

Bruce's eyelashes flutter like a butterfly's wings, " ...Clark." You came.

" Hi, baby." You called.

He closes his eyes, silently letting embarassment take him. Hal facepalms behind him.

" Not to interrupt your weird Eye Make Out slash Emotional Hug contact, but seriously, we need to call the police!"

" No!" Bruce raises to his feet, fingers twisting and fiddling, a nervous habit. Clark wants to capture him in his arms and never let him move, " No. No police."

Diana's voice is gentle, " Why not?"

" Because he did it!" Hal says, " I mean, it's pretty obvious!"

" Oh shut the fuck up-"

" That's absurb--"

" Hal, you're scared I get it, but Bruce would never,--"

" I did," Bruce declares, sentencing them to silence. " I did it. "

A tension filled cloud slowly drips over them. Hal begins pacing even more. Barry joins him. Oliver's yelling gets louder, and the Bruce's fingers shake worse.

Clark, wordlessly, pulls him upstairs, hands gentle on his smaller wrists, ignoring the call back from downstairs, where death still lingers.

Bruce won't look at him when he asks, " Did you do it? Really?"

" He was going to hit me."

" He was already hitting you," Clark spits the hateful truth, acid hissing over his tongue like a well-sharpened knife, " He was already hitting you. And you didn't kill him then. "

A shiver, a tremble, Bruce turning his back as if to protect himself. Clark's heart hurts. He's never been someone Bruce needed protection from, " Please, --"

" So you were either going to stop him from hitting you... Or from hitting someone else," Bruce's frame moves from him, departs again, and Clark follows, because he let Bruce walk away one time and it got them here, " ...Or someone was gonna stop him from hitting you."

Bruce freezes, gaze wide. Only he's not looking at Clark. He's looking at what's behind him.

Clark follows the line of sight.

There's Jason, their youngest, their tallest, terrified, and teary, and blood soiling his hands.

[bangsinc]

A Spot x Reader

Where Spot is feeling super insecure - mainly bc everyone left him bc he became the spot but only the Reader stayed. And so when he becomes insecure about himself and not feeling good enough for Reader — can reader lift him up and tell him how perfect he is? 🤭 Something along those lines.. Totally feel free to add or change anything!!

💕Insecurities (Hcs/Drabble)💗

This is so so adorable! Ofc I’ll do this :). And thank you so much for being so polite!!! I’m sorry for the wait btw everyone, I’m working on requests I promise! I’ve jus gotten very sick B)

Also, just wanna add I’ll be making a masterlist for my stuff since so many ppl are requesting and I want it to be easy for everyone to find stuff! <3 and ill be making better cards

Days and nights seemed to never go by ever since the collider incident. Jonathan Ohnn, a man higher than life itself it seemed, reduced to nothing. He yearned for the life he once had, the fame, the community, the job.. but then again, he’d let what happen happen again if it meant you would be there for him.

You were the only person who understood his struggles, it seemed. But words and actions can’t heal wounds easily. He finds himself rather frequently lying awake at night and wondering what could have been. There’s so much he can’t do for you. So much he can never provide. Not even a kiss.

But.. every morning, he wakes up in your arms nonetheless. Your comfort never-ending, your words charming enough to even get to a man like him. A man who believes he’s not worth anything of the sort.

The longer you’re together, the more assured he is that you’re his soulmate, his one and only. He would never be possessive, or sociopathic to you though, but he believes your connection is more than mortal. He’s never seen unconditional love before, and he wishes to cherish it while it’s in his arms.

Often you find yourself holding him, lulling him to sleep despite his cries. He can’t shed tears, but his voice speaks more than his emotions. He’s learned to be good at that skill, since his face is.. nothing.

He holds onto you, begging to never leave him, but your words continue to come. You don’t shun him, or mock him for being so vunerable either. He’s yours, and you’re his.

He knows he can never repay this, he knows that he can’t even show the same affection you show for him, and he most certainly knows one thing. That you love him, forever and always.

The raidos melody flew past the both of your ears as you layed down on the comforter, the fabric clinging to Spots face as he spoke what could only be considered gibberish. His body, while erratic, never dared to move away from your touch. It was all he could feel, all he could care about in that moment.

“Y..you don’t need to always comfort me it—it’s nothing I..” He takes a deep breath, his hand covering the hole on his face to convey embarassment. You use this opportunity to hold his face in your hands, your bodies entangled. The raido was a distant memory, for now.

