#this shit happened every other day this week i just want to go back to NOT REMEMBERING THAT SHIT | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

astronicht · 1 day

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fanfic writers directors cut: in the pines , not sure I'm doing this correctly lol 🫣 can you talk about what you envision to happen next? If I remember correctly, there was a large chapter you broke up. I love this fic so much and reread it ever so often. I'd love to hear all your brain worms about it !! ty for reading and enjoy your day off 🩵🤍

"there was a larger chapter you broke up" would you believe I forgot that this was true. Anyway, Pines is very special to me, and may never actually get its final chapter for slightly hilarious reasons. But hey, you reminded me that there was a spare 10k of Pines hanging around! So like, I read through it last night and I have done one (1) entire editing pass. But I figured, you know! Why not!

Anyway, here's the next chapter of Pines (anyone curious what I'm talking about can read the first two chapters on ao3). I hope it brings you joy <3 Thank you for loving this fic

(nsfw below cut)

The next evening, Jiang Yanli drops off Jin Zixuan, who is dressed in comfortable pink sweatpants and a button-down white shirt and looks a little dazed.

“Are you alright?” Lan Zhan asks, letting him into the house through the garage. Maybe they should just watch baseball.

“Yeah,” says Zixuan. “It is. Loud. Over there right now.”

Lan Zhan has met Jiang Yanli’s brother once; he did not seem especially loud. He did not realize until this week that Zixuan lives part time at Jiang Yanli’s, but it makes sense. He remembers the big house, Zixuan’s choice of a small guest room. “Hm,” he says, and gets Jin Zixuan a glass of water. “Drink that.”

Jin Zixuan sits at the little square two-person dining table in the family room — the cozy room open to the kitchen, with the sliding glass doors to the yard, the birds flitting by the fountain that will need to be scrubbed out this week — and drinks his water. A warm silence falls. Lan Zhan feels good, leaning over the railing that separates the kitchen from the step down to the family room, watching Zixuan with focus. Outside, someone is using their fucking leafblower again. It buzzes through the open windows.

Zixuan finishes his glass. Lan Zhan and Jin Zixuan look at each other across the parquet floor of Lan Zhan’s family room, Lan Zhan from a step up and arms crossed on the railing.

“Be gentle with me, bro,” Zixuan says, stretching his socked feet into the patch of sunlight coming in from the door.

“No,” Lan Zhan says.

Zixuan stares at him, wide-eyed — then laughs and gets on his knees in the sun.

They have both, Lan Zhan figures, had something of a very long week.

Wei Ying has a migraine on Thursday, he says. He wants to go straight home from work and sleep — he’s very sorry. Lan Zhan wonders, mouth tight— but then Wei Ying asks if maybe Lan Zhan is free on Fridays at the same time? He doesn’t want to assume, but Wei Ying has every other Friday off, and usually he’ll feel better by the next afternoon, and—

Lan Zhan has every day off. Lan Zhan is not working right now. Not this year.

He says he is free on Friday at three.

Wei Ying doesn’t know to come through the garage like Yanli knew to bring Zixuan. He rings the doorbell, the same way Lan Zhan’s piano students do, but when Lan Zhan opens the door it’s him, there in Lan Zhan’s shady front walk, taking a few polite — or shy — steps back from the door along the path that leads from the corner around the garage, through the rock garden and the knee-high [blue flowers] that have been there for decades, now past blooming and thick with seed pods.

“Hi!” Wei Ying says. Then he lurches to a stop, and starts forward again. Lan Zhan nearly lurches forward out of the doorway himself, trying to keep the momentum of the approach. “Oh shit, I didn’t bring anything,” Wei Ying says, suddenly freezing and staring at Lan Zhan as if Lan Zhan can fix this. It’s funny. It’s funny. Lan Zhan feels something like wanting to laugh in his chest, tight and warm and yellow. “I can double back and get coffee. Fruit. A tiny orchid. Popcorn chicken. Do you like popcorn chicken? There’s a place I walked past, next to the Kumon tutoring—”

“No, thank you,” says Lan Zhan, a shade too softly to be what he is supposed to be. Relief, unexpected and blooming in shaky waves in his chest, is briefly overwhelming him.

“Nothing?” Wei Ying asks, bouncing on the balls of his feet. They are near-strangers; Lan Zhan has never seen most of Wei Ying’s expressions. It seems like he wants to be pleasing. Wei Ying does not need to strive to be pleasing. It is not what anyone else would call pleasing, probably, but the attempt is already almost overwhelming. Lan Zhan wants to bundle him somewhere warm. Lan Zhan wants to pinch him, hard, till he can’t stand up straight. “There’s gotta be something, Lan Zhan, c’mon.”

Lan Zhan says, steadying himself on his own front door, “Oreos. Next time, you can bring me oreos.”

Wei Ying lights up a split second before he laughs. “Oreos?” he says.

“Oreos,” Lan Zhan agrees, embarrassed and trying not to show it. “I like them.” He hadn’t been thinking. He had not thought at all.

“A dom who gets compensated in oreos,” Wei Ying says, apparently to Lan Zhan’s maple tree, further in the rock garden, like it’s his partner in a comedy sketch.

Lan Zhan breathes through it: through liking oreos and liking sex and liking things so much when he likes them. Liking, still, the near-stranger talking to his maple tree.

“I will ask you if I want you to bring something. Maybe I will, next time. It is my job to take care of the rest. Does anyone know where you are?”

“Yeah,” says Wei Ying. “My sister. She, uh, knows about the whole scene, it’s cool. I sent her the address but not like, your full name, so.”

“You can text her my full name if you’d like,” Lan Zhan says, standing aside to let him in.

“Nah,” says Wei Ying. “Oh, this is big.”

He means the house, and in some ways it is. Comfortably if not exceptionally big for an American house, but real estate is so expensive here that it is more impressive. That, and the entry opens into the living room, with a two-storey ceiling and pristine white carpet, eminently United States 1980s chic. He wonders if Wei Ying will ask about the house.

Wei Ying just looks at him and laughs a little and says, “I’m feeling kind of — can we start right away, with what you suggested? In whatever order? Does that work for you?”

If it’s just nerves that will be fine. If it’s discomfort, starting too fast could actually overwhelm him. “Alright,” Lan Zhan says, and pads towards the formal dining room, which like the living room is rarely used. Wei Ying takes off his sneakers in the entryway, then trails him slowly, footsteps sinking into the soft cream carpet. It is a lot, to see him on Lan Zhan’s carpet. “We covered most of it over text, but can I confirm we’re on the same page, now that you’re here?”

“Yes,” says Wei Ying, glancing up at Lan Zhan’s chandelier — Lan Zhan’s mother’s old chandelier — which is mid-century modern-ish pieces of straight glass but throws rainbows across the two-story ceiling that slopes with the roof.

“Are you still interested in in-person sexual play?” Lan Zhan asks. There are two versions of what he could do, given Wei Ying’s parameters, both discussed and just now — “in whatever order” indeed. Wei Ying slowly looks down from the chandelier, down and at Lan Zhan, who is standing with his heart in his throat in the formal dining room. They are twenty feet apart.

Wei Ying stares at him. “Yes,” he says.

“We have privacy here,” Lan Zhan says, trying to steady himself. “Stand there, at the base of the stairs.” He’s always liked how the stairs come down in the middle of the formal rooms, an open admission that there are real rooms here, tucked away, where people have lived, live still. “Strip down to your underwear.”

“Ah, you’re actually making me take my clothes off this time, gege?” Wei Ying asks, going for his shirt — a loose button-down today, black again but printed with tiny red flowers. “I’m moving up in the world.”

What Lan Zhan wants is to kiss him. Lan Zhan wants to say, No, wait a bit, I am making dinner. Stay for dinner. I will feed you and then I will wreck you. Please.

He found Wei Ying again, easy as anything. He thought he would never see this person again. The story — that they found each other again after a first meeting — should wrap itself around them, should tether them. But it won’t; Lan Zhan has learned his lessons; Lan Zhan is about to be thirty-one.

Lan Zhan breathes. He can hear the dryer running in the laundry room. He steadies himself, and it’s easy because if he’s unsteady then he will have to stop and tap himself out. He says, “Wei Ying, you asked me to make you come again.”

Wei Ying shivers, full-body. “I don’t usually—” he says, then licks his lips. “What happened, um, what happened the last couple times doesn’t usually happen to me. I honestly don’t uh, I don’t get off easily, or all that often.”

Lan Zhan blinks. He had thought they’d covered this. Most of the scenarios he’d offered didn’t require orgasm, including the ones involving sex.

“That is not a problem,” Lan Zhan says, to make it very clear. “I want to see you. I want to see your soft cock.”

“Hggh,” Wei Ying breathes.

“Do you disagree?” asks Lan Zhan, leaning on the wall that divides the kitchen and the family room behind it from the rest of the house.

“Um. Might not be entirely soft, if that’s okay.”

“You cannot wait for me?” Lan Zhan asks, severe. Now that he has thought of seeing Wei Ying soft, maybe small, he wants it. He never saw anything at the party, just Wei Ying’s squirming hips. He has, he supposes, photographs.

“It’s just a little,” Wei Ying whines.

“I want to see you soft. Get on my dining table,” Lan Zhan says. “And take off your underwear.”

“O-okay,” Wei Ying says, padding across the carpet and then stopping to quickly take off his black briefs. He stops by the conversation pit, which largely stores a collection of paperback novels that belonged to Lan Zhan’s mother. “Hey, is that an orgy pit?”

“It is a conversation pit,” says Lan Zhan, who does not exactly mind speaking about his mother’s house during sex, but acknowledges that most people would prefer not to. “Get up and kneel on the table, and try to stay soft.”

Wei Ying sucks in a breath. His toes flex in Lan Zhan’s soft cream carpet. The sudden exposure, the nudity, the dining table, might actually shock him into staying soft. Or get him there; Lan Zhan will find out.

The dining table is an oval that seats eight people. It creaks a little, making Wei Ying flush as he climbs onto it, naked, his nipples tight and his dick and balls swinging between his legs. He is mostly soft, but Lan Zhan thinks he can detect something of a chub. It is medium sized but cute. Lan Zhan wants it, small and soft, in his mouth. Lan Zhan loves sucking cock.

Lan Zhan is kind of expecting Wei Ying to say something about the dining table, about the other-the-top exhibition of himself on it. Instead Wei Ying meets Lan Zhan’s eyes, licks his lips, and says, intimate as if they’re just murmuring together in Lan Zhan’s bed upstairs, “Do you think my cock looks small?” His eyes gleam. His face is solemn.

It is, honestly, average for a soft cock. It is curved prettily in the crease of Wei Ying’s bare thigh, because he is not kneeling properly. His ass is on Lan Zhan’s unused dining table. The tips of his hair look wet against his shirt, from the shower he would have taken before this. In the dry air here, he must have been in the shower very recently; fifteen minutes. Did he say he walked here?

Lan Zhan, fortunately, has always been able to concentrate with a cock in front of him.

Lan Zhan says, “Does it look small? Perhaps.” Wei Ying shudders.

Alright.

“Sit properly,” Lan Zhan says. “Kneel like I asked.”

“You can’t make me kneel on this,” Wei Ying says, shifting knee to knee, “there’s not even a tablecloth! Think of my knees, Lan Zhan!”

“I am thinking of your knees. Bruise them for me,” says Lan Zhan. Wei Ying barks out a breathless laugh and Lan Zhan almost smiles. The formal rooms feel less stiff. The blinds are closed, but behind them he can see the shifting light of the trees, his and his neighbor’s. They clack in the breeze.

Lan Zhan doesn’t smile, though. Instead he says, “Kneel properly and show me your soft cock.”

“Ah!” Wei Ying says, sitting back hard on his heels, posture for a moment reflexively perfect. Someone taught him to sit straight as a child, and adult Wei Ying has unlearned it. His hands fly up to cover his cock, which twitched hard. Lan Zhan stares at him, waiting. Wei Ying flushes, hands covering his crotch. “It’s a little bit hard now,” he whines to Lan Zhan. He slips into Mandarin for a moment, apparently just because the sajiao won’t be as effective in English. “Wouldn’t you rather see me hard for you, Zhan-zhan?”

“No,” Lan Zhan says. He was going to go for the toys right away, but he’s stopped halfway around the table, transfixed. “I want to see you soft. And small.”

Wei Ying whines and shoves his hands down harder on his hidden dick. Lan Zhan wonders wildly why he did not list CBT in his misc enjoyed kinks, even though what he’s doing now cannot hurt that much. There’s obviously— something, there.

“Are you trying?” Lan Zhan asks.

Wei Ying bites his lip. “Not--not all that much, haha.”

“Hm.”

“Don’t want your ego bruised when you realize how good I am at staying soft.”

Lan Zhan raises an eyebrow. “I hardly think my ego is responsible for your small cock.”

Wei Ying goes bright red. Lan Zhan is, briefly, able to breathe, and move. He takes advantage.

There is a cabinet to the far side of the dining table which is obviously supposed to be for wine. Lan Zhan has a set of wine glasses that hang from it, but no wine in it. He uses it to store the downstairs sex toys.

Lan Zhan pulls out three dildos that interest him in this moment. Then he closes the cabinet and plops the selection of dildos in their neat drawstring bags down on the end of the table closest to the living room. Two of the three are weighted with the motor of a vibe; dropping them makes a noise. Lan Zhan’s eyes narrow happily to see Wei Ying jump, just a tiny bit.

“If you can’t kneel, then lie back and spread your legs,” Lan Zhan tells Wei Ying, reaching up to slap him on the thigh — close to his cock but not actually on it. Wei Ying jumps, eyes wide. His cock twitches, too. It is so fucking gratifying to be able to see him this time, fuck. Lan Zhan wants to grind his teeth.

“Your cock is misbehaving,” Lan Zhan informs him. Wei Ying, finally, makes a little whimper like he did at the party, when Lan Zhan barely knew his name.

Greed thick in his mouth, Lan Zhan slaps Wei Ying’s cock.

Wei Ying rocks back, eyes wide, flushing bright patchy red on his face and his chest. He is paler than Lan Zhan; it shows up better on him. He sits back on his butt and spreads his legs like Lan Zhan wants. Behind him the sun is afternoon low and smoke-red through the blinds.

“Oh,” he says.

“You are not staying soft,” Lan Zhan says.

“No,” Wei Ying breathes.

“Then I will have to use you for something else.” Wei Ying nods jerkily, but he looks tense. Maybe too exposed, on the table. Maybe it is not quite right. Lan Zhan picks up a purple dildo, one of the ones with vibrating function. “Give me your hand.”

Wei Ying puts one hand out, his fingers shaking a little. Lan Zhan picks up a bottle of lube and squeezes a little onto Wei Ying’s fingers. Too much, lets it spill. Wei Ying shivers — there, a step in the right direction.

Lan Zhan goes to lean against the wall to the kitchen, arms crossed, watching. Twice Wei Ying has come with Lan Zhan at a distance. Lan Zhan wants — to make this hot for him. To make him feel good. To learn the rest of his rules and which of them he will ask to have broken.

“Fuck yourself,” Lan Zhan says. “Your fingers first, then with whatever I choose for you. I want to see what you can take.”

Wei Ying closes his eyes and arches his back and does it as Lan Zhan directs: one finger, two, stretch it for me, let me see, three. He’s quiet, though. His eyes stay shut. Like he’s reaching for something and can’t quite get it. When he starts on the dildo, his shoulders go tense.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says. “Wait a moment.”

Wei Ying does, holds still with his eyes shut and a dildo half into him.

Lan Zhan pushes off from the wall, circles around the table until he is behind Wei Ying, until he can place a hand between his shoulderblades and only relax when Wei Ying’s shoulders go down, and Wei Ying himself relaxes and leans into the touch. Lan Zhan moves a chair out of the way so he can stand right next to the table behind Wei Ying, so that his chest is against Wei Ying’s back.

“Wei Ying,” he says, softly because his mouth is right by Wei Ying’s ear. He puts his hungry hands on Wei Ying’s ribs, feels his quick breaths. Not too quick; he’s only uncomfortable, Lan Zhan thinks. Too exposed, or too untouched. Something. Everyone has their snags, everyone. Lan Zhan feels full of them, himself. Normally he would be hitting one right now, feeling upset to have not gotten it right the first time, but he’s distracted by Wei Ying’s warmth against his chest. He feels, strangely, like he can get things wrong here, without fucking up.

Lan Zhan makes a little enquiring noise, and is about to follow it up with Too much? but Wei Ying responds like he asked, anyway.

“Ah, I don’t get why this is hard,” says Wei Ying, laughing a little, shoulders tensing and relaxing again. He tugs the dildo back out without Lan Zhan having to tell him. Lan Zhan puts a hand almost over Wei Ying’s on the dildo and taps it in rhythm, like piano keys. Wei Ying huffs a little almost-laugh and tries to imitate him. He clearly does not play piano. “This is so — texting you was so self-indulgent, you know? I’m pretty sure indulgence is supposed to come easily.”

Lan Zhan pauses. “I think indulgence is very hard,” he says, too honest into Wei Ying’s soft hair.

“Nahhh, hell, that’s too serious an answer, gege,” says Wei Ying, wry smile back, over his shoulder and so close to Lan Zhan’s cheek that he could bite it. He is so naked. Lan Zhan could have unwrapped him slowly, but he rushed. He wanted to rush. “Lan Zhan,” he adds, licking his lips. It is the first time he has said Lan Zhan’s name aloud. He does it naked on Lan Zhan’s formal dining table, with his head resting back on Land Zhan’s shoulder and Lan Zhan’s dildo held loose in his hand, under Lan Zhan’s hand. “Lan Zhan, give me a more fun answer.”

“Alright,” says Lan Zhan. He hums and reaches down, slowly enough to know if Wei Ying will tense again, to play with the stretch of Wei Ying’s rim around the toy. “Indulgence will be extremely easy. I will make it so.” He adds, dry, “Miraculously.”

Wei Ying huffs a laugh but his hands spasm on his stomach. His dick twitches at the same time. But his fingers still dart around, searching.

Lan Zhan will not leave him searching. “I haven’t done right by you,” he murmurs into Wei Ying’s ear. Wei Ying squirms, in a good way this time. “I left you out in the dining room. You must be cold. Come entertain me while I— while I cook.”

“Yeah,” Wei Ying says, voice already softer, brighter. Oh, perhaps indulgence will be easy after all. Lan Zhan cups his chin and he looks even warmer. So happy at the idea, which is such a simple one.

Lan Zhan will fucking improvise for three hours if that’s what it takes to get this right.

They go together into the kitchen. The house is brighter here, smaller, the ceilings a normal height. Land Zhan idly closes the blinds while Wei Ying laughs and pretends to wave to the joggers on the footpath, who cannot see into the house easily. Probably.

Inside the kitchen door is a hook that holds a calendar and two aprons and a fly-swatter and what looks like a New Years decoration he never took down. He takes down both aprons. One goes over the counters, which will just have to be bleached again a little ahead of schedule.

“Bend over the counter,” Lan Zhan says. The apron is arranged so Wei Ying is not hitting his dick on the cupboards. He opens the fridge. Out of the corner of his eye, Wei Ying cups his dick warily. Even with the apron he’ll have to hold his hips a little away from the lip of the tile.

“Go,” Lan Zhan says, closing the fridge. “Are you hungry?”

Just regular hungry. Feeding kink wasn’t listed. Lan Zhan wonders if he can ask for that, and then remembers that that is not what this arrangement is about. He breathes.

Wei Ying is taking his time. Lan Zhan plants a hand along his spine and presses slowly but sternly down. Wei Ying yelps. He tucks his face to the side easily enough though. He nuzzles the cool tile of Lan Zhan’s counters.

His eyes crack open. “I still— something in me.”

Asking over text was probably easier. Lan Zhan remembers, feverish, how much he had wanted to be full.

