#(the really intimidatingly hot one)

[a-pile-of-contented-ravens]

did you guys know that umm. men.

[spencerreidenjoyer]

we've already done it in my head | spencer reid x reader

You have fantasies about Spencer, and you feel bad about it when you have to see him at work. Thing is, he has fantasies about you too.

wc: 4.8k, rating: explicit

tags/warnings: professor!spencer, post prison!spencer, bau!reader, fem!reader, sexual fantasies, masturbation, daddy kink, getting together, hookups, friends with benefits (?), mentions of public sex/exhibitionism (they don't actually do it), fucking with feelings but neither of them really realise it yet lol...

a/n: i am insane and that's all i'll say about this fic. jk i started this at the top of the month and i'm glad i've finally finished it. this was such a crazy one to work on, aside from being swamped with school work. thank you to my lovely friend from twitter vic who kept encouraging me to work on this hehe. inspired heavily by taylor swift's guilty as sin? (obviously) and chappell roan's picture you just for those horny yearning vibes yknow? please enjoy this insanity!!! (crossposted to ao3)

Spencer rushes in from the university when Emily calls. It’s a serious case, one that Emily decides Spencer needs to be pulled away from his teaching for. She doesn’t feel good doing it – the whole team knows how important teaching is to Spencer, but he understands all the same when he comes into the round table room. Spencer sits down at the last empty seat next to you, his hair a mess as he sets down his things and flips open the case file. He turns to smile at you, before Penelope starts the case brief.

It’s a long, tiring day of work after landing in California, the BAU having been called in to investigate the murders of young moms in the area, and you need a glass of wine and a nice hot bath to even fathom everything you’ve seen today.

You should just turn in for the night, the Bureau being particularly kind with their budget as you all get individual rooms. Your drowsiness should put you fast to sleep, but your mind is racing with thoughts of Spencer.

Spencer’s been in his nice suit all day, filling out his shirt nicely. You’ve noticed his stubble growing in, and his hair is messy and gorgeous. You can’t help yourself for feeling this way, as guilty as you feel about it. You’ve been harbouring your crush on Spencer for way too long, in the couple of years since you joined the BAU. Spencer is a sight for sore eyes for sure, but his kind gentleness despite the horrors of what you all do for work is a welcome reprieve. 

While his sweet nature was what had you falling for him in the first place, Spencer could be extremely sexy, even if he didn’t know it. 

Today was especially tough for you. You and Spencer were sent in to interrogate a particularly uncooperative suspect, playing into the good cop-bad cop dynamic. Your coaxing wasn’t doing anything, and Spencer had ended up raising his voice in an attempt to intimidate them. He’d slammed his hand on the table, a loud clang against the metal, and his large figure only served to crowd the suspect in to scare them further.

You only got to know Spencer after the mess that was him getting wrongly sent to prison, but Spencer supposedly wasn’t like this before prison. Still, you found Spencer’s quiet intimidation incredibly attractive, and you had to keep your composure in the interrogation room earlier.

And your mind drifts to Spencer from earlier, his rough callousness with the suspect, his glare wild and intimidatingly sexy, you end up thinking about him.

About Spencer, who is so kind and sweet with you and the rest of the team, seeming like he couldn’t hurt a fly. 

About Spencer who could also be domineering and intimidating. He seems like he’d only pull it out if you asked, but the duality has you hot under the collar. 

Your eyes slip shut, mind swirling with thoughts of Spencer, about having him all to yourself, about him wanting you. 

About his large hands on you, making you feel so small under his firm grasp. 

About him pinning you down on the hard, cool metal of the table in the interrogation room. 

About him caging you in with his arms, the look in his eyes almost crazed and full of lust for you. 

“Spencer,” you gasp, before Spencer kisses you fervently. His stubble is rough against your skin, but you don’t care. Spencer kisses you like he’s a starved man and you’re his next meal, with such desperation that you feel weak in the knees.

“You’re gorgeous,” Spencer says. He kisses your jaw, down your neck, and his large hands are all over your body. You feel so secure in his grasp, he feels you up and drinks his fill of you. He gropes your tits, your thighs, your ass, manhandling you into spreading your legs, so he can press the hardness of his cock to your cunt. “Look what you do to me.”

You whimper, fully indulging in this wet dream as you slide a hand into your underwear. “Spencer,” you gasp.

“You’re so hot, you make me feel crazy,” Spencer hums, rolling his hips against you. You’re separated between layers of fabric, but Spencer humping you like this turns you on to no end. 