His cries don’t cease, at first. Instead, he clings to you, his arms wrapping around your figure in a desperate attempt to prove that this wasn’t something that.. would go away. Something that wouldn’t change. He could change, and you could change, but your love for eachother remained. Your love will change, but sometimes change is good.

He’s coming to learn that.

[pacifymebby]

You’re imagines are so good! Love the character accuracy. Imagine the peaky blinders boys having a s/o who is super into self care, and wants to pamper them as well. Like skin care, body/scalp massages, baths, etc.

This is so cute i love it, i did it as kind of modern au centered because i feel like self care is probably way more varied now than it used to be?

Tommy

🌿I feel like he looks after himself and isn't going to be as opposed to this as you might expect a bloody-minded toxic masculinity gangster to be.

🌿Especially not the candlelit baths, the back rubs and anything else which involves close physical contact with you...

🌿Both 20s Tommy and Modern! Tommy are very serious men, their brain is always set in overdrive, his thoughts buzzing and whirring like a broken machine at all hours. He never switches off and you worry about him.

🌿"Ain't good for you Tommy, you're always lost inside your own head... Driving yourself crazy, you need to switch off every now and then... Let me help you..."

🌿 You know exactly the tone to take to get him to leave his work and come to you, oh so slightly suggestive, tempting... And when it comes to you Tommy doesnt have much resistance...

🌿You probably have a really fancy bathroom with a sunken in tub, jacuzzi jets and all, which Tommy had built for you but which you always intended on sharing with him. I'm picturing this but with more house plants, more candles...

🌿 You put his favourite record on and soak in the tub with him, he holds you in his lap, definitely tries to take the vibe somewhere else

🌿But you are determined that this is going to be more than just a steamy afternoon of shower sex... You promised to help him relax and you're going to.

🌿 "Oh angel no... I don't need that..." he says when you present him with a facemask, its a sheet mask and he just looks at you all "we look like something out of a horror movie y/n" "yes but its going to make your skin feel heavenly..." "already heavenly love..." he smirks making you smile a little embarassed. "Well yeah, I mean you are..." you start but he just shakes his head, "was talking about you angel..."

🌿Tommys been through a lot and has a lot of pent up stress stored in his muscles, he doesn't realise quite how much trauma he's holding in his body until he starts to relax, and when he realises everything he's carrying with me, all these emotions he shuts out to survive, he panics a bit... He can't let himself unwind completely or he's sure he'll fall apart.

🌿So he tries to make up excuses to cut short your pamper session, standing up to get out of the bath, taking his face mask off with some excuse about having an important call that needs to be made...

🌿You're not stupid though, you know what he's doing and so with one puppy dog eye look at him, you beg him to stay just a little longer. And he can't say no to you when you look at him like that so he returns to you.

🌿You wash his hair and massage his head, you tell him to close his eyes and you treat him so delicately. He's never felt this kind of care before, this good goosebump feeling, the hairs on his neck standing on end at the slightest touch from you. He loves it.

🌿You give him a little face massage too, telling him to close his eyes, sitting in his lap and very gently, delicately massaging his temples, his cheeks and jaw. He didn't even know you could carry tension in your face like that but your touch is magic. And when you finsih it with a kiss pressed to his lips he pulls you in for a deeper one.

🌿 Tommy also likes to live the life of luxury, he always aspired to reach the levels of those higher social classes, he always wanted what they have and so when you beg him to go on a spa week with you he obliges. Its one of those things the rich do after all.

🌿He gets a taste for massages and takes you on many spa weekends. If he has a particularly troubling problem he needs to mull over he will often lie on his back in the sauna and think things through.

🌿Loves an ice bath/plunge pool because he's a fucking sociopath.

Alfie

🐻 Alfie has never had someone try to take care of him like this, he's not really used to having people take care of him at all but this is even more unfamiliar... As far as Alfie is concerned "self-care" is just "womans stuff ain't it"

🐻 "Well no Alf its not really, anyone can do it and well yknow... Youre always spoilin me aren't you," "rotten zieskiet, absolutely rotten," "well yeah, exactly... I wanna make it up to you, wanna look after you for once..."

🐻 He will argue, "But you see my little zieskiet thats just not how this works yeah, you and me yeah... You're my little girl ain't you," "yeah but..." "right, exactly right, you're my little girl and there ain't no buts about it zieskiet, I take care of you.. You don't want for anythin... You don't need to look after me, I do that myself right..."