Lan Zhan thinks first of a finger, or something. He thinks of Wei Ying losing steam on the dining table with the very reasonably sized purple dildo.

He thinks about how things that should be easy are so hard.

“A pear?” Lan Zhan says, mild, putting a little bowl of cut pear in front of Wei Ying. It was what was already in the fridge.

“Lan Zhan—”

Lan Zhan pinches his thigh, finally. Wei Ying gasps. Lan Zhan was going to let go but does not yet, waits. Wei Ying’s forehead comes to rest on the tile. His hips are shifting and he’s having to force himself not to grind into the hard cupboards behind the thin layer of apron.

“Eat one slice of pear.” Lan Zhan lets go of his thigh. Wei Ying gasps. Lan Zhan nudges the bowl a little closer to Wei Ying’s face and takes a few steps back out into the formal dining room. He ignores the dildos on the table and the little puddle of lube and goes into the wine cabinet.

Back in the kitchen, Wei Ying has one slice of pear gripped in his teeth. He has bitten it right out of the bowl. Lan Zhan leans around him and taps the end of the pear slice sticking out of Wei Ying’s mouth.

“In,” he says. Wei Ying looks up at him. Lan Zhan raises an eyebrow and pushes a little on the pear slice. Wei Ying sucks it in in one gulp. “Don’t choke,” Lan Zhan says, amused. Wei Ying chews noisily at him.

Lan Zhan waits till he’s swallowed before putting the new dildo on the counter next to the fruit bowl. In case he really does choke.

Wei Ying just stares, maybe hypnotized, at the largest, pinkest dildo Lan Zhan owns. It is swaying gently where Lan Zhan placed it upright, balanced on its gargantuan fake pink balls.

The thing about this ridiculous dildo is that it’s really too big and too flexible to be good for fucking, if you can get it in; it’s quite squishy, and Lan Zhan uses it sometimes for people who get off by letting him slap them in the face with it.

“You’ve had a snack. Before I start cooking I need two things: I want to watch you show me how bad you are at fucking yourself, and then I need to fetch something from the laundry room. Try to put this in yourself.” Whether or not he can get it in doesn’t matter. Lan Zhan just wants to see him try.

Lan Zhan lays the second apron on the floor, to catch lube drips. Wei Ying steps on it as Lan Zhan leans down and lifts each of his feet delicately to push the apron under him.

“How far— ah— how far is the laundry room?” Wei Ying asks. His dick is filling rapidly; Lan Zhan can see this clearly when he is crouched at Wei Ying’s feet. He shivers.

Lan Zhan stands up and picks up the bowl of pears in one hand and twists his other hand in Wei Ying’s hair, pulling it into a single twist that Lan Zhan can grip at the back of Wei Ying’s skull. He doesn’t pull very hard, just lets the pressure speak for him.

“I will show you,” Lan Zhan says drily. “Do you need help putting it in?”

“N-no,” Wei Ying says. He’s mouth-breathing.

“Do it with me right here, I want to see it. If you get it in, you can come with me to the laundry room.”

“Yeah,” Wei Ying breathes, even though the laundry room hardly sounds like a treat, and scoots his feet and the apron back on the linoleum so he can bend over further, just his hands braced on the counter. His hands scramble on the big pink dildo, and instead of putting it down to open and pour lube into his hand he holds it between his knees. Lan Zhan’s breath catches. He wants to— to bite him. Make him drop it. Make him pick it up, complaining.

The thing about things that are easy is that sometimes this makes them impossible. The thing about things that are impossible is that they are easier. Wei Ying did not like the shallow end of the pool.

Wei Ying pants and lubes the dildo and fingers himself a little. It’s already easier than anything on the dining table. The room smells like pears and silicon. The blinds clack.

Wei Ying leans down even further and twists his hips to open them up a bit. “Are you watching?” he breathes, and nudges the giant pink dildo against his hole, letting it skid away. Again, twice. “Don’t you want to make me do it right?”

“Do it right,” Lan Zhan says, from deep in his chest, not thinking. He’s begging; he’s ordering.

“There’s no way I can,” Wei Ying says. “You know I can’t.” His hands become clever again instead of clumsy. Lan Zhan’s brain has not restarted. He is just there, in his kitchen, watching Wei Ying work the tip into himself, sighing — no, breathing out to make himself relax further.

“Oh no,” Wei Ying pants. “It’s actually going in, Lan Zhan— you said I wouldn’t be able to get it in.” It is, it really is. The easy option was impossible; the giant pink face-slapping dildo is forcing his ass open, slow. Lan Zhan watches his ass stretch around its widest girth, then try to pinch closed on a smaller part of the toy, but it’s all thick shaft.

“You are going to walk with it in you to the laundry room with me,” Lan Zhan says, his teeth buzzing, his cock hard in his trousers. “You will want to push it further in,” he adds.

“Shit! Shit, nng,” Wei Ying says. “There’s so much of it, though. Even if it slips a little, I’ve got like five inches in me.”

Not a bad estimate. The thrust depth, minus the flared base with its big pink faux balls, is [eight] inches [check the specs on Outlaw]. “Yes,” Lan Zhan says. “And you will need more.”

Wei Ying twists his head to stare back at Lan Zhan as he pushes the dildo in, deeper. His legs shake once, hard, but he does not stop. His eyelashes flutter; he does not break eye contact with Lan Zhan for a long moment. Then he lets out a big shuddering sigh, his body surrendering to its new situation. His belly gets softer when he relaxes. They do not know each other well enough for Lan Zhan to palm it affectionately, but he likes it very much. Wei Ying says, on the end of his sigh,“Ahh, why do you even have something this big, gege? People buy this shit to--to leave out to impress their hookup or whatever, not to use.”

They’ve been speaking almost entirely English since Wei Ying arrived; to say this he has switched to Mandarin. Lan Zhan did not actually know the slang for hookup until just now. Last time — when they met, in the roses — it was playful, pressing. In retrospect it had not been a test Lan Zhan would have failed by speaking his father’s language badly, but just Wei Ying on the offensive, figuring a new puzzle out. This is not like that. He does not know what this is like. With his father and his uncle he spoke Mandarin at home; with his mother he spoke only English, even when she could not think of a word. She would make them up, sometimes. A whole secret language: words for microwave and for dish towel and for pasta strainers.

Lan Zhan wrenches himself out of the past. He loves to live in his mother’s house, but he does not want Wei Ying to ask why he went distant.

Also, the pink dildo is as close as silicon-balls-deep in Wei Ying now as it is ever reasonably going to get. Wei Ying pants and shifts around it, arching back. Lan Zhan steps close and says, “Good boy. Take my arm.”

One of Wei Ying’s hands paws gracelessly at Lan Zhan’s forearm. Lan Zhan catches his hand in his own, and helps him straighten up like he is a precious thing. Wei Ying groans and sways and doesn’t get entirely upright, the long heft of the dildo inside of him, its big pink balls brushing his thighs. He has to put a hand on it the first time but then he is able to keep it slipping out, lips pursed in concentration.

“Go on,” Lan Zhan whispers, mouth thick with longing. He lets Wei Ying keep his grip on Lan Zhan’s forearm, like a gentleman leading someone through a room, only Wei Ying is naked and starting to sweat and has Lan Zhan’s biggest squishy pink dildo up his ass. Wei Ying’s grip is light. Lan Zhan wonders if this will be too easy. Wei Ying takes a step and — ah, this will not be too easy. A stumble, and the noise he makes — Lan Zhan won’t find it easy, either.

Wei Ying manages two and a half stumbling steps before he is doubling over, gasping, and clinging on to Lan Zhan’s arm to stay upright. If Lan Zhan were not supporting him, perhaps he would have tried to go farther, perhaps he would have gotten through the doorway to the kitchen before he collapsed on the linoleum, unable to walk. Lan Zhan would like to work him up to that. Lan Zhan wants Wei Ying to be so overwhelmed that he falls to the floor and feels wanted and wanted and wanted all the way down, even with his face pressed to linoleum, even with his ass in the air, straining to take the dildo. He should still feel Lan Zhan’s desire pouring over him.

As it is, this is so good. Wei Ying is breathing fast, is looking daunted but not lost. He knows what he needs to do; he knows Lan Zhan will not ignore him.

“Oh,” Wei Ying gasps, “Fuck, this is impossible, Zhan’er.”

“You are only trying to walk to the laundry room, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says. Wei Ying makes a little high noise and takes another shaky step.

“It’s so big,” Wei Ying gasps out. “Fuck, I can feel it. I can’t even walk right, gege, are you seeing — hnng — are you seeing this.”

“You have made it to the steps,” Lan Zhan says, dryly congratulatory.

“Fuck!” Wei Ying says, so high and sharp that Lan Zhan wonders if they have hit a tipping point, but no, Wei Ying takes another step. He is shaking. Lan Zhan is shaking too from how much he wants him, how much he likes this.

“God, you have to help me,” Wei Ying whines. Fuck, he’s getting so worked up from this. It’s like Lan Zhan finally found the right little angle and he’s opening up beautifully, so good Lan Zhan can’t even look directly at him all at once. Lan Zhan tries not to pant, too. He breathes through his nose. He looks over his shoulder at Wei Ying’s ass, where Wei Ying is still half bent-over as he tries to stumble forwards. The dildo has slipped out maybe a centimeter; it’s big fake balls are prodding Wei Ying’s thighs as he walks. Wei Ying’s other hand is slung around his lower belly as he shuffles his way across the kitchen, face flushed, his little brown nipples hard. He notices Lan Zhan looking and moans, loud.

“Fuck,” he says. “Fuck, fuck. I can feel it in me. It’s slipping just a little. Lan Zhan, help me get there.”

Lan Zhan goes to take his arm again. Wei Ying moans and must accidentally clench; the dildo slips out another centimeter. They are on the two steps down to the den. The laundry room is only six feet away, really. The washer and dryer are in the linen closet in the hall off the den.

“It is slipping,” says Lan Zhan. Wei Ying whines and clamps his hand harder around Lan Zhan’s forearm, leans more heavily. He’s stopped, eyeing the steps.

“Lan Zhan,” he pants, forehead against Lan Zhan’s bicep. “Can I please — can I push it back in?”

Lan Zhan thinks about it. If Wei Ying had asked Lan Zhan to push the dildo back in for him, Lan Zhan had been half-thinking that he would make Wei Ying do it to himself. But Wei Ying asked to do it himself; maybe a bargain to be able to get away with it.

“No,” says Lan Zhan. “I will do it.”

Wei Ying shivers, and — spreads his legs a little. As if to give Lan Zhan access.

Lan Zhan wants to grab the dildo by its ridiculous pink balls and shove it hard into Wei Ying, hard enough to make him stumble, hard enough that it would hurt, a little. And keep it there, grinding it in, until they hit a real tipping point. Maybe if Wei Ying were more carefully stretched.

Instead he says, “On your knees.” Wei Ying jolts, surprised. The dildo slips another centimeter, and now the weight of the flared base and the shorter length inside Wei Ying must make it tip up and press, hard, against Wei Ying. Maybe not his prostate exactly, too deep and too big, but good enough. He cries out and Lan Zhan has to press his shoulder down to keep him focused, to send him to the floor at Lan Zhan’s feet.

Wei Ying kneels, hands twitching like he wants to reach back. “On your forearms too,” says Lan Zhan. They are on the parquet floor, where Zixuan kneeled earlier this week. This is very different. Lan Zhan’s heartbeat is thudding in his jaw, his hands.

“Oh,” Wei Ying whispers, and then he’s done it: positioned himself on Lan Zhan’s clean wood floors on his forearms and knees, ass in the air with a big pink dildo waving ridiculously from it. Lan Zhan kneels down too, quickly, not giving Wei Ying a chance to feel anything but nicely crowded. He touches Wei Ying’s thigh first. Wei Ying whines and sways into it until Lan Zhan snaps, “Stay still,” and grabs his hip. He shivers and tries to move again. Lan Zhan takes hold of the end of the dildo, lube-sticky, with his other hand and presses it in a centimeter.

Wei Ying stops trying to move and starts trying to gasp. His face is turned towards Lan Zhan, his eyes dark and desperate and intent, the way Lan Zhan feels dark and desperate and intent. It was only a centimeter. He’s so desperate for it. Who has been fucking him so poorly that he is still so desperate for it?

“I’m putting it back in, now,” Lan Zhan says. The rest goes slowly, slowly. He presses it deep into Wei Ying, and this time gets to feel the press and give of Wei Ying’s body around it.

“Stand up,” he says, once he’s finished, trying not to look like he feels like he just had a religious experience. Wei Ying trembles and shakes his head. Lan Zhan blinks, hard, tries to clear his thoughts, unclench his jaw. Before he can do anything else, Wei Ying makes to stand. Lan Zhan helps him up, one arm hauling him to his feet, the other with two fingers on the dildo’s base. A little mercy, to keep it in tight and deep while Wei Ying straightens.

Wei Ying moans, slumps against Lan Zhan. But he’s the one who takes the first step forward. Lan Zhan does not want to make him lead. He takes two swift steps and pulls Wei Ying along in his wake, huddling naked and so hard against his side.

“Hurry,” Wei Ying whispers. “Hurry, I can’t keep it in.”

They’re crossing the corner of the den towards the hall to the downstairs bathroom. Lan Zhan, obligingly, hustles him faster. Wei Ying whines, shuffles across the sun-warm parquet flooring. The den faces full west, but Lan Zhan has closed the blinds on the sliding glass doors. Everything is dull warm with flashes of bright white sunlight sneaking through.

They make it into the laundry room hallway. Wei Ying is gasping. The dildo has stayed in, but Wei Ying’s own cock is swaying, now, jutting out hard and wet and lewd in front of him. With his free hand, Lan Zhan pulls open the closet doors that hide the laundry.

“Oh thank god,” Wei Ying whispers. “Will you fuck me with it for real, now? Don’t you want to? I’ll get on the floor again, Lan Zhan, I’ll—”

“Good job,” Lan Zhan says, shaky, against Wei Ying’s temple, because it bears saying. Wei Ying shuts up for a moment when he hears it. There is just fast breathing, a body moving against Lan Zhan’s. “Turn and put your hands on the wall.”

There is an obvious pause where Wei Ying decides to push. He says, “Don’t you wanna—” and Lan Zhan gratefully takes the opening to grab his wrists and push them against the wall. He lets himself squeeze, once. He lets himself make it hard, lets himself use the strength that lives in his fingers, in his hands. Wei Ying just cries out, cock jumping. The dildo slips but Lan Zhan lets Wei Ying go to catch it, and doesn’t hesitate to grind it back in. Wei Ying, hands braced high on the wall, says, “Ahh--ahh.”

Greed sits buzzing in Lan Zhan’s teeth.

Lan Zhan says, “I am going to take the dildo out, on the count of three.” Then he says, “One,” and fucks the dildo up into Wei Ying sharply. Wei Ying jumps, moans. “Two,” says Lan Zhan, doing it again. “Three,” and a final time, and Wei Ying’s knees shake. He eases the dildo all the way out this time, careful around Wei Ying’s fluttering rim.

“Good job,” he says again. “Good boy, good boy. Turn around.”

Wei Ying moans and does it, eyes glazed. Lan Zhan places the dildo, balanced neatly on its balls, on the closed lid of the washer. He purses his lips and — lifting people is about using your legs and otherwise not overthinking it — lifts Wei Ying with Lan Zhan’s arms around his upper thighs and deposits him on top of the rumbling dryer.

“Sit there,” he says. Wei Ying blinks at him, hands braced on the edge of the dryer.

“Um,” says Wei Ying. He coughs. Maybe his mouth is dry; they will get water. “I’m getting lube all over your dryer?”

“I want lube all over my dryer,” Lan Zhan tells him desperately. He has rarely meant a thing more.

Wei Ying looks at him, wide-eyed. “Spread your legs,” Lan Zhan tells him, only a little because he needs him to. He is greedy for it. Wei Ying shudders and does so, his cock bobbing, his balls softly trembling with the movement of the dryer. Lan Zhan bites his own lip savagely. He takes one of Wei Ying’s ankles and moves it further to the side. Then he crouches down and — as Wei Ying’s eyes flutter shut — pops open the dryer door.

“Hywah?” Wei Ying says. “You’re— you’re gonna do laundry while I’m here, um. Here spreading my legs for you?” His voice peters off weakly at the end of the sentence. His face is even more flushed.

“No,” Lan Zhan says, pulling his softest bathrobe out of the dryer, warm and soft. He closes the door again and the dryer rumbles back to life. “You are going to help me cook.” The bathrobe is white, fluffy, with something faux-fur-ish going on around the cuffs and collars. It came from some resort stay, somewhere, Lan Zhan does not remember. A family vacation.

Lan Zhan lifts him off the dryer and sets him down on his feet, wraps the dryer-hot robe tight around him, does up the belt. Lan Zhan puts a hand on his back and says, “Alright, now you will entertain me while I cook.”

Wei Ying shivers, but he is not cold, this time. They walk back to the kitchen, quickly this time. Lan Zhan could make Wei Ying crawl but he wants to crowd him, wants Wei Ying to feel crowded, manhandled. Wants to be the one to do it. The hand on Wei Ying’s waist goes to Wei Ying’s hair. It’s back in a ponytail, a tiny one. Cute, but Lan Zhan takes it down, lets it brush Wei Ying’s shoulders. Wei Ying makes a little noise, then pants when Lan Zhan makes a fist in Wei Ying’s hair, tugging him a long a little. He nearly trips on the step up to the kitchen. Lan Zhan grabs his arms, move them behind his back. Wei Ying tests his grip right away when Lan Zhan gets both wrists in one hand. Lan Zhan squeezes, hard.

There they are in the warm kitchen sunlight again. Lan Zhan says, “Kneel here,” and pulls Wei Ying down by the wrists even as Wei Ying goes. Wei Ying’s thighs are splayed wide where he kneels, his hard cock jutting up wet and obscene from the parting of the bathrobe. Wei Ying looks down at it, flushing.

“Needy,” Lan Zhan says, letting go of Wei Ying’s wrists and petting Wei Ying’s hair. He presses two fingers against Wei Ying’s lips. “Suck, needy boy.” Wei Ying moans and does it, his bare cock jerking. A bead of precome forms at the tip and slides down. Lan Zhan fucks his fingers in harder, harder. He can feel the wanting in his own throat. Wei Ying just moans more, takes it. He does not need softness here, just a certain kind of roughness, a certain kind. Lan Zhan puts his other hand in Wei Ying’s hair again, tugs, and says, “That’s enough. Wait here, I will be right back.”

Wei Ying nods, serene there on the floor, eyes glazed. Spit is on his chin.

“Hands behind you,” Lan Zhan tells him. Wei Ying does it, squirming.

Lan Zhan does try to be quick; it’s barely a few steps to the dining room to grab the first dildo Wei Ying had tried, the more normally sized purple one, not quite so phallic but armed with a very sturdy suction cup, and a pair of light leather cuffs from the wine cabinet.

He puts both in one of the discarded drawstring bags still on the dining table, and goes back into the kitchen.

Wei Ying is touching his dick, just rubbing the tip, thumbing the slit. Eyes open, looking at Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan raises an eyebrow and does not hurry, steps up to and then past Wei Ying to place the bag on the counter.

“Brat,” he says, and sinks a hand in Wei Ying’s hair, tugs him forwards so Wei Ying has to take his hand off his dick to catch himself to keep from faceplanting into the linoleum. Wei Ying nervous-laughs and moans on the same breath; both a noise of release. He’s on his hands and knees on Lan Zhan’s kitchen floor, in Lan Zhan’s warm bathrobe. Lan Zhan flips up the skirt of the bathrobe. Wei Ying’s ass is still smeared with lube, his hole still wet and a little looser. Nothing looks hurt; his asshole is flushed dark and Lan Zhan should check if he has any little tears. After

Wei Ying had said what we talked about and in whatever order. So Lan Zhan finally, finally smacks him — hard across the ass. His own cock throbs harder than his hand when he makes contact. Fuck, fuck, he likes this so much. He gives himself two more, gives Wei Ying two more. He flips the bathrobe back down as Wei Ying gasps and shakes.