You rub at your clit in tight little circles, your wetness aiding the slide as you get yourself off to the thought of Spencer.

“Spence,” you moan, frustrated. While Spencer’s hardness grinding against you is literally a dream, you want to imagine his cock buried inside of you. You’re perfectly capable of moving this along, so you do. 

Magically, Spencer’s clothes are off and so are yours, the perks of a fantasy being that you don’t have to awkwardly stumble through taking your clothes off. You have a hazy picture of what he’d look like naked in front of you. You imagine toned muscle, a slight pudge to his tummy from his time in prison, his pecs filled out nicely. You imagine his cock would be pretty, as pretty as he is, veiny and thick and all sorts of perfect. 

“You’re too fucking good to me, baby,” Spencer groans, the blunt head of his cock pressed up against you now. He rubs off against you, sliding over your clit, your folds, over the wetness leaking from your whole. “Gonna fuck you so good, just like you deserve.”

Without hesitation, Spencer’s cock slips into you, the perfect thickness to make you feel full as he slides in inch by inch. 

You slip your fingers into yourself, aided by how impossibly wet you are just at the thought of Spencer, and your groan weakly. Two fingers aren’t enough, not when you bet Spencer could fill you up, like he’d split you in half on his cock. 

He pushes into you until he’s pressed flush against you, buried inside of you to the hilt. He starts to pound into you, like he’s uncaring of what you need, but the way he treats you turns you on impossibly.

Your fingers aren’t enough to satiate you, but you thrust them in and out of you in an effort to mimic how Spencer fucking you might feel. You moan, a little louder than you’d like.

“Spence–” you gasp, in your fantasy. It should be scandalous, Spencer taking you over the table in the interrogation room. You don’t know if the thought of people being behind the one-way mirror turns you on or not – being watched, letting Spencer take you in front of everybody. You like the thought of Spencer being so obsessed with you, so desperate, needing to fuck you right where you work.

The metal table is cool and harsh against your hips, but you don’t care if it hurts as Spencer fucks you relentlessly, quickly taking on a brutal pace. It’s exactly what you need, what you want Spencer to do with you, being rough and frantic enough to make you scream his name.

You whimper his name under your breath, bashful even while in your fantasy. 

Spencer has you pinned down, but it’s not like you intend to get away. You want to savour this even if it’s only in your mind, shameful as you’re getting off to the thought of your coworker. You just need this out of your system, need Spencer out of your system, and then tomorrow you can face him like a normal, well-adjusted person. 

“Fuck,” you gasp, palm grinding against your clit, fingers pressed inside of yourself. You’re shaking, with the thought of Spencer fucking you until you can’t take it anymore, the ideal of him in your mind too perfect, until you’re moaning into your hand as you orgasm. You sob, clenching tight around your fingers, feeling your slick gush out as you ride your high.

You don’t mean to fall asleep, but after both a long day and a crazy good orgasm, you end up passing out with a tissue clenched in your hand, with your panties and sleep shorts kicked off to the foot of the bed.

---

Spencer can’t stop thinking about you.

He shouldn’t, not when you’re his coworker and also one of the people he’s friendliest with in the unit. 

Spencer would say he couldn’t bring himself to trust many, especially after coming out of prison, but you were the one he warmed up to the easiest. A new face in the BAU wasn’t uncommon, but Spencer had found himself drawn to you. You were kind and warm to him fresh out of prison, your tenderness a welcome reprieve as he’d gotten accustomed to being back at the BAU. With your intellect and quick wit, matched with your beauty, Spencer could not help but be attracted to you – but that’s besides the point. 

Spencer knows how much your friendship with him means to you, and he’s certain that that’s all you see him as: a friend. 

Yet, he can’t stop himself from thinking about you in those pants. Those pants that hug your curves just right. Those pants that make your ass look great – not that he was looking – especially when you’re leaning over an interrogation table, trying to play the good cop with the suspect from earlier.

Spencer had hung back, trying to get a read on the suspect while you spoke to him. Him getting to ogle your figure and stare at how good you looked in those pants was unintentional, but he definitely wasn’t complaining. 

Spencer only felt a bit bad wrapping his hand around himself in the shower, mind flooded with thoughts of you. Water, almost scorching, running down his body, his hand moves fast and reckless, exhaling harshly as he gets himself off. 

He can’t get you out of his mind, your gorgeous figure, your pretty face, your wide eyes and thick thighs and soft lips – he shouldn’t be thinking of you like this. You were a coworker, a friend, for God’s sake, and yet he can’t stop imagining you under him. 