🐻 "But Alfie," you whine fixing him with a pout and the most irresistible puppy eyes, "I want to look after you..."

🐻 So he lets you do it to make you happy... Of course he grumbles about it anyway, even if he's enjoying it. He can't drop his grumpy old man act now...

🐻 He lets you run him a hot bath, let's you use your essential oils, lets you wash his hair and condition his beard... On the condition that whilst you wash him you sing for him, something nice and sweet and low. When you're singing for him thats when he really lets himself relax, closing his eyes and feeling the heat from the water soak into him.

🐻He finds that he's able to relax and enjoy it but he can't actually admit to that, he rolls his eyes, tells you he's only doing it so that you'll stop hastling him about it, only doing it because it makes you happy...

🐻 But he secretly loves when you climb into the bath with him and massage his sore muscles, he loves feeling you comb your fingers through his beard and his hair.

🐻 Will not let you put a facemask on him, uses his beard as an excuse, also tells you he's got really senstive skin which is definitely another excuse... Five minutes ago he was pretending he didn't know what a skincare routine was, so how on earth he'd know whether he had sensitive skin or not you don't know...

🐻 You definitely teach this man the power and divine pleasure that is ✨moisturising✨ he gets dry skin and it gets worse when he's stressed so you teach him all about how to wash his face and how to moisturise properly, you make him promise he'll follow his routine every day, "happy skin means happy everything else..." you tell him and he just rolls his eyes and chunters away.

🐻 He will always insist you join him in the bath, he'll tell you he can't possibly relax if his little zieskiet isn't close by.

🐻 I feel like a lot of your self care tricks would be really good for his sciatica as well, relaxing when thats playing up, letting you take care of him. It's what he needs but it all has to be done under the pretence that its to make you happy and that hes the one looking after you.

🐻 At first he is definitely a little wary of letting you see him naked in a non sexual way, in a way where he is the vulnerable one and you're really paying attention to him... When you're not having sex being naked together makes him a little self concious, he thinks a massage will draw attention to his injuries ans scars, is worried you'll see him for the broken/breaking down man he really is

🐻 You tracing the ridges and lines of his scars, kissing them lightly when you're massaging him. Nuzzling into his neck and kissing him as your fingers trail the marbled scarring on his waist and his shoulder.

🐻 Theres one element of self care that Alfie really can get behind and thats meditation. He really enjoys sitting peacefully, letting his mind calm and settle, letting his thoughts wash over and away one by one. He believes it enhances his intelligence and insight, believes that by calming his mind he's making himself sharper.

🐻 He loves a hot stone bed more than he cares to admit but when his back is playing up lying on one of those feeling the heat relax his body slowly, its so soothing... He'll never go to a spa alone however, he always takes you as an excuse to be there.

Arthur

🍂 "You fuckin what? You're gonna make me feel better with some nice smells?"

🍂 Will not let you put "mud" on his face. "Darlin that's just fuckin wrong int it... Fuckin mud on your face? Like mud... From the ground..."

🍂 Arthur is completely baffled by the whole thing and honestly a little bit scared. It all just sounds like "girl stuff" stuff that his mates would take the everloving piss out of him if he admitted to trying it.

🍂 But you know Arthur, he might have that tough guy exterior, might come across as harsh and angry and well, rough... But underneath it he's hiding a delicate side, a side that you know would benefit from just a little self care.

🍂 You have to trick him into it, set some kind of trap because he won't conciously go near anything ylang ylang scented.

🍂 Is genuinely petrified of the shop Lush, crosses the street so he doesn't even have to walk past the front door. He's scared one of the shop assistants will lure him in with a polite hello and then drag him inside kicking and screaming, smothering him in all sorts of oils and bath shite. Once when you were just dropping in to buy a facemask he caught your hand and very very seriously told you to "be careful in there love, don't let anyone grab you" he even shuddered/had a nervous twitch as he watched you go in.

🍂 He doesn't know how to be taken care of, as the eldest son its always been his responsibility to take care of everyone else, he hasn't really been shown much love or care from many people. Most people are terrified of him, his brother who he should be closest to doesn't let him talk about feelings, and he's too embarassed about admiting "failure" to go to his aunt or anyone else for comfort.