“Oh god,” he’s whispering, high pitched. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, it stings.”

“It’s supposed to,” Lan Zhan breathes. His own hand stings, he knows it stings. He thinks of Wei Ying over the phone, tugging on his balls. “Kneel back down. Hands out in front of you.”

Wei Ying does it, squirming as his ass hits his heels. It was not much; it was only a sting. Watching him revel in it, squirm towards it and away from it, is so much though, so much. Lan Zhan takes his wrists and quickly straps on the cuffs. They are not his bulkiest pair; the bedroom is better set up for that, but he likes the leather, likes them well enough. He tightens them, closes the quick-release snaps. Instead of hooking the metal clasps onto the little o-ring, Lan Zhan uses the strap attachment, a tough cord also covered in leather. He clips it to each o-ring on each wrist. Wei Ying can hold his hands about six inches apart. Lan Zhan can grab the strap between, which he does. Twists it around his wrist and drags Wei Ying with him as he reaches for the drawstring bag again, for the next thing.

He pulls out the purple dildo and holds it to Wei Ying’s face, his lips. “Suck,” he says. Wei Ying scowls up at him and Lan Zhan does what he’s been asked to do, takes Wei Ying’s jaw and presses hard on the hinge of it till Wei Ying gasps and flinches and his mouth falls open. Lan Zhan fucks the dildo in and Wei Ying sucks it, greedy now that he’s had a chance to resist, greedy now that he’s been forced to do it. Saliva drips down his chin again. Lan Zhan pulls it out, swift. Wei Ying moans and chases the dildo and Lan Zhan smacks his cheek with it lightly, a warning. Wei Ying’s eyes flutter and he moans, swaying. Ah.

Lan Zhan lowers the strap of the cuffs and then lets go, lets Wei Ying get back on his knees and forearms.

Lan Zhan plants the suction cup of the purple dildo on the cabinet door. He said Wei Ying could entertain him while he cooks; it doesn’t have to be so literal but still, he likes the idea. He’s trying to think of something to do for dinner that does not involve chopping too many vegetables. He doesn’t know, he doesn’t know. He likes the game but does not care about food just now.

Wei Ying is wrapped in the warm bathrobe, eyes hooded, mouth parted. Lan Zhan can see his tongue. Lan Zhan flips up the skirt of of the bathrobe again, palms Wei Ying’s ass. Wei Ying flinches away from it, flinches into it.

Lan Zhan kneels next him, tests the grip of the dildo. It holds nicely. He puts his hand in Wei Ying’s hair and tugs him backwards, makes him shuffle back on knees and his forearms, wrists still cuffed right where he can see them.

The dildo rubs up against Wei Ying’s ass, obscene. Wei Ying jolts. He probably guessed what Lan Zhan was doing behind him but he has not been able to see the dildo. He twists around to look now, wide-eyed, shock-mouthed. Lan Zhan dribbles more lube on Wei Ying’s hole but leaves the dildo wet with only Wei Ying’s spit.

“Aren’t you glad you drooled all over it?” Lan Zhan asks him.

Wei Ying’s head drops down between his shoulders and he shudders. Lan Zhan scoots his robe up a little bit more, so Lan Zhan can clearly see his dick. Hard, wet. Lube has dribbled down from his ass to drip along his balls. Soon it might drip down the shaft of his dick.

“Here you go,” Lan Zhan says, teasing the tip of the dildo against Wei Ying’s hole. “To keep you full while I cook, baby.”

Wei Ying shudders again, fists clenching. “Oh fuck,” he breathes, “Oh fuck, please, I need it.”

“Hm,” Lan Zhan says.

Lan Zhan makes him squirm for a minute, uses the flex of the dildo to brush it hard against Wei Ying’s hole but not let him take it inside. Wei Ying finally gasps and says, in a rush, “I need to be full, I gotta. Just keep me like this in your kitchen, please, please.”

Lan Zhan hums and holds the dildo steady. Wei Ying fucks himself back onto it so hard that he hits Lan Zhan’s fingers. Lan Zhan sits back, in front of Wei Ying. A hand in Wei Ying’s hair, Wei Ying’s glassy eyes meeting his. “Just keep it in you, baby,” Lan Zhan says softly. His hands cup Wei Ying’s face. “Stay still and keep it in you, good boy.”

Wei Ying moans and spreads his knees a little. He’s shaking, he’s sweating. Lan Zhan always hated sweating until he discovered sex, and now he loves it. “Fuck!” he says, loud in Lan Zhan’s big house, in Lan Zhan’s kitchen. “It hurts, it hurts.”

“Are you telling me to pause?” Lan Zhan asks.

“No,” Wei Ying whispers. He looks straight into Lan Zhan’s eyes. “I’m telling you it hurts.” Their gazes hold. Lan Zhan’s world swims. He grips his cock in his trousers for just a second, but Wei Ying sees. Wei Ying’s eyes roll back. He twitches like he wants to fuck onto the dildo, but he stays still. Lan Zhan is breathing open-mouthed too, now.

Lan Zhan’s brain unclouds for a brief, shining moment and he remembers that he is soaking shiitake mushrooms in the soup pan on his stove. They should be ready to take out and trim the stems. There; he’ll use kitchen scissors instead of the cleaver and it will be something approaching passably safe.

He gets up and takes the whole soup pot and places it in his sink, where Wei Ying is on his hands and knees. He reaches down and pets Wei Ying’s hair. Wei Ying chokes and tries to chase his hand, mouth open. He catches Lan Zhan’s thumb and sucks and Lan Zhan does make a sound, involuntary. His mouth is so soft. He is grinding a little back on the dildo. If he does too much he really will make it hurt too badly; the big dildo was more than enough.

“Stay still,” Lan Zhan says.

Lan Zhan takes the kitchen scissors out of the drying rack, and pulls out a shiitake, and snips the first mushroom stem. They pass a few quiet minutes that way, with Lan Zhan snipping stems and occasionally petting Wei Ying’s hair. The sun is lowering, golden. Less smoke in the air today.

Wei Ying moans and uses the slack in the strap between his wrist cuffs to struggle up from his forearms to brace himself on both hands — on Lan Zhan’s foot, ow — and bury his face in Lan Zhan’s thigh. His little hot mouth is sucking frantically at Lan Zhan’s trouser leg, fabric going damp. Lan Zhan is so turned on he is lightheaded. He puts the scissors down in self-defense. Maybe he can just tear off the last of the mushroom stems. Fuck, fuck.

“I can’t give you my fingers,” Lan Zhan tells him, stern. “I’m cooking. It would be unsanitary.”

He watches as Wei Ying tries to balance between the dildo in his ass, his bound hands braced and Lan Zhan’s foot, and his mouth on Lan Zhan’s trousers. The cabinet door creaks. Wei Ying strains upwards and puts his mouth over the crotch of Lan Zhan’s trousers.

Lan Zhan is not going to survive this.

“Do you—” Wei Ying whispers to Lan Zhan’s hard, hard cock. “Lan Zhan, would you…?”

There is a roaring in Lan Zhan’s ears.

Lan Zhan has condoms in his pocket with no actual intention to use them for this particular scene. He was going to use toys. He was going to fill Wei Ying a dozen little ways. He still will, he promises himself, he still will if Wei Ying wants to do something like this again, but not until —

“Be patient if you want it,” Lan Zhan says. Fuck, his voice is too low, too rough, too affected. Wei Ying just moans, noses at his thigh again, suckles at his dark wash jeans. “I can,” Wei Ying says, “I can, I can be patient, help me be patient Lan Zhan, I— I — I—!”

“Pull off the dildo, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, because he cannot be this unbalanced and risk falling over with it still in him. The suction cup would probably just come off the cabinet, but it could bruise him.

We Ying moans but does it with surprisingly little complaint. Instead he focuses, apparently, on gripping Lan Zhan’s jeans between his teeth even as Lan Zhan unzips his fly, hasty, violent. Lan Zhan wonders if Wei Ying is coming unplanned by both of them but no, it doesn’t seem like it. He would be able to see, anyway. The come would splatter on his kitchen floor. Lan Zhan gasps as he pulls his cock out.

Wei Ying looks up at his cock. “Too big,” Wei Ying murmurs, “Too big, you’ll break me, hahhh, you’ll really—”

It’s ridiculous after the pink dildo situation. It doesn’t matter.

Lan Zhan rolls the condom over his cock, tightens his lips. He has learned to enjoy it, the feeling. It is one of the little rituals to sex, to putting his body in someone else’s. Now it is part of the anticipation. The little extra tightness of it at the base of his hard cock, the way it presses gently at the soft skin of his balls. Lan Zhan buys mostly anal condoms, plain and sturdy. Not perfect for blowjobs, but it will work.

“Open for me,” Lan Zhan whispers. His heart is beating so hard. And then he gently feeds Wei Ying his dick. They shake together, Lan Zhan hissing out a breath between his teeth. “Good,” he grinds out, “Yes, good boy.”

Wei Ying moans, and this time it is around Lan Zhan’s cock. Lan Zhan breathes deeply, focuses on Wei Ying. The dizziness fades. The kitchen settles back around him, existing, warm and familiar. Wei Ying is having a little trouble getting his mouth onto Lan Zhan’s cock and still grinding back on the dildo; Lan Zhan obligingly steps closer, lets him fill himself on Lan Zhan. He can drink and drink; Lan Zhan has oceans of this. Wei Ying moans. Lan Zhan thrusts forward, presses his cock in, presses Wei YIng back against the counters. Wei Ying’s cuffed hands scramble at the hem of Lan Zhan’s trousers. Lan Zhan eases them into something which can be kept up, a slower rhythm.

Still, Wei Ying is panting harshly through his nose. Lan Zhan carefully, carefully frees his hands and cuts a few more stems off mushrooms, very slowly, and watches. Grinds his cock into Wei Ying’s mouth; stops, pulls Wei Ying off to make him breathe gasping breaths and to tell him, “Good job.”

Wei Ying says, hoarse, “Is it good, Lan Zhan, does it feel good, do I feel good?”

“Yes,” Lan Zhan bites out, both hands framing Wei Ying’s face, pulling him back to Lan Zhan’s dick, “Yes, you feel good. You feel so good, Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying moans and slides off Lan Zhan’s dick with a little pop; Lan Zhan doesn’t immediately force him back, waits to see what he will do. He shuffles closer, stumbles trying to kneel up and brace himself against Lan Zhan’s legs, mouthing at Lan Zhan’s shaft. Lan Zhan grabs the cord between his wrist cuffs and pulls up, both surprising Wei Ying and keeping him upright.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whispers, “I--I—”

Lan Zhan guides his head back to Lan Zhan’s cock. Wei Ying whines and shuffles closer, closer, till he’s plastered up against Lan Zhan’s legs. There — his cock, which he’s rutting desperately against Lan Zhan’s leg. When Lan Zhan gasps and pulls Wei Ying off Lan Zhan’s cock he whispers, “Lan Zhan please, please, oh god. I won’t get in the way, you can keep cooking, I can just. Just.”

“You want to grind on my leg?” Lan Zhan says.

“I’m gonna,” Wei Ying pants, “Oh fuck, I can’t help it I’m gonna come like this on your kitchen floor, I’m gonna.”

“We didn’t plan on you coming,” Lan Zhan says. Wei Ying tips his head back, whines, humps Lan Zhan’s leg harder.

Lan Zhan holds his head back, pulls off the condom, and slaps Wei Ying’s cheek with his dick. Wei Ying’s eyes roll back; he moans and buries his face in Lan Zhan’s hip, probably right against the zipper of his undone jeans. He’s really going for it now, not trying to be subtle, not trying to be elegant. It is hard to be suave about humping a man’s calf. The bathrobe is untied now, in disarray, and Wei Ying is fucking up hard, faster, grinding his cock against the soft bathrobe and Lan Zhan’s jeans. It probably hurts. He probably likes it.

Fuck, Lan Zhan thinks savagely. Fuck.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, “Lan Zhan I can’t stop, I can’t stop, I— ahh, ahhh!” He breaks off and Lan Zhan thinks perhaps he will try to hold his breath again, but he cannot do that either, it seems. Lan Zhan, in some insane impulse, slips a knuckle of his finger into Wei Ying’s mouth, between his teeth. Wei Ying obligingly bites down on Lan Zhan’s knuckle and screams through a clenched jaw as he comes. It splatters over the bathrobe, the floor. Wei Ying shudders a few times then collapses against Lan Zhan.

He just breathes, hard, and clings. “Wha—” he mumbles. “The fuck.”

Lan Zhan kneels down and quickly unclips the cord between Wei Ying’s cuffs. Wei Ying pants for another moment then sways into Lan Zhan. It’s so different than before; they are touching again. The bathrobe is nearly off one shoulder. Lan Zhan reaches up to fix it, reflexively. Wei Ying puts both hands on Lan Zhan’s shoulders, cuff strap dangling from his right wrist. He is shaking, flushed, intent. He looks Lan Zhan in the eyes and says, more clearly than he has spoken in half an hour, urgent, “I know we didn’t plan for it for another couple sessions, but Lan Zhan, would you be able to fuck me?”

Something in Lan Zhan surges towards him. Lan Zhan looks down at Wei Ying’s teeth marks in his knuckle. Marks from toys or bodies were on Wei Ying’s good list. So was, in fairness, being fucked.

Lan Zhan, for a moment, cannot talk. He tries and he cannot. He holds up two fingers.

“Yeah,” Wei Ying breathes. “That works, Zhan’er. I can’t — I won’t be able to calm down till you’ve fucked me.” Lan Zhan thinks about Wei Ying alone on the dining table, untouched at the party, alone in his bed texting someone because he wanted so badly to be full.

Words are nearly back, but not quite yet. Lan Zhan hoists Wei Ying up again, onto the white tile, the neatly bleached grout. Wei Ying laughs, shaking from the orgasm he hadn’t really expected or been ready for. Something in Lan Zhan unknots. Wei Ying on the counter is not like Wei Ying on the dining table. Wei Ying is balanced between his sink and his keurig, spreading his legs. Lan Zhan ducks down and presses his face there, breathing between Wei Ying’s thighs. Drags his face up and down them as Wei Ying shakes, kisses his thighs, brushes with his fingers Wei Ying’s hole, his balls, his soft cock. Wei Ying pants, overstimulated. He wraps his legs around Lan Zhan’s shoulders, tugs almost shyly even with his head thrown back and his own semen all over his stomach and Lan Zhan’s bathrobe. Lan Zhan slicks up two fingers and touches where Wei Ying is ready for him. He wants to laugh; he has big hands but he absolutely started Wei Ying on something hilariously, monstrously bigger. He did not set himself up well for this at all. Yet when he thrusts two fingers in Wei Ying cries out, Wei Ying says, “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, finally. Take it, take what you need from me, please, ahh— please!”

And Lan Zhan rocks foreward, fucks Wei Ying on the kitchen counter. The mushrooms are still in the soup pot in the sink, right next to Wei Ying. The sunlight through the smoke is red gold and Wei Ying is bathed in it like he is standing under stained glass, or in a bright room done up in red silk. Lan Zhan’s fingers are in Wei Ying, not his cock, which is tucked messily back into his trousers. He shoves his other hand down them. He is supposed to be giving a piano lesson right now.

But Wei Ying is beginning to cry, and it looks different than a line of text from Wei Ying saying “I might cry”. Lots of people cry, but it hasn’t been like this. Wei Ying isn’t going to come again, but he wants the sex, he wants it. Lan Zhan tugs his own cock with his left hand, so turned on his ears are ringing and his face is numb. Wei Ying is begging for him to come as if it’s Lan Zhan’s dick that’s in him, tears on his cheeks, overwhelmed next to soaking mushrooms, next to the keurig. Lan Zhan thinks perhaps Wei Ying likes it, likes being worked into the fabric of Lan Zhan’s kitchen. There is the paper towel roll, there is the sink, there is Wei Ying getting reamed on two fingers, there is the keurig. Rice cooker, kettle, discarded condom on the floor.

It is something. It is a thought.

Lan Zhan bites his own lip hard as he comes, filled up with it. Wei Ying slams his head back, moaning and soft, and Lan Zhan barely manages to get his hand up in time but he does cup it between Wei Ying and the window, lets Wei Ying smash his head into Lan Zhan’s palm and grind Lan Zhan’s knuckles against the blinds, which may be broken now, Lan Zhan doesn’t know. He’s come and it’s peaking again, a phantom second arc of pleasure through him. Another spurt of come in his hand. He pants, raggedly, into the air above Wei Ying, which is the safest air in the kitchen to breathe.

Wei Ying is whispering, “Yeah, yes, yes,yes—yes,” and he is not going to come again, Lan Zhan does not think, but the crying is something like that. A release for Lan Zhan to work him through. Lan Zhan gently pulls his fingers out with a little goodbye wiggle that makes Wei Ying jump and then take his first good, deep breath. First, Lan Zhan leans over a few inches from Wei Ying and runs the sink. He washes both his hands. One is covered in his own come, the other was bare in Wei Ying’s asshole. He uses dish detergent. Wei Ying mumbles when a little spray catches him. Then, slowly, he takes Wei Ying’s shaking thighs from around his waist and sets them down on the counter, stroking each one. Wei Ying cannot even hold his legs up around Lan Zhan’s waist anymore. He strokes both thighs again, grateful, painfully grateful for all of Wei Ying. Strokes his shivering ribs and his bony, hairy ankles and wraps the bathrobe tighter around his chest. Then, thoughtfully, he tucks his little finger of the Wei-Ying’s-ass hand back into Wei Ying’s ass, just for a bit.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whispers into Lan Zhan’s shoulder after Lan Zhan presses his face there briefly to massage his neck with his clean hand. “Oh. Oh you like. Took good care of me.”

“Hmm,” Lan Zhan responds, acknowledging Wei Ying. He feels there is room for improvement. He feels good, though. Warm, tired. Ahead on tomorrow’s dinner prep, hilariously. His kitchen blinds are definitely broken. Wei Ying in his arms like this is distracting, Wei Ying around one finger, still. When Wei Ying shifts, Lan Zhan is the one who makes an involuntary noise. He felt Wei Ying tighten around his pinky.

“Ahh,” Wei Ying says. “Ah, you stayed in me, you even stayed in me?” He sniffles and Lan Zhan smiles at him a little, cannot quite help it. He crooks his finger hello. Wei Ying whimpers about it, big and performative.

“I am going to pull out now,” he warns, as if he’s balls-deep in Wei Ying. Wei Ying nods and sighs, pouting a little. Lan Zhan bites his lip and pulls his pinky out, regretfully. Wei Ying swings a leg a tiny bit, just enough to hit his heel against the cabinet.

“Stop hiding it. Wanna see how much you came,” he mumbles.

“Wei Ying made me come so much,” Lan Zhan says soothingly — honestly, too — as he buttons his jeans over the mess. His blouse has jizz on it, thank god. Wei Ying’s mess, on him. He opens the cabinet below Wei Ying and throws the blowjob condom away in the trashcan that lives below the sink.

“In the kitchen!” Wei Ying slurs above him. “You throw condoms away in your kitchen!”

“It is my house,” Lan Zhan says, straight-faced, heart pounding again just from looking at him. But it is less terrifying; he is floating on it. Wei Ying in his kitchen, well-fucked. Wei Ying just blinking at him, soft eyed and hazy.

It is something. It is.

***

In the back yard there are two deck chairs of dubious comfort, covered in scratchy outdoor cushions.