He can’t stop imagining pressing you against the table in the interrogation room – your lithe frame underneath him, making you look so small, making him feel so big. 

He presses his growing problem to your perfect ass, watching you writhe underneath him. You keep looking back up at him, with your wide, wet eyes and your flushed cheeks, looking like you need him to give you exactly what you need.

“Please, daddy,” you whine, and Spencer is groaning and undoing his belt before your pants get pushed down too. Stroking his cock quickly, Spencer easily finds his way to your entrance, wet and dripping with your slick. He pushes into you, pressing kisses to your neck as you groan with the intrusion. 

“Daddy,” you whimper, “Feels so good.”

“Yeah?” Spencer coos at you. Spencer feels you press yourself back up against him, pushing his cock deeper, and he loses all sense of control as he starts to fuck you hard. He feels like a madman, unable to hold himself back as he takes and takes and takes, fucking into your tight wetness, his head spinning with how good you feel around him. 

You’re whining and moaning under him, your noises music to Spencer’s ears as they echo off the walls. Your cunt is wet and sloppy as Spencer fucks you, wanting to give you everything you need and more.

“Fuck, baby,” Spencer groans, his hand tightly fisted around his cock. The way the tip of his cock leaks is easing the slide, as he pictures in crystal-clear detail how your cunt would draw him in, slick and messy be fucks into your perfect, tight cunt. “You’re too good to me.”

“Daddy,” you sob, your hands clawing down Spencer’s back. Spencer gropes you greedily through your clothes, grabs your tits and feels his fill of your waist, your perfect ass, your thighs as he rocks himself back and forth between them. 

“Gonna cum inside of you, love,” Spencer grunts, his pace unrelenting. His hands are on your thighs, gripping you tight, both fucking into you and dragging you onto his cock over and over. “You’re gorgeous. Gonna make a mess of you.”

You’re whining underneath him, making him feel too good, as you clench around him tight and moan even louder. Spencer can’t help himself, thrusting into you hard and fast and eager until he’s cumming.

He spills into his hand, the thick white ropes of his cum washed down the drain with the spray of the shower from above him. Visions of you flash through his mind, your gorgeous frame, your pretty face, your mouth on his. 

He’s barely towelled off before he’s knocked out in his bed, too tired to even process feeling guilty about jerking off to you. 

---

Sure, perhaps it’s childish to try and avoid Spencer all day, especially when you have an active case all of you need to be working on. You must be a fool to think that getting yourself off to Spencer would help, because all you can think about is your fantasies of him last night, how you imagined him bending you over and taking you– Not helping, you remind yourself.

Emily must secretly be on your side or be able to read your mind or something, because Spencer is relegated to work on geographic profiles and speed-read through case files back at the police precinct, while you get sent out onto the field to chase down your killer. 

But you can’t avoid Spencer forever, and you aren’t any good at it either. You feel like Spencer’s eyes are on you the whole day when you and him are in the same room, but you never look up at him to find out. While you could chalk up your nerves to a serial killer still being out on the streets, you don’t have any more excuses at the end of the day when you’ve finally caught him, and the team decides to get dinner to celebrate.

You purposely wedge yourself between JJ and Emily when you sit down at the table, trying to avoid Spencer, and you think you’re successful with getting away with seeming a little out-of-it when you end up slipping away early, claiming you had a rough sleep last night.

You’ve barely settled down in your hotel room for the night, finally feeling like you can relax, when there’s a knock at your door. You have no clue who it could be, but you open the door, and–

There Spencer is. 

“Hi,” you say curtly, feeling embarrassment wash over you all of a sudden, because all you can think about is getting off to the thought of him last night. You feel your cheeks warm, but you hope it’s not obvious that you’re blushing. Then, in an attempt to seem somewhat normal and well-adjusted, you add, “What’s up?”

“I should be asking you that,” Spencer says, his eyebrows furrowed slightly. “What’s up with you today?”

You press your lips together in a thin line before you say, “Nothing’s up. I’m fine.”

“Come on,” Spencer prods, his head cocking to the side as he deadpans. “You know I can read you like an open book. Something’s up.”

You frown, Spencer stoking the flames of brattiness in you. “Yeah? Tell me what’s the matter, if you can read me so well.”

Spencer’s eyes widen slightly. You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.

“I- I thought we said no inter-group profiling,” Spencer says, his voice a little weak, and for the first time, you see Spencer look a little helpless. It’s kind of hot. 