🍂 From the first time you spoke to him you've been determined to show him that care. You looked at him, his nervous eyes, that lack of self confidence he was doing so well to hide, and you just thought "this is a man who needs a hot bath and a really good head massage"

🍂 But Arthur is so awkward and standoffish whenever you try to look after him. He hates it if you're "soft" on him because he thinks its imasculating and patronising. He finds it all so embarrassing and he'll go the most adorable shade of bright red whenever you so much as kiss his cheek.

🍂 The first time you suggest a nice candlelit bath he gets interested but thats because baths are literally just for fucking as far as he's concerned and he's dissapointed to realise that you have something else in mind.

🍂 Lots of protests, "y/n come on now we don't have to do this... This is just... I don't need to relax i am relaxed..." "Arthur you haven't been relaxed since your umbilical cord got cut..."

🍂 But once you're alone together in that bath he finally begins to relax. You tell him to close his eyes and at first he refuses or asks why. "Cause its better for relaxing..." "You're gonna do somet to me aren't you... Gonna use one of them fuckin mud potions..." "Promise I'm not..." you try to take his anxiety seriously but "mud potions" is a difficult thing not to laugh at.

🍂 He does his best to relax though and grows to love the feeling of your fingers in his hair, it really does feel like a weight being lifted.

🍂 His favourite thing is to close his eyes and lie back against your chest, the skin on skin contact, the steam and warm water doing wonders to slow his racing mind right down.

🍂 You give him hand massages a lot and he really likes learning how to give them to you too. You teach him where your pressure points are and he concentrates really hard on learning exactly how to take care of you too.

🍂 And sometimes when you're in the bath together you let your hand travel a little lower than usual, you let his idea of bath time win out.

🍂 You take him to a spa and he's so unnerved, he's worried he'll be recognised by someone and his reputation of being a ferocious gangster will be ruined. But he does like the sauna, trouble is it puts him in the mood for fucking...

🍂 Doesnt like a steam room, he feels too vulnerable in there because its dark and steamy and he gets claustrophobic not being able to see so well. If you go into the steam room he will stand guard outside so that nothing bad can happen to you in there.

🍂 You teach him lots of different breathing exercises and try to get him into stretching. They're such effective ways of relieveing tension and you know they'd do him the world of good. But he's not very flexible and he just grumbles. He is however astounded by how bendy you are and will often ask you to show him certain poses just so he can get a good look at you.

🍂 He does try to remember the breathing exercises and they do actually really help him with his ptsd.

John

🌼 I feel like John would be down for doing facemasks with you, you painting his face with some ugly green clay mask, him painting yours with a glittery gold one, taking silly selfies with you.

🌼 He definitely strikes me as a "splashes face with cold water and dries it on an old tshirt" kind of skin care routine boy but you're determined to change his primitive ways.

🌼 He also definitely loves a spa day and you two frequently dissappear to some fancy spa retreat for the weekend.

🌼 Loves a steam room/sauna combination, especially when you join him, theres something really sexy about watching you lie on your back in a bikini, lit up by the dim orange glow of the sauna. That musky essential oils smell lingering in the air... The little beads of sweat on your breasts as your chest rises and falls... "Lie down John, stop starring at me you're supposed to be relaxing..." "Oh I'm relaxed flower don't worry about me..."

🌼 Loves a massage, especially when you go all professional on him with the essential oils. When you get him to lie face down on the bed and climb on top of him to massage his back. Feeling your hands all over him, feeling your legs straddling him...

🌼 You know what else is a good stress reliever love? An orgasm.

🌼 You put cucumber on his eyes when he's in the bath and he immediately thanks you for the snack and eats it. You're speechless, how do you even begin to tell him thats not what thats for.

Bonnie

🍀 Perfectly happy to be silly with you and will let you do whatever you want to him if it makes you happy... So he lets you work out his skin type and prepare the perfect face mask...

🍀 Actually sometimes he'll acompany you out into the forest to find the berries and plants you need to make your little self care rememdies with, its a good excuse to spend time with you and he finds it incredible how knowledgeable about plants and herbs you are...

🍀Does point out that this facemask you've mixed up for yourself is just a really fancy overnight oats recipe... Does eat a spoonful and imediately regrets it wincing and spitting it out.

🍀 It does take quite a lot to convince him that self-care isn't the same as make up and stuff, he's always telling you not to "buy into all that wellness shite" because its just a new capitalist method of getting your money off you...