They are laying together in one, watching the dusk come into the garden under the pepper tree. Walkers go by on the bike path behind the house, mostly hidden from view behind the lemon tree and the hedges and the compost bins.

Lan Zhan is warm from a very, very fast shower, and in boxers and the second-best bathrobe. Wei Ying is in the good bathrobe, still warm from the dryer, somehow. He had not wanted to shower yet.

It seems like when Wei Ying is coming down, he talks. At first Lan Zhan thought (while getting talked at through the shower door) it meant he was resurfacing, but no, he’s still in headspace, just not the quiet kind. The gentle lap of words are good; they help Lan Zhan judge so easily where he is even as Lan Zhan bundles him up in one arm. They are spooning. Wei Ying had grabbed a blanket off the sofa in the den for them.

“Check it out Lan Zhan,” he slurs, twisting his head to look up at the sky between two Italian cypress pines which gently shade the lounge chairs. “It’s still light out but you can already see the moon. And right now Jupiter and Saturn are right next to each other somewhere to the--to the left. They’re really bright right now, have you seen them at night?”

“Maybe,” Lan Zhan says. It doesn’t seem like Wei Ying needs more of a response than that, but Lan Zhan finds himself offering, “There’s a bright star I see from my window when I go to bed, just above the hills.”

“When you go to— oh, no. Silly boy, that’s Mars. Mars rises a lot later.”

Lan Zhan smiles. “Now I know,” he says, solemn.

“If you could like, see Jupiter’s magnetic field….” Wei Ying says.

“Mn?” Lan Zhan prompts.

“Oh. If you could see it, Jupiter would be the size of a quarter in the sky.”

Lan Zhan nods. Wei Ying nods back, that bit of wisdom dispensed.

There is a pause. Above them is a dusty evening-blue sky that feels, somehow, higher than skies in the rest of the world. It just feels like that here, in this place. In the Bay, in this neighborhood, where the fire-wind whispers in the pines. Breeze in the trees, pepper tree and lemon and pine. The neighbors who fight all the time are trying to grow roses.

“Are you, um. Lan Zhan, are you hard?”

“Yes,” says Lan Zhan, carefully. “A little.”

“Can I um, feel it? If you’re comfortable with that? I just like — I feel better knowing that you’re — yeah.”

Lan Zhan nods slowly, his nose brushing Wei Ying’s hair. He relaxes his hips, which had tensed when Wei Ying asked, careful to keep his erection away from Wei Ying in case it felt like pressure, or did not help him ease back to the surface.

He doesn’t actually mean to take his cock fully out, just to adjust his boxers and press it against the backs of Wei Ying’s thighs, but he is hard — very hard, not just a little, his body is like this — and when he tugs at fabric his cockhead pops out of the fly of his boxer briefs. Wei Ying makes a happy little sound in his throat, even as Lan Zhan watches in dazed resignation as he pulls back the blanket to see that Wei Ying has rucked up the bathrobe and Lan Zhan’s cock is smearing precome on Wei Ying’s bare thighs.

Wei Ying smiles a little, face tucked against the scratchy cushions, and lifts his top leg under the blanket. Lan Zhan bites the inside of his mouth and breathes. He holds his cock and guides it between Wei Ying’s warm, barely sweaty thighs. Wei Ying relaxes and Lan Zhan allows himself a sharp little exhale, a ghost of a gasp.

He feels, unexpectedly, calmed by it. His cock held tightly between Wei Ying’s legs, safe and welcomed. Lan Zhan says, anyway, “You do not need to be making me hard in order to feel good.”

Wei Ying flaps a hand like — I know, I know.

“It’s nice,” Lan Zhan whispers, laying fully back down.

Wei Ying shifts around until he can squeeze Lan Zhan’s hand. Now the message is urgent instead of flippant, but the same: I know, I know.

***

That night, Lan Zhan cannot sleep.

The moon is full and Mars is so bright above it, overwhelming and obvious, red-tinted and unapologetic. Right where Wei Ying said it would be, right where it has been every night for weeks when Lan Zhan did not have a name for it. Moonlight cuts Lan Zhan’s bed in half at his calves; his feet are in a story, a dreamworld. Sleeping alone long enough makes him forget that he does sleep. There is no proof of it. There is no example of sleep’s existence next to him in bed. Dreams feel like no proof. He wants to see himself sleep. He wants to sleep next to someone who will watch him sleep, who might touch his hair where it sticks sweat damp to his face when he is halfway in between.

***

In an attempt to balance out his life a little, and because she is his friend, Lan Zhan tries something new and has Jiang Yanli over to smoke weed and watch baseball. It goes extremely well. Lan Zhan finally calms down, after the Friday with Wei Ying, who has of course texted, but it’s not— They sit in silence, getting high and making the occasional cutting remark about [baseball thing]. “Do you watch other sports?” Yanli asks.

Lan Zhan glances at her out of the corner of his eye, joint pressed between his lips. He got into smoking weed when he quit smoking cigarettes. People don’t believe that he used to go out to a lot of clubs (where he also smoked), but the wall of noise is a lot easier than the up and down meandering of a bar. A club is honest with you. Also, Lan Zhan liked to fuck, and his brothers friends were all Berkeley law students.

“Some,” Lan Zhan says, voice a little tight with smoke. “I don’t like soccer,” he adds preemptively.

“Hm,” says Yanli. “Hm, give me the remote. Do you know figure skating at all?”

“No,” says Lan Zhan.

“I am going to show you something,” says Yanli, doing violence to Lan Zhan’s smart TV remote. “This shit is wild.”

“Okay,” says Lan Zhan. He is pretty high. Potentially, he thinks ten minutes later, too high to be faced with Yuzuru Hanyu in all his glory, but there it goes.

They watch in silence as Yanli finds a full competition rerun on Youtube. Everything is in Russian, so Lan Zhan does not even have to listen to commentary. Ideal.

“This is good,” he tells Yanli very seriously after an hour. They have moved from men’s singles to ice dance, and Lan Zhan is learning exactly when to make a disparaging face at a badly turned out twizzle. “I like this sport.”

“Good,” Yanli says, taking a solemn drag on the joint as, on the screen, a new kind of combination lift occurs. “What else do you like? You didn’t say.”

Lan Zhan frowns. “Softball,” he says. “Alpine skiing.”

“Do you like… badminton?”

“No,” Lan Zhan says. “Why?”

“Oh, it’s just funny,” Yanli explains earnestly. “All the sports you like are completely the opposite of my little brother. He was on the varsity badminton team. He secretly still loves badminton.”

“Your brother is a business major. I am unemployed. We are not the same.”

“Oh, no, not A-Cheng, my other brother. My other one,” Yanli assured him, flapping a casual hand.

“Oh,” says Lan Zhan. “I apologize, I thought there was only one.”

“Nope,” says Yanli. “My two boys.”

She sounds loving, and tired.

“I will work hard at hating badminton,” he promises her solemnly. “I will keep it up my whole life.”

“Thank you, friend,” Yanli says, flinging a leg up on the sofa. “I am going to take a nap. Make the tv show us pairs skating. You’ll like— Sui and Han, Bridge Over Troubled Water.”

She falls asleep. Lan Zhan sits comfortably, legs spread, on his sofa. He watches pairs skating. He cries a little. When Yanli wakes up he says they should go for a walk to look at the bridges over the bay.

“You can see the bay from here?” asks Yanli. She is filling Lan Zhan’s uncle’s Oakland As mug with water, which she says she is bringing with her for the walk.

“Yes,” says Lan Zhan. “It’s better if we walk up the Peak, of course. But we can see them if we walk up and loop on the street above the bike path, up the hill.”

“That’s so funny,” says Yanli. “I live so close by and I never noticed!”

“It is only one place,” says Lan Zhan.

They find outdoor shoes and walk down Lan Zhan’s street, under the whispering pines. They walk up the street where kids like the drag race at night, before the coyotes come out. An old uncle comes past walking a very small dog that wants to sniff Lan Zhan. They walk up to the fancy little neighborhood above Lan Zhan’s fancy little neighborhood. The hills are golden behind them, perfectly golden, like a promise: you do, you really do live here, for better or for worse.

At the crest of a little neighborhood hill they stop on the sidewalk and look down. There it is, a tiny distant glimpse of the Bay, which looks flat and calm from a distance. The haze is settling. The sun has gone down already into the cold green Pacific, the ocean which has for so long held Lan Zhan’s life in it. You cannot see the ocean from here; you cannot see the North Bay or SF, or any famous skyline at all.

The bridges have blinking red lights on them, for planes Lan Zhan guesses, coming into Oakland or SFO.

“Which one is that?” Yanli asks, slurping her water. Her shoulders are relaxed, finally. Lan Zhan’s phone buzzes in his pocket, a sweet promise, but he does not take it out yet.

“I do not know,” says Lan Zhan. “Dumbarton? San Mateo?” He squints as if he will be able to figure it out by looking.

Yanli hums a few bars: Bridge Over Troubled Water. “Like a briiiidge called Saaan Mateo—” she mumble-sings into her mug of water, and laughs, and Lan Zhan dares to hum along for the first time in very many years, since the last time sang with his throat instead of piano wire, here in this place where he can escape nothing. He hums and she makes up the words, makes up the words, and he sings along, low for just a second: Like a bridge called San Mateo, I will lay me down. She breaks into laughter. Lan Zhan feels more solemn than that, but it seems like that is alright.

Lan Zhan takes out his phone, just for a moment before they walk down the hill into the lilac dusk, to take a picture to send.

#my fic #in the pines #ask replies #fic ask replies #anon ask replies #cryinngggg 13k tumblr post will u even work

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polaraffect · 3 months

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current state of politics really got me swerving wildly between "yes I want to present as a man" and "oh god is this even worth it maybe I'm not even really trans" and it's bringing me to my limit

#damien.txt #sorry its like 5 am and i havent slept and wanna vent so. here inam #i really do be having a wild time bc ill have like. weeks at a time where ill be like. wait a second. what if im not trans actually #okay well. never in a 'im 100% not trans' way but in a 'maybe i shouldnt transition' way #and then ill have a day where i wake up and go. oh. i think that feeling is just coming from fear about. the current state of trans issues #because oh my FUCKING GOD am i scared like 24/7 bc of that shit #and so like. then im like. maybe i really am like. actually transmasc. fr. bc i like. literally have been feeling it my whole life.#and then i wake up a couple weeks later back at the beginning like hmm....... but..... what if....#and im so tired of not knowing!! it's fucking exhausting questioning what the fuck is happening w me every 2 seconds #and im being dramatic abt it but idk. i think its a symptom of neurodivergence or something bc im like. so so scared abt being trans atm #at a level that is. certainly unhealthy.#and it really feels like something that is inhibiting me from doing things in life which is like. upsetting y'know!#but at the same time. the concept of going thru life as my birth gender is... bad. sort of inconceivable at this point.#and this is particularly hard bc like. really going back and forth on making decisions abt taking T. bc when i get in these spirals #abt maybe not being trans. i get the urge to not take it. but like. i cant fluctuate w a medicine like that that much!#but at the same time when i go back to being like oh yeah transmasc... my brain is like cool. take T again. so. fuck me i guess.#idk man. im just like. i just want to live my life without being perceived by others actually #my true gender is no one's business <3 thanks #i am. tired.

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bonestrouslingbones · 3 months

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have officially hit the point where i kinda wish people i would like to call friends drifting away for the millionth time in a row actually WAS personal so that then i wouldnt feel so fucking stupid for getting so upset about it every time

#dont read this its just for me #shoutout to every single one of my goddamn roommates not telling me they weren't planning on living on campus next semester til just now ✌#housing applications start next week . thanks guys #it'll be the same drill as every other friend i have had forever i can already tell #we wont have school keeping us seeing each other every day but say we'll hang out when we have time and then never speak again 👍#maybe thats too pessimistic but its always the fucking same. as in there is not one person i have called a friend that hasnt done that 😁#it already happened over winter break anyway #but of course this time its right when im finally opening up about the shit i genuinely enjoy for the first time in my life #actually beyond the most surface level “yeah i write fanfiction and draw undertale fanart” bs and keep everything else to myself #because for the first time ever it feels like someone actually halfway gives a fuck #and im just supposed to be normal about this information now. alright!#i'll just go back to writing my essay about how isolating my home growing up was. thats fine #i can get new roommates i can make new friends but im so sick of restarting. i dont want to fucking do this anymore

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janiedean · 2 years

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#honestly #wish i remembered my idiotic dreams well #i'd have a horror writing career in front of me if i did #but nooo like hey let's dream at least twenty different apocalyptic with zombies scenarios #since your teenage years #and never remember one well enough to actually profit off it #that'd be nice #AT LEAST THEY'D BE USEFUL TO SMTH #except making me feel tired no matter how long i sleep or not #but nah #let's just have it happen then i abruptly wake up at 5am #feeling BAD because well that shit's just disturbing #and now i barely remember wtf went on except that i was tired af the entire day #it wasn't even zombies this time but something similar but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯#anyway sorry is2g i'll get a grip and be more around soon i'm just #tired #this shit happened every other day this week i just want to go back to NOT REMEMBERING THAT SHIT #meanwhile the only instance of this shit i recall really well is the stupid red wedding nightmare #WHICH I OBV CAN'T PROFIT OF FOR OBVIOUS REASONS #/s i hate this #anyway debbie downering over s2g i'll get a grip #i haven't even finished the lizards i just #i need the brainpower #janie rants #never mind me #personal for ts

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broadswipeslideshow · 2 years

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damn .

#wow. it's been bad. like really bad?#ive had my shitty moments but i think the past week takes a place in the top 5 #idk what the fuck has been wrong with me but oh my god i am horrible. a complete mess. i cannot even function right now #the amount of times i've dissociated the past couple of days is ??? crazy. never had that happen except 4 when i went through severe trauma #just.... i can't focus. my sight gets all fuzzy and i don't have the mental capacity to return to my body #i am just numb and lifeless and my entire being is dead weight. it's too much effort to move so i just stare into a blurry atmosphere #most of the time. wishing i was dead tbh.#every single day i think 'i'm gonna kill muself.' i say it to myself constantly #like a source of comfort or some fucked up shit #i swear to god i have missing time from the past week. like what was i doing all day? where did i go?#it kind of scares me and the fact that i think i'm hallucinating doesn't make it any better #i keep hearing voices that aren't there and i saw a cockroach in my bathroom.... but it wasn't one #it was just me imagining it plus it was way too fast to be one #but i literally gasped and flinched back and watched it go behind my toilet. yet it wasn't there #what the fuck is happening to me?#i should be happy. i got accepted into college. and yet i'm not. i'm worse than ever before #my dad doesn't even support me on this. i don't have anyone to talk to. and i just really want to fucking die #and idk. i always think to myself how much i hate myself but i never really took it that seriously #but then the other day i realized how much i truly believe and KNOW i am a bad person. i am not good.#like wow i guess i really do hate myself #starting to suspect i have bpd :/ never really thought abt it before #but from what i keep reading and seeing most of my symptoms match up perfectly #favorite person / self harm / mood swings / utter lack of care for myself / anger and resentment toward others all the time #so much shit idk. my therapist says i self harm but i really have no idea if what i do is considered self harm #i mean. i guess it has left scars. but i don't think i do it out of hatred for myself? but maybe i do #considering i've come to the conclusion that i fucking despise every aspect of myself #i don't think it's normal to put yourself in someone else's shoes and think 'why would they ever want to be friends with me?'#there's too many other things to say but. i'm stupid and ugly and i want to die and fuck my life lmao. i hate it here for real.

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suguann · 2 months

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an. part two of this | masterlist

You tell him you broke up with your boyfriend while he’s away for work, bunked up in a safe house in the middle of nowhere with shit reception, hearing your words as clear as day as if they weren’t the chopped-up version coming through his burner phone.

“It just…didn’t work out.”

It didn’t work out.

He pretends his stomach doesn’t pleasantly twist because he’d expected it to happen eventually. He’s not happy about it—although it does make the desert heat more bearable in his heavy tactical gear—and tells Soap to fuck off when he comments on it.

It was a one-time fuck because Simon doesn’t date. He’s tried in the past before he met you—the flowers, the late-night dinners—but with him being gone almost every other month (sometimes longer, shorter if he’s lucky), it never works out in the end. Sleeping with you twice would fall under that category, the quasi-relationship kind, and make everything messier than it needs to be.

Just some fun, no strings, those are the words he promised.

If only he believed them.

He does, for all of two weeks until he’s home again, and it’s summer, so you’re wearing a flowy dress that shows off the long expanse of your legs.

(He’s a goner—not even sure why he tried to think otherwise.)

That one time he’d promised turns into a second, both of you stumbling into your apartment after a night out. The music from the pub still thumping loudly underneath your floor as he pushes you against the front door, hands in your hair—on your waist, underneath your skirt, down your thigh to hitch it over his waist—teasing your mouth open with a swipe of his tongue across your bottom lip.

You make this delighted little noise in the back of your throat, arching into him, and his hand spans down your stomach, beneath your underwear, to nudge your messy clit with his knuckle, wanting to hear all the sounds you make now that he has you alone.

A whiny cry of his name rewards him—jeans tightening around his waist at the sound—when his fingers go down, down until they press against your tight little hole, one finger pressing inside slowly. "If I make you cum, I get to fuck you here.”

You smile prettily, and it disarms him. “If you make me cum, you can fuck me however you want.”

Neither of you makes it to the bed, falling asleep on the living room floor instead, the blanket from the couch draped haphazardly over both of you with his arm curled over your waist.

That night had been a slip of judgment, a product of wanting something warm and soft after several months of only having his hand for company.

It happens again and again, and he keeps letting it happen until there’s no more hiding under the guise of just fun because it somehow turns into a lot more than that.

Simon can’t explain how it happens—maybe becoming something he can touch and hold and think about often—but he finds himself in an exclusive relationship with you that isn’t exactly a relationship because he’s unsure of the ins and outs that they entail.

(Always has been.)

His father was a shit role model, and it was always easier finding someone new who didn’t know his name or care about his scars and only wanted a nice fuck. There had never been any point in shooting for something serious when it was always out of the question for him, until now, that is.

He takes you to that over-rated restaurant overlooking the Thames Marcus never brought you to. A picture of you and him with the sunset in the background—your smile almost blinding in the photo—becomes his home screen, and he finds he doesn’t care when Soap has something to say about it.

He lets you do nonsensical shit, like buying small plants for his house that are surely going to die from him being gone before he comes up with the great idea to give you a key. It’s just a key.

(It’s more than just a key.)

Simon finds himself asking if he can come over more often throughout the week, which slowly moulds and shifts into nights filled with things other than sex—sleeping after a long day of work, cuddling on the couch, cooking together, going to the movies—he doesn’t try to make a big deal out of it because you used to hang out all the time without sex.

(Somewhere, there’s a but in there.)

There’s still no label to whatever this is, and he wonders if you want him to be the first to say the thing you’ve both been dancing around for a little over…he can’t remember, but he knows it’s been long enough for your things to mix in with his at his house.

Be with me because I’m yours, and you’re mine, that’s what he’s trying to say, and it’s never the right time. Men like him—a little broken, rough, and jagged around the edges sharp enough to cut—aren’t good with words like that.

(That’s what he thought.)

If he hadn’t seen you talking to a guy at the pub, eyes crinkling in that same sweet way whenever Simon makes you laugh, he wonders if he would’ve been the first to break from the start. He knows it’s your job as a bartender to be nice, but his jaw clicks at the sight of the guy leaning over the bar and into your space, almost too close.

The feeling doesn’t go away until he has you spread out on your mattress under him—clothes haphazardly peeled out of the way for him to put his mouth on you—your lips pursed tight around two of his fingers to give you something to focus on as his other hand works between your thighs, pressing down on your tongue when gurgled little sounds slip out.

He teases you with a small, pink vibrator he found inside your bedside table, your legs kicking out and toes curling into his calves.