Do you make him… nervous?

“Yeah, but if you insist on thinking something’s up with me…” You shrug, smiling. Spencer just blinks at you.

No. You couldn’t possibly entertain the thought. 

Spencer clears his throat. You watch him fidget with his hands just slightly, before he puts them by his sides to seem confident. “Well, you’ve been avoiding me, on purpose or not – both attest to your desire to avoid me somewhat. You could barely look me in the eye all day, which means you might be embarrassed or guilty of something, likely having to do with me.” Spencer says, his voice even, but he isn’t looking at you. 

You raise your eyebrows. His explanation is both specific and vague, and you feel slightly called out and safe from his scrutiny at the same time. But, you can’t shake off the feeling that there’s something more to Spencer’s words, the way he’s looking at you like he hopes you can’t pick his brain apart. 

So, you turn it back onto him, ��Then, what do you think is the problem? You aren’t looking at me either, and you were fidgeting with your hands. Is something up with you, then? It almost sounds like you’re projecting, Dr. Reid.”

Spencer freezes, like he’s a deer caught in headlights. You can practically see his brain running a mile a minute, overthinking every possible outcome, overly self-aware of himself, his actions, his thoughts.

You try to stop yourself from smiling, because Spencer is kind of cute like this. “You wanna tell me what it is then, Reid?” 

“When did this become about me?” Spencer squeaks, his usually cool facade quickly disappearing. There’s a look in Spencer’s eyes, as he nervously looks you up and down, and oh– “I just– Well, I– You–”

“I’m thinking we might be on the same page, here,” you say, smirking. “Wanna tell me what it is?”

Spencer furrows his brows, his mouth agape as he looks up at you, but you’re putting your hand on his chest and trailing it down slowly. “Oh–”

“Tell me, Dr. Reid,” you cock your head, eyeing him up and down lazily. When you look at Spencer’s face, he’s shocked, enamoured and turned-on all in one. 

“You’re… attracted to me,” Spencer says, somewhat uncertain. “The same way I’m attracted to you.”

“And what makes you say that?” You hum. 

“I thought I heard you last night. Through the walls,” He says timidly, nothing you’ve seen from him before. “Thought I should’ve gone over to help, but I realised you were, um– You were pleasuring yourself. To- To me.”

“The walls are thin, huh?” You laugh, a little sheepish, but you note how Spencer’s becoming shy at the thought. “Did you…?”

His eyes grow wide. “Did I do what?”

You smirk. “That tells me everything I need to know, Reid,” you say, laughing.

“Well, you shouldn’t presume–”

“Shut up and kiss me, Reid,” you huff. You pull Spencer closer to you by his tie and you press your lips to his. 

It’s too perfect, when Spencer’s mouth is finally on yours. His hands cupping your face, Spencer kisses you hard and eager, like he can’t believe that he finally gets to have you. He kisses you like he’s starving, desperate for you as his next meal. You moan as his hands reach for your hips, pulling you in closer to him, greedy as he feels you up.

“Did you fantasise about this too? About me, like this?”

“This is better than I could’ve ever imagined,” Spencer says breathily. “You… You’re so attractive.”

“Could say the same about you,” you laugh, reaching to unbutton his shirt. His tie is already loose, hanging around his neck, but you want to see more. You undo the top few buttons, revealing more of his chest. You trail your finger over the exposed skin, letting your nail graze it slightly. You hear Spencer inhale sharply, and grin to yourself, proud of the effect you have on him. “So, do you want to just stand around and talk, or do you want to fuck me?”

Spencer’s eyes widen, and you chuckle. As if he hadn’t expected this was how it was going to go. Spencer purses his lips. “I mean, absolutely. I want to fuck you. But, um– We should definitely talk about this though.”

“Later,” you say, waving him off, before you lean in to kiss him again. Spencer grabs your waist again, like he needs to have you close. He lifts you slightly, making you squeak, but the both of you stumble over to the bed, unable to keep your hands off of each other, unable to keep your mouths off each other. You sit down on the bed, Spencer crowding you in with one of his knees on the mattress.

You loosen his tie and take it off, while Spencer moves to unbutton your shirt. HIs hands move deftly, eager to undress you, and he pulls away to marvel at the curve of your breasts in your bra when he pushes the satin shirt off of you. “Wow.”