🍀 And you know, he's not completely wrong, but self care isn't just about buying stuff and you have to try and teach him that before he'll really let you show him stuff. Showing him how you make natural face masks, moisturisers and bath salts does help this process.

🍀 He has to take care of his body for his boxing and he's no stranger to a sports massage, actually more often than not he's the one trying to get you to let him give you a back rub... Whenever you offer he always starts on you, squeezing your shoulders, telling you you seem tense. He's such a smooth talker you don't even realise he's derailed your plan until he's smoothing warm lavender oil over your back, working your muscles skillfully. And when you do realise you don't want to ask him to stop.

🍀 After his fights you want to take good care of him and you always insist he spends the following day with you, relaxing... You spoil him with a hot bath to sooth his sore muscles, scented candles and nature sounds asmr music, massages, he even lets you put a hair mask in his curls.

🍀He's always been torn about things like spa days, hes always thought they were something for posh people, wives of men who play too much golf... But again, he'll do anything if you ask him enough times, so he comes with you one day and he's adorably awkward and hesitant about everything.

🍀 You pick his treatments for him and he really really has to trust you because he's not sure what an "all over body sugar scrub" is but it sounds, intimidating? Afterwards when you ask for his review he just grins, "I'd have liked it more if it was you in there with me..."

🍀 Ultimately though Bonnie's idea of self care is a day in the woods, or by a river with you. Somewhere peaceful, quiet. Lying back against a tree trunk with you in his arms.

🍀 "Really dove, takin care of my girls what makes me feel good, enough with your scented candles now eh, let me look after you, it's not like i ain't good at it..." he says whispering the last sentence in your ear, kissing your neck as he starts to massage your shoulders.

🍀 You're literally never winning this battle sorry.

Isaiah

🐀 Will roll his eyes when you suggest a self care night, calls it your "hippy dippy bullshit" teases you and asks if you're going to do his birth chart whilst you're at it... "Maybe I should Si, might find out why you're such a snide git eh?" You'll probably regret flashing him that cheeky smile.

🐀So aye, he's not exactly easy to convince, he has the same opinion on self care as most the other men... That its girls stuff, that it ain't manly to smell like lavender and camomile.

🐀But, a little wine, a few candles and a hot bath... You with your legs wrapped around his waist, your fingers massaging his scalp gently... Whats not to like about that... He really likes how close it makes you feel, the connection between you strengthening.

🐀Thats more to do with the fact he's being vulnerable with you and his vulnerability is being met with care and love, rather than down to the fact you've sugar scrub massaged his back and legs.

🐀He will let you do facemasks with him but it will come accompanied by many threats, "you tell anyone about this mousy and I promise you you'll regret it..." but you're not scared of him and so you tease him with the threat of telling his touch guy gangster friends all the time. You start getting your own way much more often.

🐀I think he probably enjoys the tension of letting you shave him with an open razor blade, i don't know if this counts as self care so much as just a personal hygiene thing but either way, its a very intense and intimate experience and you're the only person he trusts to do it because you're so gentle and delicate with it that you never cut him.

🐀He fancies himself a social climber and enjoys the status of being able to "treat his girl to a relaxing weekend away" he definitely enjoys taking you to spas and baths, but he tends to let you go off for all the fancy treatments and just enjoys swimming in the pool and relaxing on the stone beds or in the sauna.

🐀Another man who needs to be taught about the power of moisturising. His skin gets dry and you buy him moisturisers and give him little face massages. He's much better at remembering to do his little skincare routine than alfie is because he cares a lot about the way he looks.

🐀"Fuckin drop it with the meditation shit love, i go to church I say my prayers, I don't need to do deep breathing to cleanse my soul..." he just won't do it, won't try your stretches either because "I go to the gym don't I, yogas for girls love..."

🐀Pulls stupid faces at you when you put cucumber on his eyes.

Michael

☘️Out of all the men he takes care of himself the best. He already has a skincare routine, has several serums he uses too.

☘️ So it doesn't take much to convince him of other self care activities. However, don't you dare call it self care. "Look I'm all for lookin after meself like i just don't see why we've got to give it some soft girly name now..."

☘️ He really loves being pampered, kind of likes being treated like a king... His cousins take the piss out of him for it but he doesn't care... "Don't really see whats embarrassing about having my girl massage me back after work... Don't it make me more of a man that I've got a woman who's obsessed with me..." you never let it slide when he talks about you like that but you also know why he's doing it. He's just trying to get his cousins off his back.