“Mine. This is mine, love,” he groans, pressing you further into the bed with his weight. “Do you understand?”

You nod, tears pearling and leaking from the corner of your eyes.

“Lemme cum,” you whine, words muffled. “Simon, I want to cum. Please.”

He won’t lie that he’s close after jerking into his fist to the sight of you writhing on the sheets—swears he can feel his heartbeat throbbing against the back of his fingers—takes in your surprised expression when he pushes forward, impaling you on the first few inches of his cock.

His stomach twists from the squeal that escapes your throat, and fuck, your cunt, so hot and tight with little pulses that drive him crazy, only growing tighter when he turns up the speed on the vibrator.

“‘Mm, gonna cum. I’m—”

He grits his teeth as you start to flutter around his cock once he’s rooted inside you. “Go on—fuck—go on, love. Let me feel it.”

You look so perfect like this, like a dream: lips parted into an enticing little O with his name tumbling out in breathy mewls, tits hanging out from the bra he shoved to the side, eyes glassy and unfocused.

“So fucking pretty.” He kisses your throat, panting into your sweat-slick skin, and it’s not long before he’s falling over the edge with you.

Next time, he’ll have the courage to tell you: that you’re not someone he calls for a meaningless fuck on the weekend, that Simon misses you when he’s gone and can’t wait to come home, that he wants to try with you—except not when he’s balls deep and trembling inside your heavenly cunt.

But the smile he feels against his shoulder makes him think that maybe…

Maybe you already know.

#simon riley smut #simon riley imagine #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #cod smut #cod imagine #cod x reader #mw2 smut #mw2 x reader #mw2 imagine #ghost x reader #ghost imagine #ghost smut #.things i write

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insanechayne · 1 year

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~ ~ ~

#late night thoughts at it again #sitting with my melancholy #not trying to feed into it necessarily but at the same time I’m starting to think that if I don’t let myself feel it and deal with it #then it just won’t ever go away #and of course it’s over something really stupid anyway but that’s just how I am I guess #my one friend and I used to be closer and things have cooled over the last couple weeks and I’m having a hard time handling it #I miss the flirting and talking about sex and calling each other baby and having that connection that we did #it was a bunch of positive attention for me and I grew accustomed to it #and he’s going through stuff right now and isn’t in the mood for all that and it’s not that I don’t completely understand that #and I’d never want to make him uncomfortable or be pushy or anything like that #just feels weird and makes me kinda sad because I miss him and us and all of that stuff #going from being one way every day for months to suddenly being nothing is really hard to handle and accept #it’s like filling a bath with nice hot water and being so excited to get in but then getting called away and having to let it drain out #it’s like that weird form of disappointment when you know you can’t change something #and I just have to wait around and hope he’ll come back to me like that one of these days #but sometimes it feels like that won’t happen #and if it doesn’t that isn’t a problem because whatever he decides/wants is fine #it’s just that I would want to know now so I can start getting him out of my head in that way #but keeping the hope around… if it goes south later on it’ll kill me #idk just a lot of dumb shit on my mind now #and he and I have a motto about our relationship #friends first #so I’m not going to let this effect our friendship #and I know we will always be good close friends and that does make me really happy #but I still have to sit with the rest of it and process it and keep myself calm about it #I guess sometimes we just have to let our demons talk for a while #personal

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nervousimposter · 11 months

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Eddie started finding notes in his locker his sophomore year. The first couple of them, he just tossed without reading. He didn’t need to read what those asshole bullies wanted to say about him. But curiosity won out after two weeks of constant notes and he finally opened one. It was the single most impactful thing he’d ever read.

I think you’re the prettiest boy I’ve ever seen.

He kept that note. And every other note he got from that point on. If anyone were to ask Eddie what he regretted most in his life, it would be those two weeks of notes he tossed without reading. Ten slips of paper with unknown writing that he wishes he could get back. Add them to his ‘mystery boys notes’ box. And he was a mystery, the note writer. Anonymous. Unknown. Impossible to catch.

Eddie held out for a month. A whole month before he decided to stage a stake out. He watched his locker like a hawk. In between classes, during classes, lunch, after school and even one absolutely horrible day where he came in an hour before school started. But the mystery boy had to be invisible. He never saw anyone approach his locker but his daily note was always there. And Eddie; poor, unfortunate, infatuated Eddie dealt with mystery boys’ notes from ‘82 to ‘85. Four agonizing years of the most heart-warming, loving notes.

I wish I was as brave as you.

Did you change your shampoo? Your hair looked so soft today.

God, your eyes have to be the biggest fucking eyes I’ve ever seen. So pretty.

I like how long your hair is getting.

Saw you walking down the hall today and I’ve never wanted to kiss someone more.

They started cute. Compliments here and there, even a doodle every once in a while. Hearts and smiley faces. But as the months and years went by, the mystery boy got deeper. Confessions and secrets.

I think if I had a different dad, we would’ve been best friends.

Can you fall in love with someone you’ve never talked to?

I dream about us.

I’m a boy. I’m sorry.

I want to hold your hand. Those rings are something else.

I saw you trying to catch me. Adorable.

I wish I could take you on a date. Not give a shit what my dad would say or what people would think.

I wish I could be brave enough to talk to you.

You’re still the prettiest boy I’ve ever seen.

I’m graduating this year. I’m sorry it didn��t work out for you. I think I’m going to try to figure out a way to keep dropping these off next year. I don’t want you to forget about me.

The notes didn’t continue when the school year started. Eddie was embarrassed to admit he cried that first night. He wasn’t sure how the mystery boy was going to be able to get the notes to him but he fully believed it was going to happen. He went five weeks with no daily note in his locker. And then, it showed up on a Monday. He almost missed it, the tiny slip of paper.

Sorry this took so long. Had to figure out how I was going to sneak these in here. I don’t think I’ll be able to call you pretty every day of the week this time around but I’m going to try my best!

And mystery boy was right. The notes were always there on Monday. Just Monday. But Eddie didn’t complain. One note a week after five weeks of nothing almost had his heart bursting from his chest. It also narrowed down his search. Sort of. Mystery boy was either coming in on those Mondays to drop off the note, sneaking in on the weekends when the school was empty OR after school on Fridays. And look, he’s failed to graduate high school two times in a row now but he wasn’t stupid. Did it take him three months after the notes to start again for him to realize who it was? Yes but to be fair, for two of those months it was Eddie wallowing in denial.

Five weeks into school was when he restarted Hellfire. Three weeks before that was when he brought in those new little freshman sheepies. The same freshman sheepies that got picked up by Steve Harrington. Steve Harrington who graduated last year. Steve Harrington who he catches staring at him from his beemer in the parking lot every Friday night before he takes the kiddies home. Steve who he categorizes as someone who is so far out of his league that it just couldn’t be him. But it’s been three months and there isn’t any other former Hawkins high student running around in or near the school. And now that Eddie’s almost certain Steve has been mystery boy these past few years, he can’t wait. He’s been in love with a figure made out of slips of paper for four years and his nonexistent patience has truly run thin.

He calls for a break 15 minutes before they normally end their sessions. Tells the boys he needs to run to the bathroom and almost sprints out the door. His locker sits in the hallway just around the corner of the drama room. The door closing shut echos through the empty hallways, alongside the squeaks coming from his shoes as he hustles towards his locker. He freezes as soon as he turns the corner.

Steve probably only had 30 seconds after hearing the door open and shut to process what he was going to do. He could’ve run or hid, maybe pretend like he just needed the bathroom while he waited. But Eddie watched him pause as they made eye contact instead. Watched as Steve looked him up and down. Watched him relax and lean back against the lockers behind him with a lazy smirk. His arm slowly moved up and Eddie could see a slip of paper held between his fingers. Steve didn’t break eye contact with him at all as he proceeded to shove the paper between the vents of his locker. They stayed like that for what felt like hours. Staring. Broken when Steve pushed himself off the wall and walked towards him. He didn’t stop. Side stepped around Eddie before they could collide. A faint brush of his fingers along the back of his hand as he walked past him. And Eddie just watched him pass. Just like he watched him slip that note in his locker, he watched Steve walk back down the hall and out the front doors.

He waited only five seconds after the doors closed behind Steve before he jogged over to his locker. Grabbed the note and shoved it into his pocket before running back over to the drama room. Told the guys that they stopped at a decent spot and would meet again next Friday. Walked with them to the parking lot to head home. To catch a glimpse of Steve. And there he was, sitting in his beemer, staring again. This time though, Eddie smiled at him. He smiled at him and pulled the note out of his pocket. Opened it right there in the parking lot while he stared back at Steve. It only took him a few seconds to glance down to read. And as soon as he did, he threw his head back and laughed. Cackled really. He looked back at the beemer and saw Steve with the widest grin. Watched him lift his fingers off the steering wheel and wiggle them at him before he started pulling out of the lot. He looked back down at the note in his hand and chuckled again. Who knew Steve Harrington knew DnD well enough to draw a perfect rendition of an eight sided dice?

Wanna go on a d8? - Steve Harrington xxx-xxx-xxxx

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #steddie fic

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slvttyplum · 21 days

Note

random share but you know the "depressed geto who just needs you sooooo bad to feel better" fic trope? (me and my friend eat that shit up lol). i had a revelation of a related prompt: "geto who is no longer in a depressive ep and his drive is thru the roof" 🤪

suguru was wearing you the fuck out, you losing your breath and him tying his hair in a bun as you try to catch your breath, the same thing has been happening every single night and even twice a day if he felt like doing extra work.

suguru hasn't been doing the greatest the last three months, and you tried your hardest to help him, but he just needed time, and he got it, a random week he was back to him, feeling better and wanting to do different things, that including you, and he wasn't playing when it came to that.

his sex drive was through the roof and him jerking it wasn't helping shit, he needed your pussy sliding up and down on his every second, he didn't even want to slide out not to cum inside of you, he was disconnected to you and never wanted to disconnect, he didn't realize how much he missed you until you finally laid the pussy on him.

his eye twitching when he first had you slide onto him, that's when he realized he needed you every second of every day. suguru even took days off just to fuck you, he couldn't help it, it felt too good to just stop and pick it up at night, he was going to go on for hours and take advantage of the time he had with you.

“you're the one who took off, not me. i have to go to work.” a pout on your face as you stare at him moving in closer with a sly smirk on his lips as he takes his arm, wrapping it around your waist and moving in for a kiss, his other hand around your neck. he needed you so bad he could barely think, his dick pushing out his sweatpants, you could feel his bulge press against you.

“i'll pay you double what you would've made this whole week. please? i need you.” kissing you again before you toss your bag on the floor and him pushing you into the bed, wasting no time stripping off his sweatpants and getting to work. there was nothing else on his mind beside you, the only thing flashing throughout his head was your pretty smile and the nasty shit he was going to do to you.

those seven days he tore your ass up, you couldn't even form sentences in between what he was doing, your pussy still tingling even after he was thankfully out of you. his cum leaking out of you as you tried to catch your breath, his hands still rubbing over you as he laid in between your legs and played with you, your eyes going blurry from the tears that were forming in your eyes, light moans slipping out of your mouth, you could barely breathe.

your whole body covered with hickies and your knees bruised from you kneeling on the ground from suguru face fucking you, and some of his cum still in the back of your throat from before. it was like he was trying to test hard far he could get away with doing things before you finally told him to stop, but you never did, you just let him keep doing things because it felt too fucking good not too.

even though he was tearing you down and thrusting into you s hard you could barely breathe and tears were sliding down your pretty cheeks, it still felt good to have him inside of you, his dick stretching out your walls over and over again or his dick sliding on your tongue and his cum leaking in the back of your throat.

this was better than anything you've ever experienced and both you and suguru wanted to savor the moments where his sex drive was so high he didn't care he had to pay you back double the amount you would've gotten paid, he just needed you, or he was going to breakdown, you and only you.

your pussy tightening around him every time he finished inside of you, his dick still sliding in and out, the stimulation of how wet your pussy was and his cum mixing together to make lewd sounds, it drove him crazy. sweat forming on his naked body, falling onto your body with every thrust, his body still moving as he ties his hair up so that he can see your pretty expressions to everything he does to you.

pushing into you over and over with no care in the world if the neighbors hear or not, all he knew was that he wanted to be buried inside of you forever and always without a care in the world. his cheeks flushed red from staring into your beautiful eyes and your pussy squeezing around him tightly every time he said something.

his hand on your cheeks, his fingers pushing open your mouth as he slammed into you, gathering his spit and having it slip into your mouth slowing. the feeling of his warm spit sliding into your mouth made you roll your eyes and jerk with pleasure, shortly after closing your mouth with his. his tongue sliding over yours.

“ i love you so fucking much, you're mine.” his eyes piercing into yours as he slams into you once more, his cum leaking into you again, filling you whole.

1K notes · View notes

sweets3rial · 2 months

Text

the tutor in dorm 24B

inspired by this request

meantutor!re2!leon x fem!reader

summary: you have no choice but to go to your math professor for help in the class. unfortunately, he can't help you. but he knows a certain blonde that can, top of his class, perfect scores on everything, just the tutor for you.

tags: college!au, math/stats terminology, ooc leon, leon is an asshole, leon & reader have attitudes, dom!leon, slightly jealous leon, degrading kink, praise kink, leon talks you through it, smut, p in v, unprotected sex (use safety guys!), oral sex, cunnilingus, clit stimulation, teasing, etc.

word count: 9.8k 🧍‍♀️ (this shit long sorry)

math is horrible. you’ve never been bright in math, plus it isn’t fun. it’s only fun when you understand what you’re doing. especially statistics, which is a whole other level for math. there are symbols, very important definitions and strategies, formulas and techniques, very precise calculations and data.

you never understood what the teacher was writing up on the board when you’d step into lecture. he moved fast and spoke even faster, you’re hands would cramp trying to keep up with him and you’re notes were a jumbled mess.

even if you tried so hard, you just couldn’t understand. your mind was constantly running, like a hamster on a wheel though it was nonstop. it was the same schedule pretty much every day. you wake up, rush out of your dorm, race to class, get to class huffing and puffing, and you do this three more times for your other classes.

then after a long day of learning, you’re off to work at the cafe down the street. it’s a very famous cafe, especially with it being so close to campus. convenient for students who needed work and wanted a nice coffee.

after work, you’d go back to your dorm on the brink of passing out, but of course, you had to study.

it was a constant look, a constant cycle that seemingly never broke until summer break. your days were starting to blend together and you were slowly driving yourself insane. at one point, you put stats at the back of your mind since you were so focused on an essay for your english class.

little did you know that you’d pay for that in the future. you missed one class, one lecture - and it seemed like you missed a whole semester.

you went to class the next day, after turning in that very important essay, and you were completely lost. you tried talking to your classmate about what the professor was talking about but she was just as lost as you.

if you thought stats was hard before, it’s even harder now. you looked over your notes from before, trying to correlate those to the ones now. though, nothing made sense.

that led you to where you are now. a week later, still very much lost, and you’re grade dropping with every single assignment.

you toyed with the drawstring of your sweats, blinking your dry eyes and nibbling at the dry skin of your lip. you were trying so hard to stay awake as your professor scrolled through your grades. his eyes were squinted and his knuckles pressed to his lips.

he had a pensive look on his face, looking from your scores and back to you.

you could practically read his mind. it was embarrassing and shameful. he took off his glasses with a sigh and turned his chair to face you.

“you were doing really good in the beginning but after chapter three i mean,” he paused gesturing his head over to the computer where the D’s and F’s lined up like a pattern.

“what happened? chapter three was so long ago why didn’t you reach out?”

you never understood why some professors didn’t take students' lives into consideration. some professors think that students have no life while others are very considerate. this professor wasn’t one of those professors.

he didn’t understand why his students couldn’t understand his material or why people asked stupid questions. even though, at the beginning of the semester he mentioned:

‘even stupid questions are good questions’

then when that stupid question is asked. he sits there with a disappointed look on his face and quite literally embarrasses that student in front of everyone. which is why, you don’t ask questions at all. you don’t want to be embarrassed, especially not in front of 30 other people.

“i’m sorry, my life has just been really hectic lately and-“ you rambled, running your hands over your face with a heavy sigh. until, of course, you were interrupted.

“no worries, i understand but,” he paused again, judging you with his eyes and completely ignoring the fact that you were on the brink of a mental breakdown. “you gotta reach out for help if you need it.”

even if you tried, it probably wouldn’t help. his teaching methods are like tough love. harsh but it’s supposed to teach you a lesson. spoiler alert, it never does.

he reached over for a pen and a sticky note and you watched him scribble down a few numbers and a name.

“i can’t really help you since my life is also hectic,”

alright, asshole. you’re the fucking professor you should be helping me. you said to yourself, never in your life did you want to slap someone so bad,

“but i can refer you to one of my top students.” he pushed the sticky note toward you. you picked it up and read the name at the top, his dorm number, and his phone number.

great, just what you needed a tutor.

you weren’t sure how exactly this ’top student’ was passing this class with flying colors and it was to the point your professor was impressed. which he never is and never was.

either this top student is sucking your professor's dick behind the scenes or is actually insane.

you read the name at the top as your professor began to speak.

“his name is Leon, he’s gotten perfect scores on every quiz and test, very smart and a decent kid,”

yup, Leon is definitely sucking this man's dick.

Leon’s contact info and his dorm room were written underneath his name. it was odd that he didn’t tutor in the library like the rest of the tutors did. though, given the fact he’d rather tutor in his dorm, he probably isn’t a tutor at all.

“i contacted him before our meeting today, he’s expecting you.

“oh, okay.” you nodded slowly, pocketing the small slip of paper. you weren’t so sure if you were comfortable being alone in a random dorm with some guy you’ve never met, but for the sake of your grade you were willing to do so.

you finalized your meeting with your professor and left his office even more unsatisfied than when you came. you were hoping he’d give you a run down on what you missed but instead, he completely dismissed you to his top student.

you left the building phone and slip of paper in hand, you weren’t sure if you should text him or not. ultimately, you decided it could wait. you were exhausted and maybe a small nap would be helpful rather than going to this guy's dorm where you probably wouldn’t learn jack shit.

—

Leon waited for you. he was told to expect you around the afternoon, so he canceled his plans with his friends, he went home to his dorm, tidied up, and put on a more suitable outfit. he never wanted to be a tutor it was tiring trying to teach someone something over and over again.

plus, he had doubt in his skills as well. he would be to blame if someone were to get a bad score or if they failed their exam.

but when his stats professor made a deal with Leon, he decided to take it. if he were to tutor you and possibly future students, he’d put in a good word with any police academy he wanted to join.

Leon wasn’t so sure how his professor would get that to happen but it was better than nothing at all.

so he waited, half an hour went by and then an hour and another. at this point, he was tired both physically and mentally. he sat leaned onto his desk with an elbow, tapping his pen against his notebook. it didn’t take long for him to catch the hint that you weren’t coming.

and just as he was about to strip his clothes to take a nap, there was a knock at his dorm door. his hands dropped at his sides and a sigh left his mouth, though he tried to maintain a calm act even though he was close to bursting into flames.

he was irritated, you were two hours late, he was already drained from a long day of sprinting around campus for his classes and he just got dumped not too long ago. he does not have time to be in a good mood.

albeit, he still opened the door with a smile.

“hi, you must be-“

“yes, i’m so so sorry! i know i was supposed to be here hours ago,”

Leon let out a small laugh, mumbling under his breath, “yeah, you were…”

unfortunately, you heard that part, and your heart dropped. at first glance, this guy looks like a sweetheart. he had a nice face, his cheeks a little round but his jaw very defined and sharp. his eyebrows were relaxed and a thick brown, and his dirty blonde hair was split down the side and a little long — the ends just touching the height of his cheekbones.

his lips were plump and a nice pink, glasses were perched up on his head and you guessed he was probably wearing them earlier.

his chin had a small indent, a little butt chin almost. he had two beauty marks on his throat, right on his adams apple, and a few small ones on his face.

he wore a basic dark blue sweater, even with the baggy fabric you could still tell his shoulders were nice and broad and he paired his sweater with basic grey sweats.

he was very attractive, tall, and muscular but that baby face was throwing you off. it wasn’t a bad thing, rather it was intriguing. how are you supposed to focus when there’s a very attractive man tutoring you? maybe your professor is secretly setting you up.