“Wow yourself,” you say. You appreciate the view: a dishevelled, eager Spencer Reid in your bed, his hands all over you, his shirt half-undone, revealing tanned skin and a gorgeous body. “Need you to fuck me right now.”

Spencer laughs, perhaps a little incredulously, and he instead moves to take his shirt off instead. “I’ll- I’ll do that.”

“Good,” you say, distracted as you admire Spencer’s frame, the lines of his body, the softness of his stomach. He’s so hot you might die. “Very good.”

“I’m glad you like the view,” Spencer says, a little timid, like he’s shy to show off in front of you. He meets your gaze when you look up at him, caught in the middle of ogling him with no shame. 

You smile up at him sheepishly. “Please fuck me, Spencer.”

“Okay,” Spencer smiles, warm and gentle. He helps you slide your pants and underwear off your legs before you spread them. Spencer’s jaw drops, his eyes focused on the slick mess of your cunt. “Oh, my God.”

“Yeah?” you laugh, thoroughly amused with his reaction. “Show me how much you want me, too.”

Spencer’s hands are quick to push down his bottoms, dress slacks and boxer-briefs on your floor in an instant, wrapping a fist around himself as he works himself up for you. You can’t tear your eyes off of him – “Spencer, you’re… big.”

“Am I?” Spencer asks, and you’d lose your mind if you weren’t expecting Spencer to fuck your brains out. 

“You are,” you say calmly, because if you let yourself sound any more excited he might think you were insane. “But I can take you.”

Spencer grins. “Good.”

His fingers press against your cunt after you tell him to do so. His slender digits pick up all the slick that’s leaking from your hole, spreading it around messily as he toys with your clit. You shudder with the sensation, throwing your head back against the pillows. Then, one of his fingers slips into you, and he coaxes you open with a care you haven’t felt from most partners before. “How’s that?”

“So nice,” you groan, getting used to the feeling. He fucks you on his fingers, slow and careful, intent on stretching you out until you’re comfortable. You whimper and whine, feeling embarrassed at how vocal you’re being, but Spencer is kissing your breasts without a care in the world, and then you’re thinking about letting him know that you do feel good. Your next gasp is less ashamed, as Spencer coaxes a second finger in.

You’re panting as Spencer fucks you on his fingers, the repeated motion only working you up even more. The squelch from his fingers fucking you is obscene, and his eyes are wide as he looks at you. “You’re perfect,” he whispers. 

“Fuck me, Spence,” you say. 

Spencer bites his lip as he sits up and settles between your legs. He’s tugging at his cock as he lines himself up with your entrance. He slides his length along your folds, wet with your slick, and you groan at the friction. You grunt, wanting more, “Come on, Spence.” 

His hand on your leg, Spencer leans forward so he can press into you, and Spencer is practically folding you in half so he can fuck you. You moan at his thickness deep inside of you, filling you up, and the stretch is so undeniably amazing. Spencer’s length drags against your walls, such a delicious sensation deep in your bones, and you sob a little.

“Does that feel good?” Spencer asks softly, his voice tender. 

“So good, Spence,” you gasp. Spencer kisses your cheek, down your neck, and waits patiently for you to give him the go-ahead.

You feel his cock twitching inside of your heat, both your fantasies unable to live up to the real thing. Confident, cocky Spencer in your dreams is just that – a dream. The Spencer right in front of you is perfect, more perfect than what you’ve dreamed: shy but so attentive and sweet. He takes such good care of you. It makes you lose your mind a little bit.

“Fuck me,” you insist, and Spencer puts his hands on your hips as he starts to move. He fucks you deep, just the way you need him, and you cry out as he digs into your soft flesh, holding you tight so he can fuck you hard. The way Spencer pounds into you has your whole body trembling, pleasure coursing through you like electricity, till your mouth has fallen open and your toes are curling. 

“You’re so much better than I imagined,” Spencer groans, eyes squeezed shut as he puts all his energy into railing you. “Can’t believe this is real.”

You clench around him just to hear him moan, and you’re proud of yourself when his hips stutter and a groan rips through his throat in his pleasure. He glares at you. You grin, as Spencer keeps fucking you.

“What- Oh, fuck– What did you imagine? With me?” You gasp, as Spencer rolls his hips in a particularly deep thrust.

Spencer squeezes his eyes shut, before looking down at you, like he’s really contemplating if he should say this. “I– I pictured bending you over the interrogation table. Fucking you, making you scream my name, taking you right there, I–”

You moan as Spencer hits that perfect spot inside of you, your legs trembling as you gasp, “I– Why did we have the same fucking fantasy? Fuck–”

“What? You thought of me that way too?” Spencer sounds incredulous, like he can’t imagine you thinking of him that way– As if he isn’t drilling you into the hotel bed right now.