☘️ Would probably spend every weekend at the spa if he thought he could get away with it. He likes to throw his cash around and receive special treatment.

☘️ He really really loves a salt scrub and he's a secret fan of a facial too.

☘️He's never the one to suggest that the two of you have a self-care evening together but you can always tell when he needs one and he never refuses your offer.

☘️You have a mini spa built into your house, a sauna and a hot tub, sometimes when you're having once of your self care nights you find yourself next to him in the hot tub, your mood changing.. Your mind drifting to other things, but when Michael is relaxing he's relaxing and theres no disturbing him.

☘️"Not now love eh, later maybe..." his little spa is sacred to him. You're astounded because he must be the first man to turn down the offer of a hot tub fuck.

[amoremainslayer]

I just read your story where experienced jiwoong teaches inexperienced reader how to kiss and i loved it!!! could you write something using the same concept but with hanbin instead? 🥹🥹🙏

Kiss me softly..

Pairing : Sung Hanbin x gn!reader

Genre : teeth rotting fluff

Warnings :

A/n : Hope this is as good as you'd want it to be!! And thank you so much for the compliment, I always get so emotional when I get complimented😪

Not proofread!!

His thumb stroked along the back of your hand gently, the warm summer breeze making his hair flutter prettily.

You and Hanbin were sitting on a secret bench, enjoying the sunset and the beautiful view you got from the secret spot you two found once.

A comfortable silence surrounded the two, your ears listening to the quiet sounds of the cars driving along the concrete, and Hanbins gentle breath.

You suddenly felt a pair of eyes on you, resulting in you turning to Hanbin. He was gazing at you, eyes glowing in pure affection and love "Do I have something on my face?" You giggled, hand reaching up to your face to wipe the nonexistent dirt off your face.

He chuckled, his whisker-dimples showing, while shaking his head "You're just so pretty". You smiled warmly, somehow whenever Hanbin complimented you, it didn't feel like he forced himself to do so. It felt sincere, like he actually thought of you this way.

You and Hanbin have been dating for about a month now, and you couldn't deny the fact that he had been a pure angel. He treated you with so much affection and care, bringing you coffee in the morning when the two of you meet at college, lending you his jacket whenever you felt cold. And most importantly, not making fun of you for not having had your first kiss yet.

You had been anxious he might find it embarassing, who didn't have their first kiss yet at your age? But he merely found it cute. He liked the fact that you waited for the special person. He hoped one day, he'd be that special someone for you.

You noticed his eyes wandering to your lips and your heart fluttered. Hanbin hesitated, his lips trembling slightly, a habit he did whenever he was hesitating or nervous. He looked back up to you, giving you a soft smile, but you noticed it not really reaching his eyes.

"Can.. can you teach me how to kiss someone?" You whispered, instantly regretting asking and hoping he didn't hear it. Much to your dismay, he did hear you and quickly turned to you "Are you sure?" He spoke a little too loud, eyes big.

You bit your lip, cheeks tinting in a soft red before nodding "I feel bad you can't even kiss me" you mumbled and you could see Hanbin's gaze softening.

He pressed your hand gently "I don't mind waiting, love. I want you to have your kiss with that special someone you always dreamt of" He reassured you. A soft smile spread over your lips and you sat up, softly shaking your head.

"You're that special someone, so teach me how to kiss" You spoke, giving him a small grin to which he smiled back at you. "Alright" he whispered, eyes wandering to your lips. You blinked softly, your gaze going over his features before finally ending up on his lips.

You felt his free hand wandering to your jaw, placing itself right under your cheek "Close your eyes" He whispered, and you slowly closed your eyes.

The warm wind left Goosebumps spreading over your skin, and after a few seconds, you felt his warm lips pressing gently at your lips. His lips began moving against yours, but you felt unsure on how to move your lips.

He pulled away, turning his head to the other side resulting in your eyes opening nervously. His eyes remained close as he whispered "Move your lips love, you'll do well" before kissing you again.

You gulped, finally gathering your courage to kiss him back, moving your lips in the same rhythm as his. Your hand wandered to his shoulder, stroking on it lovingly while tilting your head softly.

Hanbin smiled into the kiss as he noticed you getting comfortable. After a while he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours while the two of you catched your breath.

He gulped, opening his eyes slightly while gazing into your eges sincerely "You know.. Even tho you're not my first kiss, you're my special someone"