“oh god, i’m so sorry. i probably should’ve gotten your number from our professor,”

“uh no worries, just come in.” he said in a hurry, opening the door further for you. you nodded to him a thank you and stepped inside.

his dorm smelt of fresh mint and lemon, there was a hint of spice in the air as well. it was pretty warm, which made you guess the heater was on.

he shut the door behind you, walking past you as you stayed in the doorway to slip off your shoes. you took around the room for a second. his bed was up against the left side of the room, away from the sight of the door. dark midnight blue sheet, with a matching duvet and pillowcases.

underneath his bed were a bunch of bins, probably clothes and extra storage. against the back wall was his desk, piles of papers and different books were all stacked neatly at the side. the large window above the desk allowed a natural hue of light to cast down into the room, giving the room a pale yellow glow.

against the other wall was a dresser and closet. his room was very generic, with some posters and photos taped to the walls and a whiteboard with messy scribbles depicting his schedule for the week.

“so uh, how much did the professor tell you?” he asked, sitting at his desk chair and swerving around towards you and he lowered his glasses down to his eyes. you took a few steps further into his dorm, adjusting the tote bag on your shoulder.

“um he just said to meet you here and that you could help,”

“well no shit,” he scoffed, catching you off guard and sending a tense feeling through your muscles. “did he say what you needed help with? which chapter? which concept?” he asked and each time you shook your head like a dumbass.

“i’ve kind of been struggling the whole semester i just-“

“why didn’t you get help earlier?” Leon asked curiously, tilting his head to the side. unlike your professor, who seemed actually concerned this time. but that concern was probably for himself instead of you.

“i was embarrassed, i guess,” you shrugged.

he sighed, dropping his head and nodding his it up an down.

“okay well, uh please sit anywhere really uhh,” he got up from his desk chair and walked over towards the other corner of his dorm. there was another small chair in the corner, albeit a bit old, and he brought it over to his desk.

“sorry, i’m not used to visitors.”

“no worries,”

you sat down on his old chair and placed your tote bag into your lap as he opened up his computer. you watched as he brought his glasses up in front of his eyes and opened up the course page. “so uh, what did you need help with?”

his tone was harsh, almost like your professors. you felt intimidated by him, he was smart and quite rude.

“um well, everything?” your answer sounded more like a question, causing him to raise an eyebrow up at you.

“i’m sorry, i can’t help you with everything,” he spat, turning his shoulders towards you with one elbow on his desk. “give me specifics, like which chapter?”

“every chapter, it just isn’t making sense to me and i-“

a sigh left his lips and his shoulders slumped, you could practically hear the thoughts running through his head. “alright well, i can help you with the first chapter,” he said with a shrug.

you nodded along, reaching into your bag for your notes.

“the first chapter is pretty basic. basic terminology and techniques we use throughout the class, ‘kay?” he began, speaking with his hands as he went. you nodded at him, placing your notebook at the edge of his desk and writing down what he just said.

anything counts, anything you could get would help. you needed to get a good grade in this class, if you had to retake it for the credit it would be a disaster.

“it’s mostly the types of data, the collections of data, the types of sampling — and those are the basics.” his eyes flickered from his computer down towards your hunched figure. you were writing down every single word he spoke. you’d repeat his words to yourself in silent whispers.

then, as you finished writing, you looked up at him and waited for him to continue but he was left speechless. you really were desperate.

“tell me, do you know any of the terminology in chapter 1?” he asked, turning his full figure towards you. doing so, his knees were now touching yours. he didn’t miss the way you scooched back further in your chair to avoid his touch. cute.

“uh,” you hummed to yourself as you flicked through your notes and back to chapter one.

“no, no,” he stopped you, placing his hand over yours and bringing it back down into your lap. “tell me from memory, not from your notes.”

he watched you blink at him as if you were processing his words slowly, “uh yeah, i can do that.” you leaned away from his desk and your notes and faced him, your knees touching his again.

“i know sample versus population,”

“give me an example of both.” he cut you off again, leaning back into his chair and adjusting his hips.

“um, a population will be all the college students of our university but a sample would be just the engineer students,”

“good, at least you know that.”

you gave him a nervous laugh, a little more proud than you should be but his praise made you feel … good.

he continued to make you list what you know, making sure you knew every term by giving him real-life scenarios and every time you got it correct it was like a golden sticker was placed on your forehead. you were beginning to understand and, as ridiculous as it sounds, you were starting to have fun.

relating the different terms to real-life situations made it easy on you, rather than the unrealistic scenarios your professor gave you.

he let out a loud yawn and you caught a whiff of his minty breath, he’d been chewing on mint gum for the past hour now. throwing an old one away and popping in a new stick. you could tell he was getting tired, he was less responsive and blinking slowly.

“i think you should get some rest,” you told him. he looked over at you with a small ‘hm?’ before shaking his head, blonde hair sweeping over the bone of his brow and lips curling down into a frown.

“i’m fine,” he practically shouted out after another yawn, “let’s just finish it, ‘kay?”

“no, Leon, it’s okay we can continue another time.”

he stayed silent, his lips pursed as he looked down at your notes. gradually, his head began to bob up and down into a nod and another yawn left his mouth. this time, he stretched back, letting his sweater glide up slightly to reveal a sharp v-line and brown happy trail.

you quickly looked away and began to pack up your things, shoving your notebook and pencil case into your bag — not even bothering to shut or zip anything up.

“man, look at the time,” he said, lifting up his sleeve to reveal a black watch. “next time be on time, that way we have more time.” he smiled at you as you stood up.

you weren’t sure whether to take that as a friendly reminder or a warning but either way you nodded.

you made your way towards the door, slipping on your shoes and looking back at him to say goodbye. you expected him to still be seated at his desk or even going to lay on his bed. though, to your surprise, he was standing directly behind you.

hands stuffed in the pockets of his sweater.

“jesus!,” you jumped, “sorry, you surprised me.”

“uh, who else do you expect to lock the door behind you?”

you blinked up at him, again caught off guard. he was a little bipolar with his attitude, one minute he’s proud of you for getting something the next he’s making fun of you with his eyes.

“well, goodnight,” you said to him as you stepped out the door, he didn’t say anything else. he kicked the door closed and locked it the moment you stepped out.

you could feel your eye twitch, only if you could march back in there and beat the blue out of his eyes but he was just a tutor. just a few weeks of this and then you’ll never have to speak to him again.

“are you serious? we just went over this,”

“i’m sorry i blanked out,”

“no, you didn’t i was watching you giggle on the phone with that little boyfriend of yours,”

“first of all, why are you watching me? and second of all, i wasn’t on the phone with any boyfriend.”

he sighed, leaning back into his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. “i wasn’t stalking you, dumbass. your bright ass screen caught my attention and when i looked over voila it’s you.”

he leaned forward, pointing a finger at your face and squinting his eyes behind his glasses, “and who else would have you giggling like that in the middle of a lesson huh?”

to be honest, he didn’t like that you weren’t paying attention, it was more work on him because you always came crying to him about not understanding a topic. he didn’t necessarily hate tutoring you. sure, you guys had some fun times but it was beginning to become a part of his everyday life.

canceling plans on his friends, not going to the gym, and missing out on his personal time. his goal was to teach you and go over a chapter every week, it was working … slowly but surely.

“i saw a funny video, ‘kay?”

“wow, so you’re just sitting in class watching silly videos. no wonder why your brain is rotten.”

“hey, asshole, the professor wasn’t even talking about anything important. it was more about his dumbass grandkids,” you rebutted, grumbling your words toward the end of your sentence.

“if it wasn’t anything important, how come you don’t know what he just fucking talked about?” he said with a scoff.

you groaned and began to pack your things, you probably should’ve done this a long time ago. sure, Leon helps, but he belittles you in every way and it’s beginning to actually hurt. his rude comments and attitude.

he was like a hawk or a vulture, hovering over you every second of the day and then picking at you when you were alone. slowly tearing at your skin and ripping off flesh until he got to bone. he was always watching you.

you couldn’t go on your phone in class to check a text or even walk out early because he will know and will say something about it later. maybe it was time for another tutor.

“whatever, Leon. you’re not helping anymore.” you scoffed his way as you stuffed your computer into your bag.

“that’s where your wrong, your grades have been getting better, haven’t they?”

“what are you? my dad? you’re checking my grades now?”

only if he wasn’t so stupidly handsome, you would probably smack him across the face or maybe choke him out. there was something about Leon that you liked, unfortunately. he was intriguing, he knew so much about you but you didn’t know anything about him.

he wasn’t in the frat, thank god. he was smart and had a large group of friends. you always caught them hanging out in the private study rooms in the library, the ones they always made sure to book. they all would stay there and hang out like obnoxious fools.

it was rare to see Leon smile and laugh, he looked like a completely different person. his eyes gleamed differently and he had a specific glow around him. maybe the reason you saw him so much in public or outside of his dorm was because you looked for him.

you looked for him and that glow.

“i’m not, the professor told me.” he watched as you continued to pack, were you really leaving? was he too harsh? sometimes he was only ‘mean’ to you to elicit a reaction from you. it was cute to watch your jaw drop and your fingers twitch as if you wanted to hit him.

sometimes, you played along, insulting him back. it was amusing to watch your spark glow into a flame. he hated tutoring but he didn’t hate you.

“of course, you practically suck that man's dick during office hours,” you said to yourself but loud enough to let him hear.

“that’s hilarious,” he said, rubbing at his nose bridge where his glasses sat.

“you didn’t deny it.” you huffed turning to leave until you were, very abruptly, yanked back. his hand had wrapped around your wrist, holding you back from leaving.

you turned back to him, his head was tilted to the side and he silently motioned with his eyes towards your seat.

“sit, we’re not done.”

his tone sent chills up your spine but you still refused, only if he didn’t look so damn good.

“yes, we are.”

you yanked your wrist away from him but much to your prevail, that only prompted him to stand up, grab you by your hips, and push your right back down into your seat.

“no. we are not.”

you sat still, bag in your lap, eyes wide and lips shut. did he just…man handle you back into your seat?

he sat back down in his seat after you, rolling his jaw with a sniff. “where were we?”

you remained silent and still, you knew if you got back up to leave he’d only pull you back down into your seat. though, you would be lying if you said you didn’t like it. the minute his large hands fell onto your hips there was a burn that ran through you, and it wasn’t rage.

“what is variance?” he asked turning towards you.

“standard deviation squared,” you replied, very straight and mellow-toned.

a smile grew onto his lips, the blues of his eyes gleaming and his pearly white teeth slowly revealing from underneath his pink plump lips. “good, you’re getting the hang of it.”

ever since then, Leon was very comfortable with touching you and kind of controlling you. tugging you by your wrists, guiding you with his hand on the small of your back, touching your legs, or shoving you to get your attention.

you were slowly losing it. you couldn’t even think straight, he was such a distraction. his voice, his hands, his scent, everything. the way he dressed was always so casual but he always looked so good, basic sweats with graphic tees or a sweater.

glasses, hair sometimes a little messy. you noticed when he was very focused his tongue would stick out from the corner of his mouth, it was cute, to say the least. he’d scrunch his nose to keep his glasses up on his eyes, he rolled his ankle instead of bouncing his leg, and when he laughed.

it was boisterous and full of light. you never thought that you could make him laugh, even if he wasn’t laughing with you rather he was laughing at you.

“are you serious? it’s like you don’t retain anything at all, how did you even get accepted?”

that one kind of hurt but you were too focused on the brightness in his cheeks and his perfectly straight teeth.

“well the acceptance rate is pretty high so…” you shrugged turning back towards your notebook.

you kept on denying the fact that you very much had a crush. is it wrong to find someone attractive? no, not at all. it’s a regular thing to find people attractive, doesn’t mean you have a crush on them. but this … is different.

a month and a half in you were beginning to realize you very much had a crush on Leon. you were beginning to get used to him and he was getting used to you.

you looked forward to tutor sessions now, practically dropping everything to go and see him. you began putting on extra perfume and wearing your hair down rather than keeping it up.

you kept your attire casual, you didn’t want him to think that you were dolling yourself up for him. so pajama pants or sweats were your usual go-to.

little did you know, Leon noticed everything. he was keen to snuff people out. he could smell you from a mile away, that heavy fragrance of yours was slowly seeping into his clothes and his brain. even after months, everything you touched was beginning to smell like you.

he noticed how your makeup slowly became heavier and your hair was all nicely done for him.

to be frank, he was flattered. he hoped you were getting all dolled up for him and not the guy who constantly blew up your phone. who is he? is he a boyfriend? a relative? a crush? a friend? who is he?

Leon wants to know, who do you see throughout the day? who are your friends? what do you like? do you like him? do you hate him? every time he sees your face he just wants to know, who are you?

Leon sat at his desk, waiting for you. his hands were folded up to his mouth and his leg was bouncing anxiously. you’ve never been late, well except for that first day but other than that you were always on time. always.

the pillow you occasionally sat in your lap during these sessions was now in his lap. it smelt just like you. at first, he wanted to snatch it away from you the moment you put the pillow into your lap, hugging it against you and spreading your germs onto it.

but then, it was nice. it was your signature pillow, you looked for it every time you came over and placed it directly in your lap. now, he finds himself carrying it around or having it next to him while he sleeps. is that weird?

well, it was his pillow in the first place. what’s so wrong about having it in his bed? it’s comforting.

his eyes quickly flicked over when his phone screen lit up, he looked over at it quickly reading the notification. you texted him.

was something wrong? are you sick? do you no longer need tutoring?

he quickly unlocked his phone and read the message, the pillow now bunched up underneath his nose as he slowly inhaled and exhaled your heavy scent.

‘hey, might be running a little late today :/. there’s a lot of traffic.’

traffic? where are you coming from?

‘k.’

he kept his reply short and nonchalant even though his curiosity was close to killing him. he knew the semester was close to ending, meaning he wasn’t going to see you afterward. it’s a big campus, so many buildings and so many students. he rarely sees you.

though, he catches a glimpse of you in the library, walking and talking with your friends. in the lunch hall, always getting the same drink from the vending machines and leaving in a hurry as you typed away at your phone.

you told him you had no boyfriend, but maybe you were lying to him. maybe it’s because he wasn’t a close friend of yours. that’s right, he’s just a tutor — not a friend or a love interest in your eyes.

he sat there longer than he anticipated, he didn’t realize how long he had been sitting until there was a knock on the door. he stood up, tossing the pillow in his lap aside onto his bed and rushing to the door. almost tripping over the clothes and mess that sat on his floor.

shit, he forgot to clean. he kicked the mess aside as he made his way to the door. kicking it under his bed mostly. he almost tripped on one of his shoes, letting out a small cuss before stumbling more towards the door.

the chaos behind the door caused you to furrow your brows.

“Leon? you good?”

“yeah! hold on!” he shouted out. you nodded slowly, itching at your ankle with the tip of your shoe.

Leon looked down at his attire, week-old sweats and a white sweatshirt with oil stains on it.

he turned away from the door quickly and silently ran back into his room, he needed clean clothes and he hadn’t done laundry all week. he didn’t have time, all because he was too busy thinking about you.

he quickly threw his sweatshirt off, taking the glasses off his head in the same swift movement. now he was just a mess, feeling around his bed for his glasses like Velma from Scooby Doo. all while his sweats were halfway on his legs.

“shit, shit,” he muttered to himself and he almost sighed with relief as he finally found his glasses and a clean, well decently clean, sweatshirt.

he rushed over to the door, sweat sticking to his hairline and very much out of breath. when he swung it open he was met by you looking down at your phone, texting someone once again. you looked up at him with a smile.

“what were you doing in there, huh? hiding a girl from me?” you taunted with a smile. he took notice of your outfit once you stuffed your phone away, a small wine-red top paired with some baggy jeans. you had a nice pendant necklace on, hanging right between the swell of your breasts, and cute little bracelets all up your wrists.

your makeup was done nicely, same with your hair. you were very very pretty today. you always were. but who did you look pretty for today?

“don’t be an idiot,” he scoffed, stepping sideways and letting you inside. you chuckled to yourself, finishing up your text to your friend before your phone was miraculously snatched from you.

“no phones tonight.” he snapped at you, taking a sneaky peek at your text convo. it wasn't a guy, it was a friend who was a girl. you two were speaking about a house party and tutoring. he lifted an eyebrow and looked down at you, he was completely ignoring your small grumbles of complaints.

“you were at a house party before this?”

“nosy much!” you snapped as he shut your phone off and stuffed it away into his pocket.

“answer the question,” he sighed like a disappointed parent.

“yes, i was and i ditched it to be here. with you.” you finalized.

he wasn’t gonna lie, the last part of your sentence sends electricity through his veins. you ditched fun to be here. not for tutoring. not for your grade. but to be here with him. he had no words, he was just frozen in place not sure of what to say or do.

“um, no phones today no distractions. midterm is coming up and i don’t want you to fail,” he said, clearing his throat. he shut the door softly and locked it. he turned to face you, taking off your shoes with a pout.

“aw, you care about my score?”

he rolled his eyes, shoving past you with another scoff. “yeah because your score reflects my tutoring.”

"and here i thought you hated tutoring,"

"i do, hurry up and get inside."

you smiled up at him, walking further into his room and instantly looking for your pillow. it wasn’t in its usual spot but you found it on top of his bed. his very tall bed. you jumped up, half of your body on the bed and your legs dangling off the floor.

you outstretched your arm for your his pillow. it was just at your fingertips but still out of reach. why did his bed have to be so big?

Leon watched you struggle for a bit, amused at how hard you were working just for a pillow. he also took this chance to admire how good you looked, almost perfect. bent over the edge of his bed, shirt riding up to reveal more of your back.

he couldn’t help but imagine you in this position but in different circumstances. his hands on your waist, bodies sticky and sweaty, hips rocking against one another.

he was quickly shaken out of his trance when you hit him in the face with the pillow.

“let’s get this over with, my friends are expecting me back in two hours.”

he cleared his throat and nodded with a small, “yeah.” his voice cracking in between.

it was hard to focus, he couldn’t stop looking your way. he couldn’t dismiss the burn that flew through him every time your knees touched his. he couldn’t form a sentence when your eyes would lock with his as you patiently waited for him to teach you something else.

almost like a dog waiting for a fucking treat.

the mascara on your lashes made your lashes pop more, shiny gloss on your lips, and the blush on your cheeks was nice and bright — but not too obnoxious. what was obnoxious though was your top, so dangerously low and that pendant hitting the fat of your breasts with every movement.

you were speaking to him but his eyes were focused on your pendant necklace. you took notice of it, stopping midsentence and looking down towards your necklace that he was so focused on.

“who’s the one distracted now?” you chuckled, taking out the pendant from your shirt and showing it to him.

“where’d you get it from? a boyfriend?” he asked out of nowhere. even his own words caught him off guard. he didn’t mean to ask that last part but it has been on his mind forever.

“Leon, how many times do i have to tell you?” you sighed out, leaning back into your chair and crossing your legs. “i don’t have a boyfriend.”

“then who is currently blowing up your phone?” he asked, motioning down to your phone constantly buzzing in his pocket.

“my friends,” you said with a shrug.

“i don’t believe it.”

“well, you should.”

“what could they possibly want to talk about?”

“you,” you said, looking from your phone lighting up in his pocket then back up at him.

you watched his eyebrow raise in confusion and he tilted his head to the side once again in disbelief. but you nodded slowly leaning towards him.

“they think you’re hot,”

“oh really?”

“yes, really.”

he scooted closer to you, both of his meaty thighs now trapping yours. his pupils dilated as he looked into your own. instantly, your palms began to sweat. you crossed your arms over your chest, subconsciously trying to shoo away the goosebumps rising onto your skin.

“what do you think then?” he asked, his voice low and his eyes flickering down to your lips and staring there.

“of?” you answered with another question.

“you think i’m hot?” he was inching closer closer, surely this was another way to tease and taunt you. even so, your heart was beating out of your chest and you were shrinking away from him.

“mmm not really, you’re kinda ugly.” you lied. that was the biggest lie you’ve ever said out loud. you haven’t even admitted your little crush to your friends. you were denying it to your core but right now with him so close like this, his breath fanning against yours and his hands placed on either side of your chair — you were ready to give up.

“liar.”

“not a li-“

before you could say anything else, his lips were on yours. soft plump and warm. wet from the amount of times he’s licked over them with a hint of mint from his gum. you kissed him back, leaning forward to press your lips against his even more.

your entire body lit up, you could feel your knees grow weak and the butterflies in your stomach felt more like a wildfire. with every smack of your lips, there was another spark and more of that fire spread.

his hands found your waist, tugging you up off your chair and towards him. you accepted his instruction quickly and obediently. he pulled you into his lap, hands moving from your waist and towards your hips.

his thumbs rubbed at your skin, calloused fingertips colliding with your soft skin. hot and gentle. you moaned onto his lips, tilting your head to the side and bringing your hands from his shoulders and towards the nape of his neck.

shivers ran through him at your touch, the cold sweat on your fingertips and your manicured nails scratching at his scalp.

he ran his hot tongue along your bottom lip and you welcomed him. tongues finding each other in a heated and passionate battle. you moaned at the minty taste on his tongue practically melting into him.

his hands found the small of your back, pressing you closer to him until you could practically feel his heart beating against yours.

he reached down into his pocket, bothered by your buzzing phone. he threw it to the side and onto his desk, he couldn't care less where it landed, he was more focused on you. your gloss stuck to his lips, it tasted fruity like cherries and he could taste the smallest twinge of rum on your tongue.

he pulled away, one hand grabbing the back of your neck to keep you in your place, “drinking and driving, huh?”

you rolled your eyes, rolling your hips down into his, “it was just one shot.”

you kissed him again, feverishly. you were hungry and desperate, you never wanted someone so bad. even if he made you feel like shit, pretty privilege at its finest. you didn’t care if he tugged and shoved you around like a damn rag doll, it was hot.

you didn’t care if he insulted you, part of you really fucking liked it.

he kept his lips on yours as he let his hand run down underneath the curve of your ass and the other guided your thigh around his waist. he stood up taking you with him, your legs wrapped around his waist and your arms wrapped around his neck.

you held him close, both of you kissing at a slow and deep pace. in all truth, you didn’t think Leon was interested in you in the slightest but judging from the way his hands traveled all over your body you were very very wrong.

his hands reached up beneath your top, feeling for your bra clasp but he was surprised to find none. you smirked against his lips.

“no bra, fuck that’s hot.” he sighed against your lips, copying your smirk.

he threw you down against his bed, watching your hair splay out around your head like a halo. your lip gloss was ruined, smeared all over your mouth and your lips were now plump and glossy with his spit.

you looked up at him, the fire behind your eyes and adrenaline running through every vein in your body. you propped yourself up onto your elbows, slowly scooching away from him as he crawled towards you.

his hands on either side of your frame, icy blue eyes staring right into yours. his lips were now swollen and pink, some of your lipgloss smeared all over his mouth.

“where you going?” he taunted, a certain tone in his voice. his hands reached for the hem of his sweatshirt, quickly pulling it over his head and throwing it to the side along with the rest of his clothes. you scanned your eyes up and down his built figure, who knew he was so muscular.

underneath all those sweatshirts and loose tees was a greek god. chiseled muscle and wide shoulders, his arms were thick and looked as if they could kill. no wonder he could throw you around like you weighed nothing. he was built like a fucking tank.

your eyes trailed down to the happy trail, you witnessed now and then. sharp v-line, light brown hair with a single vein running down.

his hand wrapped around your ankle, tugging you down the bed until his face hovered over yours. “my eyes are here,” he told you before placing his lips on yours. your hands ran up his arms and up to his shoulders, you sunk your nails into his skin creating little pink crescents.

one of his hands kept him up while the other worked with the button of his jeans. the minute he got the metal button off, he was tugging them down your thighs and you helped by lifting your hips for him.

he kissed the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, and then your jaw. his kisses were wet and slow, his fingers playing with the hem of your panties.

“god, you’re beautiful,” he whispered in your ear, kissing your lobe. your body shook with excitement every time he touched you, your body immediately responding to any of his calls. you were under his control and his command.

“i need you,” you whispered to him.

“shh shh, how about this?" he shushed, removing his glasses and then throwing them onto his desk.

he smirked at his own idea, loving the sound of what plan just popped up into his head.

" if you get these answers correct you’ll get what you want, ‘kay?”

you threw your head back against his pillow, whining his name. he swatted your ass as a warning as he traveled down your neck with opened-mouthed kisses, “i’ll stop.”

“no! okay, okay.” you exclaimed. he smiled against your collarbone, sinking his teeth into your skin as his hand traveled up the sheets to play with the hem of your top.

“give me five different ways to collect data,” his hand traveled underneath your shirt, his thumb finding your perky nipple and swiping over the bud slowly. you shivered at his warm touch, your brain melting and your mouth opening into a silent moaning.

“answer me, baby.”

“um surveys, experiments,” you began, trying to focus on his question rather than his touch. he pinched your nipple, rolling it between his fingers as his knee slotted between your legs and pressed against the gusset of your soaked panties.

he applied just the right amount of pressure and friction to your clothed cunt, earning him a small moan.

“an observational study,”

“good good,” he praised, lifting up your top and bunching it above your breasts. he watched them spill out and bounce, “so pretty, baby. give me two more.” he placed a soft kiss over your hard nipple and watched your body squirm for him.

“focus groups and- fuck and sampling,” you whined, arching your back towards him.

he grinned down at you, one hand cupping your left tit while the other stroked your cheek. “good job.”

he placed another hot kiss over your nipple, dragging his teeth ever so slowly over your hot skin.

this was killing him more than it was killing you. but he just loved teasing you, the excitement in your body, the hunger in your eyes, and the desperation in your voice. he loved having control over you.

“what’s the formula for a z-score?”

“Leon!”

he swatted your thigh as a warning, “say it.”

you pursed your lip, watching him place small kisses around your areola, purposefully avoiding your sensitive nipples.

“x minus x bar-“

“do it correctly,”

“sample size minus the mean, divided by the standard deviation!” you whined out.

he rewarded you by taking your nipple into his mouth, harshly sucking and dragging a long whine out of you.

you’ve never been so sensitive before but he was bringing everything out of you. your hips began to grind down against his knee, the smallest amount of pressure against your clit was all you needed. you were aching for him, clenching around absolutely nothing and dripping into the gusset of your panties.

his hand was splayed over your stomach, his thumb playing with the hem of your lace panties. his lips left your nipple with a pop and he looked up at you whilst biting down on his bottom lip.

“if the mean is more than the median,” he began kissing down the valley of your breasts. “how does the graph skew?”

you couldn’t focus, your brain was mush and you were very lightheaded. you couldn’t breathe and you were aching for him worse and worse every coming second. you tried to go over his question but every kiss he placed on your skin was a distraction.

“come on, baby you got it.” he said, now completely in between your legs. his hands were running up and down your thighs, keeping them at either side of his head. he placed a wet kiss on your inner thigh, sucking and then dragging his teeth over the small hickey.

your hips bucked up and your legs began to shake, “Leon, i don’t know.”

“i know you do, baby. come on,” he hummed against the skin of your thigh. the smell of your pussy was making him dizzy, it was right in front of him and god he needed it so bad. he could see how wet you were, just for him.

he wanted to rip these pretty lacy panties right off of you and devour your pussy whole, but he wanted to wait. he wanted to wait until you were at your limit, he wanted to watch your eyes roll back when you finally got what you both wanted.

“um, it skews right!”

he smiled against your inner thigh, placing a kiss on your abdomen and then moving your panties to the side. his cock jumped at the sight of your cunt right in front of his eyes, dripping wet and quivering just for him.

“answer this next question right and i’ll let you cum, ‘kay?” he said placing a kiss over your swollen clit.

“fuck!” you moaned out, hands reaching for his blonde strands.

“what is the empirical rule? and what does every single one of them mean?” he asked, prodding his tongue at your hole. his breath was hot against your clit, your whole body was shaking to the point you couldn’t take it.

“Leon, i-“ you stammered out with a tear running down your temple and into your hair.

“come on, we just went over this yesterday.”

“i can’t,”

he gathered a glob of spit onto his tongue before spatting it against your pussy, watching it drip from the hood of your clit and over your fluttering hole. “yes, you can.” he egged on.

“it’s mmm,” you pursed your lips and squinted your eyes close, you just needed to think and avert your attention away from him. “68% falls um one standard deviation of the mean,” your statement was more like a question.

he confirmed your answer by flattening his tongue over your slit and languidly licking upwards. he moaned at your taste, practically drunk on your pussy already. he shut his lids and let his eyes roll to the back of his head.

“95% is two and 99.7% is three!” your voice raised a few octaves as the languid strokes of his tongue became faster.

he was done testing you, for now. right now, he’s focused on making you cum all over his face. his arms wrapped around each of your thighs, holding you close to his mouth as he got to work. his thumb went to find your clit, rubbing small slow circles around your swollen nub.

“oh god,” you sighed out. his tongue prodded at your dripping cunt, messily lapping up at your juices mixed with his saliva. you arched your back, your fingers digging into his scalp both pushing him away and pulling him closer.

he applied more pressure to your clit, his tongue plunging in and out of your hole shamelessly. wet and sloppy sounds filled the room along with the sound of your messy moans and chants of his name.

“fuck, so good.” he moaned to himself, completely focused on your pleasure even if his hips were grinding into his sheets. he could cum just like this, to the sounds of your moans and the taste of your cunt.

he couldn’t wait to fuck you, to feel the warmth of your walls suck him in, and the sound of your moans directly in his ear. but he needed to be patient, he needed to reward you for doing so good in class.

he picked up his pace, taking turns fucking his tongue into you feverishly and sucking on your clit. your legs shook around him, thighs clamping around him and keeping him locked in place.

“yes, Leon! i’m close,” you moaned out, drool gathering at the corner of your lips and more tears spilling from your eyes. he kept his pace, not moving faster or slower but he just applied the smallest pressure against your clit that sent you over the edge.

you cried out, arching your back and curling his sheets into your fist. with your release, stars danced behind your vision and every muscle in your body contracted and then relaxed. he eased you down from your high, sucking at your clit lightly and drawing circles over the bone of your hip.

he looked up at you, lips swollen and slick with your release. he placed a kiss on your abdomen with a grin plastered across his cheeks.

his blonde hair stuck to his forehead sweaty and hair disheveled all because of you.

“you did so good,”

your whole body was worn out, your eyes shut ready to pass out but he wasn’t done. he tugged your panties down your legs, keeping them scrunched in his fist.

“i’m not done testing you baby,” he said placing a kiss on your cheek.

“Leon, please,”

he ignored your pleading working himself out of his sweats. you caught a peep of a dark grey splotch in his sweats, either from when he had his knee placed against your heat or his dripping tip.

“get this question right and i’ll fuck you, got it?”

you nodded excitedly, biting down on your bottom lip. you watched his cock spring out and god was he pretty. tip swollen and red, veins running up his girth, thick and long. god, of course, he was big.

“words, baby. i need words.”

“yes, yes, okay!” you snapped at him, very obviously sexually frustrated. he didn’t like your tone so he slapped your clit with the tip of his cock, sending a shock wave through you.

“watch your tone, i don’t have to fuck you, i don’t have to give you a second orgasm,” he grabbed your chin harshly and tugged your head up to face him, “understand?”

“yes,” you croaked out.

he placed a kiss on your lips, letting you get a taste of your juices still on his tongue.

he ran the tip of his cock through your folds, his shoulders tensing up and his hand twisting in his own sheets. it was taking everything in him to be patient.

“how do you find the three quartiles?” he asked, pressing his tip against your fluttering cunt. you opened your mouth to answer but nothing came out but a weak moan. he watched you closely, not breaking any eye contact.

his pupils were blown out, only leaving a halo of his blue irises.

“please,” you croaked out.

“come on baby, you got this.”

you gulped down a lump, getting rid of the dryness in your throat. “the first quartile is the 25th percentile,” you answered weakly.

he pressed his tip into your dripping cunt, hissing at how your pussy was practically ready to suck him in. your breath hitched at the stretch and a tear ran down your temple, he kissed it away, leaning his forehead against yours.

“keep going baby, you got this.”

“the second is the- the median. 50th percentile, the third quartile minus the first,” you rambled, looking up into his eyes as he nodded his head.

“good, good,” he moaned out, giving you just a few more inches of his cock.

“the third one is 75th percentile,”

with your final and last answer, he thrust his cock all the way in, until his tip was kissing your cervix. you sucked in a shaky breath, your thighs shaking as you adjusted to his size. he kept his tip pressed against your cervix, stroking your thigh with his large hand.

“s- so big, fuck,” you whined out, walls fluttering around his girth.

“shh shh, take it. take it.” he whispered close to your lips.

“lower fence versus upper fence, quickly.” he was struggling to stay still, he was torturing both you and himself. you choked back a sob. you could feel his cock pulsing inside of you and god you couldn’t even think.

“lo- lower fence is the first quartile, mmm,” you moaned out.

“come on,”

“first quartile minus one point five times the IQR,”

he sighed out against his lips, grinding his hips into yours earning him a whiny moan from your quivering lips. “one more baby,”

“upper fence is, shit, it’s the third quartile plus one point five times the IQR.”

he was done.

he pulled out and then thrusted straight back in, your whole body convulsed. every tense muscle in your body relaxing the moment he thrusted his cock back into you. he cupped your cheek, bringing your lips to his. he kissed you hungrily, invading your mouth with his tongue, moaning at the taste of you.

his hips continued to snap into yours, bullying his cock into you with no remorse. each thrust of his cock stroked at your g-spot and your body would jolt from the force.

“been waiting to do this forever,” he spoke into your mouth. “fuck, you’re so beautiful,”

you moaned out his name, wrapping your arms around his neck and bringing him closer to you. his hands reached back towards your top, tugging it over his head and throwing it off the side.

he was quick to cup your breast, slotting your nipple between your two fingers and then slamming his lips against yours. you scratched down his back helplessly, the fresh polish on your nails chipping and blood seeping through the cuts you were giving him.

you couldn’t focus on anything else but him, not only did you really like him but he was also fucking you so good. his pace was perfect, his touch was intoxicating and his lips were hot.

there was a ring of white forming around the base of his cock, lewd noises spilled from both of your lips as you both found yourselves inching closer and closer to your highs.

your kiss grew sloppy and his pace quickened, “this pussy ’s so good, fuck,” he groaned out, moving the hand from your breast towards your clit.

your whole body shook once his two fingers began to draw figure eights around your clit. the slow pace of his fingers contrasting with the fast pace of his thrusts.

“god, look at you,” he breathed out, “all fucked out on your tutor's cock, huh?”

you couldn’t reply, only croaking out a moan of his name.

“fucking whore, came here for math help now look at you,”

his words only added to the tension in your abdomen, the burn in your stomach getting hotter and hotter.

“i’m gonna cum,”

“go ‘head baby, cum all over my cock,” he said, placing a kiss on the corner of your lips.

you whined out, chasing his lips for another kiss but he denied you with a shake of his head.

“i wanna hear you,”

you looked into his eyes, seeing a reflection of yourself in his glossy eyes. mascara smudges, lipgloss gone, hair a mess. all because of him.

“fuck!” you moaned out, wrapping your legs around his waist and throwing your head back. he was quick to guide your head to face him, he kept his eyes locked on yours watching your pupils dilate as you came undone.

your walls fluttered around his cock, clenching down as your orgasm hit you like a heavy wave. he pulled out quickly, finishing himself off with heavy and breathy moans.

you watched as he came. thick, white ropes of cum decorating your stomach and abdomen. his abs tensed up with each spurt of cum and his hips still bucked up.

he let out a final breath into the crook of your neck. both of your bodies shook against each other, hot, sticky with sweat and cum.

he leaned up out of the crook of your neck looking into your eyes and you watched as they gleamed, such a rare light in his eyes but you were glad you were able to see it.

he pressed his lips to yours, this time it was slow and deep. there wasn’t any hunger or lust, just pure passion.

“i’m sure you won’t fail that test,”

(divider creds to @saradika ,, photos off of pinterest & photo of leon from @/laughingwallaby on twitter)

notes: if you wanna be on my tag list pls message me hehe! or fill out the form below (just to make it easier on me :D)

taglist

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fic #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy smut #resident evil #bully!leon kennedy #ooc!leon #college!au

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mrrharper · 3 months

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Academic requirements

Coach received some worrying information about one of his star players, DE1. His performance at practice and during games was still very good, great even. But it was all overshadowed by some disturbing reports. DE1 's grades have gone up since last season and he was seen walking around campus with a textbook in his hand. Moreover, his turnout at frat events dropped below 100% and he has been seen interacting with multiple nerds at least three times within the previous two weeks.

This was enough for Coach to get concerned, so he invited DE1 for a chat in his office. The jock entered the room and sat in a chair in front of Coach's desk. DE1 was one of Coach's finest specimens - he was absolutely huge. 6'5 and 260 pounds of pure muscle, with arms ready to tackle a mountain, pecs and shoulders prepared to withstand the pressure of the entire offensive line and legs the size of tree trunks. An absolute stud, and perfect advertisement of Coach's training methods.

Coach greeted DE1 and explained why he asked him to come - he laid out all the concerning rumors that were spreading withing the building of the Athletics Department - about his focus on studying and interacting with non-jocks. DE1, in turn, was confused by what he heard and didn't really know how to respond to his Coach's words.

He didn't have time to come up with anything to say though, as right after he finished speaking Coach turned his computer around and DE1 was now looking straight into a monitor displaying a condensed version of one of Coach's trusted hypnotic videos. The jock's attention suddenly shifted towards the screen, forgetting about anything else. His whole body relaxed in the chair, his legs now wide apart and showing off his bulge, visible through his shorts.

As the video showed shirtless jocks working out, then jocks in full gear tackling each other during a football game, then jocks partying and drinking while dancing with only boxers on, DE1 began drooling. As he did, subliminal messages continued to make their way into his brain

DUMB

BRO

FLEX

OBEY

LIFT

PARTY

JOCK

DAWG

The sounds encoded within the video only amplified these commands. Coach looked from behind the screen as his best edge rusher took in everything Coach wanted and slowly, but surely, returned to his proper ways - a jacked brute, capable only of lifting, partying and sacking every QB he encounters.

After a while the video came to an end. Coach took back his computer and DE1 blinked a few times, then wiped most of the drool form his face and scratched his crotch.

"uhhhhhhh, Coach.... what... happened, bruh?"

"Everything's fine. Let me ask you a few questions. What's your name."

"DE1, Coach, duh."

"And who are you?"

"Am the best DE in the conference, Coach!"

"What's your approach to college and classes?"

"Duuuuude, that's some nerd shit, lemme tell ya, Coach, I do just enough to go above the NCAA threshold for scholarship athletes, bro, huhuhuhuh"

"Good, DE1, and do you stay in contact with people who don't play football?"

"Ugh, dude, Coach, me? With a fuckin' nerd? Bruh, am doin' just fine with the dudes on the team. Ain't no one else I need to stay in contact with, Coach"

Coach grinned as DE1 responded exactly the way he was supposed to.

"Thanks, DE1, you're free now. Don't be late to tomorrow's practice"

"Will do, Coach!"

A day later Coach was notified of DE1 posting a shirtless photo on Instagram with the caption reading "who ready for that Alpha Phi beer fest bruhs?"

#jock #football jock #football machine #jock hypno

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luvjunie · 11 months

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— headcanons. miles morales (earth42)

EARTH42!MILES who buys you whatever you want, whenever you want. you don’t even have to say anything, as soon as he notices your focus has gravitated towards a display in a mall’s window, he’s stopped in front of it and digging out his wallet.

“you want that?” “no, baby, it’s fine. it’s probably really expensive anyway.” “i don’t remember asking the price. do you want that, yes or no?”

EARTH42!MILES who shows up to your house to take you on you guys’ first date, two bouquets of roses cradled in the fold of his arm instead of one. he was raised by mama rio, after all, so he knows better than to show up to a girl’s house with only his words to impress her mother.

“wow, these are beautiful, miles… thank you. who’s the other one for?” “for your moms, to say thanks for letting me take you out.”

EARTH42!MILES who is so deeply regressed into the act of suppressing his love and affection for others, in fear that he’ll get too attached, only to lose you just like he did his dad. he doesn’t know if he can survive something like that happening again, so it takes a while for him to actually open himself up to you.

“i’m not going anywhere, miles. you can let me in, it’s okay.” “you promise?” “i promise, my love.”

EARTH42!MILES who gets so flustered when you kiss him or compliment him or hold his hand, though it doesn’t come off that way due to how good he is at hiding his true feelings. his stoic expression makes you think he just doesn’t like it, so you back off some. your fears are assuaged when you come over one day and skip your usual greeting of smothering him in kisses or confessions on how much you’ve missed him, and instead settle for giving him a brief, simple hug.

“¿qué pasa, mamí, what i do? ion get no love today?”

EARTH42!MILES who wasn’t the best at texting at first—often leaving you wondering where he was for most of the day or if he was even alive—but has since stepped his game up.

9:30 AM

[mi novio]: goodmorning mi vida, how you sleep?

11:30 am

[mi novio]: you eat anything yet?

2:34 PM

[mi novio]: i miss you

6:20 PM

[mi novio]: ima be busy at around 7, jus lyk so you don’t worry bout where i’m at. i’ll text you when i’m free, okay chiquita?

EARTH42!MILES who asks for a picture of you every time you get your hair done, because he’s too impatient to wait until the two of you hangout again.

[mi novio]: lemme see your hair and make sure your face in it too, i wanna see how pretty my baby look

[you]: attachment: 1 image [you]: you like it?

[mi novio]: lord have mercy it just keeps gettin’ better. [mi novio]: goddamn you look good [mi novio]: nah i gotta see this shit in person im omw

EARTH42!MILES who literally gets offended when he sees you wearing something he didn’t buy.

“where’d you get these from? i don’t remember buying them for you.” “yeah… i got them from the mall last week when i got paid.” “oh, what, so you sayin you don’t need me no more? it’s like that now, mamí?”

EARTH42!MILES who knows he can always run to you when things get rough; when it all becomes too much for him to handle on his own and he can feel his resolve withering. he knows that all he has to do is push open the window you leave cracked for him, climb through it and slip into bed next to you with his head nuzzled into your chest. you’re the only thing that helps him off the ledge nowadays.

“you wanna talk about it, papa?” “nah, not really. can- can you just hold me?” “i can do that.”

- please do not copy, plagiarize, or repost my works to other sites!

likes, comments, and reblogs are very appreciated 💗

#junie’s works ᥫ᭡#42 miles morales #miles morales #miles morales fanfiction #prowler miles #prowler miles fluff #prowler miles fanfic #miles morales x fem!reader #across the spiderverse #earth 42 miles morales #earth 42 miles morales x reader #miles morales prowler #across the spiderverse fanfiction #earth 42 miles fluff #miles g morales

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chastiefoul · 1 year

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stood up pt. 2

characters: alhaitham & ayato

read part one here!

a/n: cannot thank u all of you enough for how well-received the first fic was, hope you can enjoy the second part just as much!! also i hope you can forgive my limited knowledge of flora (and the things i made up) on haitham's part!!

tags: comfort / summary: wallowed in guilt, how will they make it up to you?

Alhaitham

“You look like shit,” Kaveh commented nonchalantly, as if currently watching some character on a show. “Shut it,” Alhaitham replied, having zero intention in dealing with his roomate. It has been a week since he finished his research, but relief didn’t wash over him at all, it was the same day as he had cruelly stood you up, making you wait for three whole hours before he finally came. There were a lot of upsetting feelings he’s been experiencing through for the past few days, but lately he felt giving his past self a good punch for forgetting such an important day. In a way too he had blamed the research that’s been occupying him. Although he quickly perished that thought, since it’d be too easy—blaming something other than himself. When in fact he is wholly at fault for forgetting the date.

Everyday Alhaitham had been coming to your house, wanting to talk to you but what always greet him was your roomate, telling him that you’re busy. Feeling like he had no right to push it further, he left it at that. With clenched fists and a pang on his chest everytime, he was forced to go home. Today he was at his wits’ end, he had no idea what to do and how would he make you to meet him even for a second. Other than forgiveness that he’s looking for, he missed you terribly. With all the times he could’ve spent with you taken by the damn research, he longed to embrace you, to see your smile, and listen to you rambling about what’s been happening in your life.

Alhaitham wasn’t really one to be experienced in ‘love’, he knew that, you knew that. That’s why he loved your patience in guiding him through this thing, but now the only person that would be able to tell him what to do was the very one person he couldn’t talk to. Alhaitham groaned, thinking if you were in his position you’d probably know to do—scratch that. If it’s you, Alhaitham was sure that you wouldn’t even allow yourself to do such a careless act.

☘

“He’s here again,” your roomate claimed, seeing him from the window. “Just tell him the same thing,” you said, hugging your knees as you sat on the couch. It's true that Alhaitham looked horrible, but you weren’t any better. You’ve been crying yourself to sleep every night, it especially hurt, when you had to hold back the sobs over a pillow that your throat hurts; since you didn’t want to disturb your roomate. What happened that day was like a slap to the face, that you were forced to recognize a fact that perhaps you love Alhaitham way more that he loves you.

Your rommate just nodded to what you say and went to the door. Not long she came back bearing a message. “He said he’d wait for you outside until you feel like talking to him.”

“Just leave him be then, I’m sure he’d go back soon, it’s especially cold outside today.” You said, really having no idea just how stubborn the gray-haired male is going to act. “Well, just keep an eye out.” Your roomate went back to her room. Tell that to him. You thought. You turned the television on to distract yourself, but you couldn’t help but peek outside the window every few minutes, to see if he’s still there. And he always was.

And that went for more than an hour, until you felt like you couldn’t do it anymore. You were mad at him, but you’re not heartless. You couldn’t be. However you didn’t intend to forgive him so easily, you told yourself that you were only meeting him to send him home and to not come back everyday.

You approach the front door and opened it.

There he stood, with an hand behind his back. When he saw you, his eyes lit up, but it quickly turns into a look of concern and guilt mixes, seeing your swollen eyes.

“What do you want?” You curtly said, taking a good look of the man in front of you who’s in terrible shape. His complexion doesn’t look good, there are bags under his eyes, he hasn’t been taking care of himself at all. A part of your chest twinge at the fact that not being able to see you was the cause of all this. You weren’t used to seeing Alhaitham so all over the place, when he always showed a perfect picture of a man who got it all together.

“I’m sorry,” He quickly cut to the chase, afraid that you’ll be out of his sight yet again as he revealed a purple hyacinth, handing it to you. The flower that represented regret and remorse. Then he continued meekly, “Of course, I don’t expect you to forgive me with one lousy flower, but I hope you will believe me when I said I truly regret that I had forgotten about our date, it seethes me with terrible anger to remember that I let myself be so caught up in my business, resulting you had to stand in the snow for hours; hours of you thinking of the reason why I didn’t come, and hours of doubting my feelings towards you. It must’ve felt terrible, I am so sorry.” His voice was close to trembling, however he knew to hold it in, since the one who should be upset was you. “I understand if me being in your vision may infuriate you, but please, please don’t shut me out.” He pleaded, it’s the most vulnerable expression you’ve ever seen on him that it tugs on your heartstrings.

Of course the truth is you missed him as much as he does, but you had to be sure of his feelings towards you. And seeing him now yet again after many failed attempts of meeting you over the days with a flower you didn’t even know where it came from since every field should be covered in snow and a heartfelt all-over-the-place apology, you couldn’t help but soften up. You reached to take the flower. “Come in, let’s talk inside.”

You both sat on the couch, your right hand went to rub his cheek. It was incredibly cold. “What were you thinking, standing in the cold like that? What if I hadn’t come out?” You mumbled gently. “It was nothing compared to what I put you through, I would’ve wait even for days.” He frowned as you leaned in to your touch, putting his hand atop of yours. Oh how he missed this. However he didn’t indulge on the touch thinking it was forgiveness, it’s just because you were that kind.

“You really hurt me,” you started, as he listened. “I had been looking forward to the date for days and then seeing you late looking like you just barely woke up—it made think that maybe you didn’t love me as much.” Your voice sounded so small as you reached the end of your sentence. Alhaitham felt pricks on his heart at the confession, swiftly pulling you into a tight hug. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He kissed your temple. “I’m sorry I made you feel that way. But I can assure you that was not the case. I was so caught up on my research that I mixed up the date of our meeting, though that’s not an excuse for such a careless act.” He paused.

“(y/n), I love you very much.”

Alhaitham was really having trouble telling you just how much he loves you. If you’d asked, he would wait on the cold for days until you’re ready to talk to him, even today he thought that it was okay if it was only a second, he had to see you, to know you’re doing fine and well, that was what he thought the most important thing. Just the way he kissed you so gently at the top of your head, you thought that you had a grasp as to how much he loves you. “Thank you for letting me see you,” he smiled, he cupped your face planting kisses on each of your swollen eyelids.

“Promise me you’ll make up for it, haitham,” you said softly. A chance. Alhaitham felt an unexplainable tingle feeling on his chest, “I promise.” He then said kissing you gently on the lips, as he made a mental note to always, always pick you up at your place for the dates that are more to come.

☘

“The flowers? I.. went to Tighnari first thing in the morning, I asked him about the language of the flowers and what they meant. I came across it as I read a book, fortunately I could find the one I was looking for.” He explained, strangely bashful.

Flower picking? On this weather?

“But where did you even get it, isn’t everything either covered in snow or had withered already?” You asked genuinely curious. “Well Tighnari said there would be some on the cliffs of The Chasm, so I went there.” He said.

Cliff? The Chasm? That terribly dangerous place? Of course it’d be nothing for Alhaitham, you thought. But still, traveling that far and so quickly just for a flower.. you couldn’t help but smile.

“Thank you, I like it.” You smiled, the one where it made Alhaitham’s inside all tingly and warm. At this he felt like he really could do anything, as long as you were the one who asked for it. “Tell me what kind of flower you want on our next date, I’ll definitely bring it to you.” He took your hand, trailing little kisses along your fingertips to your wrist. Your stomach fluttered. You really do love him.

As if lesson was strictly learned, from that day forward Alhaitham had never once made you wait anywhere anymore at all. He's always ready in front of your door, sometimes with a flower, sometimes with something that you'd nonchalantly said the day before; for instance a food you were craving for, a necklace that you stared a second longer than the other that were on display, or even a stuffed toy you mentioned was cute even though you only said it to make a conversation.

Before, Alhaitham usually passive, most times always being the receiving end by your spoiling, but it was because he didn't want to take initiative, he just didn't understand how. Now, he understood just how delightful it was to see his loved one smile because of the things he did, and he only had you to thank for that.

Ayato

“My lord?” Thoma’s voice snapped the blue-haired male train of thoughts. “Ah, yes just leave the tea there Thoma.” He said. “Did something happen, my lord? You’ve been pretty out of it all week.”

“I’m fine, you can return to your duty,” Ayato calmly said. The blond housekeeper only nodded and went out, understanding very well that it was futile to probe any further. Ayato looked blankly at the unattended pile of papers he needed to take care of, he hasn’t been working well—or even at all. Since everytime his mind would wander off to you, to your meek voice that day telling him that you were tired, with a tone so hurt his heart couldn’t help but ache. This regret, this remorse; he wondered if he even had any right to feel them? When even to this day he unconsciously stilll waited for you to barge in to the estate, wanted to see you smile happily while greeting him without a care in the world. But that didn’t happen, of course it didn’t.

Ayato shut his eyes with an unpleasant expression for the nth time that day, remembering the date he had forgotten. For how long you were waiting for him? What were you thinking while waiting for him on such a harsh weather? What was it that finally made you give up? All these questions swirled inside his mind as he couldn’t even imagine how terrible you must’ve felt that day. Ayato was a formidable man, he was responsible and someone with a strong conviction, it was what the political people said at least. But he knew you’d laugh, if you hear it. Responsible? That Ayato? Who made his lover wait for him out in the cold for hours?

He didn’t even realize he’s been clenching his fist until he saw the crinkled paper scattered across his desk. Why the hell did I forget such an important day? He fumed, gritting his teeth. But the truth was he had no excuse, he had simply forgotten, perhaps he could blame the endless meeting he had to go through, but even then he was the one who made the promise that he could come. The guilt overwhelmed him, he hoped it would just swallowed him alive, but it wouldn’t be fair to you. He considered calling one of his soldier to try and punch him in the face so he could feel a little free from the binding shame, but only to realize the person who even had the right to do that was none other than you. So Ayato was determined that he’d do anything to beg for your forgiveness.

But more than forgiveness, he’s been worried about your health. He thought that if you hadn’t forgiven him, at least you could be well and healthy, though it was extremely hypocritical to say since he was the one who made you sick in the first place. Ayato stood up, planning to go to your place yet again even though his work was piling up, there are meetings that are waiting to be attended. But at the moment it was clear to him that nothing else matters except seeing you.

☘

This was truly the worst.

Lying down with a fever with nothing to do, surrounded with nothing but unpleasant thoughts roaming around your mind. You blinked the tears away once again as they keep coming occasionally, remembering that day.

You sighed, your head was throbbing and you couldn’t really sleep as you just woke up an hour ago.

As if on cue, a familiar voice called out from the door. “(y/n)?” Ayato called out. Another tired sigh escaped. Does this man not know how to take a hint? You’ve been driving him away for the past few days, his face was the one thing you couldn’t stand to see.

“Please (y/n) open the door, even just for a few second.” His voice was now strained, laced with desperation and plead. You got up all wobbly from the headache, body still feeling sluggish. “What?” You said, frowning.

Seeing your condition Ayato’s expression contorted into utter displeasure, as if you being this way had hurt him too. What a joke, you almost laughed out loud. He looked like he wanted to say something based of how he gaped and closed his mouth like a fish, still finding the right words to say.

“Your few seconds are up,” you said, already on your way to closing your door. “No, no, please.” He hold the door, and of course with your condition and his ridiculous strength, there’s no way you would win that one. “Can I come in?” He finally said. “Why?” You said, leaning on the doorframe intending to look intimidating as you crossed your arm, but really you needed the support to stand up straight on your currently weak body. This didn’t go unnoticed by the sword-wielder of course as the worried expression deepened across his face. “Please, sweetheart let’s talk inside, I’m worried you’ll faint any minute with your condition.” You let off his slip of a tongue, too tired to reprimand him on that. And honestly you wanted nothing more than to return to your bed but you still had something to say. “Worried?” You laughed mockingly, and Ayato had never felt smaller. “Yes.” Still, he managed to say. “Would’ve been nice if you were worried when I was waiting for you in the snow for hours.” That one stings, and Ayato knew he deserved that.

Too tired to chase him away, you just return to your bed and inside your blanket. Ayato just stood awkwardly near the bed. “Have you been taking medicine? How is your head? Would I be allowed to check your temperature? What do you want to-“

“Ayato.” Your tone was chilling, felt like a definite warning—Ayato knew, it was a warning. Right now he doesn’t have any right, there are other matters he should be groveling to take responsibility of, he thought.

“Will you be willing to listen to me?” He kneeled beside the bed, putting his hand on the edge of it, hesitating whether he should touch your hand or not. Your back was still facing him, but you were quiet. Assuming that it was a permission, Ayato continued to talk.

“First of all, I apologize. I couldn’t even begin to tell you how I regret my action, that you had to stand there alone waiting for me—who stupidly didn’t even remember, I apologize.” He whispered, his voice was weak. “No, even way before that the way you always come to the estate to visit me and stood by my side no matter how crazy my work got and how I never thought how it would take a toll on you, I truly truly apologize.” You felt a little part of your heart melted at how meek his voice was.

“I took your unconditional kindness and patience for granted,” he said. There was silence after that, “you did,” you finally said. “I’m sorry.” Ayato repeated once again. He then very hesitantly grabbed your hand, and as soon as he saw that you gave the okay he brought it to his face, kissing your palm very lovingly. You turned your head to him as you were lying down, he looked disheveled.

“Don’t go to the estate anymore.” The blue-haired male announced suddenly, your stomach dropped as he quickly continued.

“From now on I’ll come to you.”

You blinked. “I’ll make sure to be here every day, greeting you first thing in the morning.” Ayato smiled, determined. He was sure on his decision to do this. “As of now, I know very well I don’t deserve your kindness, so I’ll try hard to do better, to do my best, for you.”

Your heart softened at his words.

“Can you please give me this chance?” He was desperate. Your anger slowly dissipated, a warm light like a candle flickered inside your chest, a hope. “Okay.” Ayato was over the moon hearing the response, that he couldn’t help but kiss your temple. Your stomach fluttered, it knew you missed his touch. “For now can I ask you to eat and take medicine?” He asked while gently tucking your hair behind your ear. You nodded, as he got everything ready. He ended up beside you all day, taking care of your needs.

☘

Since that day Ayato did not break his promise even once. Always coming in the morning, sometimes with gift on his hand, other times with breakfast all ready. Then he shared his schedule with you for the day, and even then he’d always be the one to visit you when he was free, showering you with such overwhelming love. It was clear that the man love you very very much, and now he didn’t let you forget that.

“Ayato, thank you.” You said, on a random night. He just looked at you, adoration was apparent on his expression. “Anything for you, love. I mean it, anything.” He kissed your lips gently, the nightfall continued comfortably.

TAGLIST- <3

@sunsethw4 @ieathairs @96jnie @kipper-s @nambii @tigerpriestess @bearbae4 @wearetherealarmb @squishychongyun @jokerloverparis @katsudonnnnnni @dr3amyxiao @xiamuyi @luningningtala @fuyaa @goldenglow149 @xiaosmaskandspear @acheeseblock @fishsticksonballsacks @rokosbasalisk @stellakito @roguexmoriartea @sageseagrass @irisxiel @lowotad @trecedelabuenasuerte @the-dreaming-city @lilliansstuff @cinaiel @bunny-slvt @orginiallyann @chaotickio @n1tsumi @kunikuzushisbeloved @ilovemarvel99 @lunaizhere @optimisticalmondbananabiscuit @kurohoely @larisanam @chaotichearts-19 @illdoitagainbopbop @mzia642 @childesglove @justgiulia @celestialwinds @traumaramacenter @kazuhaprnt @fou56 @angelkazusstuff @itsyourgirlria @yamtwt @gel0517

i can't seem to tag some of you guys, perhaps it's something to do on the accoun't settings? regardless hope you can still find this fic and thank you all for the interest <3

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin scenarios #genshin impact x you #genshin fanfic #genshin fluff #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #ayato x you #ayato x y/n #ayato fluff #ayato x reader #ayato imagines #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x you #al haitham x reader

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