“Fuck, Spencer– Oh, my God– Yeah, I– You had me pinned down on the table, and you were fucking me in the interrogation room, in front of all of them–”

“God, you’re perfect,” Spencer grunts, burying his head in your shoulder as he uses the leverage to fuck you deeper, harder, faster. You can’t stop moaning Spencer’s name, simply too overwhelmed with the pleasure he’s giving you, the way he’s fucking you into the mattress. This is all you’ve ever wanted. Spencer fucking you like a madman, giving you all the pleasure you need but still being greedy enough to take and take and take. 

“Please! Spencer, you– I’m gonna cum, I can’t–” You cry, sobs wracking their way from your throat, so loud but you can’t be bothered to keep yourself quiet. Spencer groans your name, a sweet, sultry sound, and you feel like you’re going to lose your mind. 

“Cum for me,” Spencer hums. “You’re so perfect, and you’re laid out like this all for me. You’re so fucking hot. Show me how good I make you feel.”

You’re sobbing as your orgasm hits you, overwhelmed by Spencer’s filthy words and his filthier actions, so intense as he fucks you into next week. It’s too good, and you lose yourself much sooner than you expect. Your pussy clenches tight around Spencer with your orgasm, sending him over the edge as he fills you up, cock twitching as he cums inside of you.

He collapses on top of you, his weight comfortable as you both catch your breath. Your mouth feels dry, but you don’t care when Spencer is leaning over to kiss you again. It feels so right, this wild feeling you only thought existed in your dreams.

The next morning when the team is gathered in the hotel lobby to head to the hangar to fly back to Quantico, Emily gives you a pointed look, and Rossi is clapping Spencer on the back with a knowing grin. You apologise sheepishly, while Spencer grows red, avoiding eye contact with the rest of the team. He only meets your eyes, and the two of you share a smile. You can tell neither of you want this to end here. Maybe you’ll talk about it when you get back home. 

[yieldtotemptation]

CRASH ft. Wonyoung

wonyoung x male reader smut

11k words

When she wanted to be (and it was often), Jang Wonyoung could be a real fucking bitch.

If you were to ask her, she’d probably say the same about you.

And yet, that doesn’t stop her from calling you in the middle of the night, slurring about some shit with her manager, telling (not asking) you to come pick her up.

You’re inclined to recommend that she fuck off and find her own way home.

But of course, you don’t. (You never do).

-

“Sorry boys, my ride’s here!”

There’s a collective groan of disappointment that ripples through the crowd that’s formed up behind Wonyoung; each face falling one after another as they realise that ultimately none of them get to be the lucky suitor that takes her home.

Moths around a flame, unable to do anything but watch as she sashays through the neon haze towards your car. Hips sway with a drunken grace, a dangerously short skirt dances around her thighs, high heels strapped to her feet make her legs seem endless.

It’s a view, that’s for sure.

It probably makes the pain of rejection a little more bearable, makes them forget that they’re being abandoned on the sidewalk with all the rest of the has-beens and ��who the fuck were you again?’

Her ‘co-workers’, technically. Some you recognise, most you don’t. But they’re all basically the same insecure douchebag in a different shade of overpriced streetwear.

You’d probably be doing the world a public service if you were to steer your car onto the pavement and run them all down.

It’s an idea you entertain a little. Doing it would really ruin her night.

That’d almost make it worth the dent it would put in your brand-new car.

Still, you can’t completely blame the gaggle of potential casualties, not really.

It’s Wonyoung.

Girls like her are the reason they invented the word ’idol’ in the first place, because calling her ’pretty’ or ’hot’ is like calling the Mona Lisa ‘a nice portrait’.

It doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Like the starlet she is, Wonyoung waits until she’s at your car to make her grand exit. A turn to her adorers and a final goodbye: a casual flick of her wrist, a sweet, flirty smile and a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it wink that’ll have them deep in their group chats ranting about how they definitely had a moment with the Jang Wonyoung.

You just roll your eyes. You’ve seen that wink a hundred times.

You know exactly how much it’s worth.

After all, it’s your car that she’s climbing into, slamming the door behind her like it’s her name on the registration; leaving behind her new fan club with nothing but their dicks in their hands and their heads swimming with fantasies of what totally could have happened.

You’re no better though, are you? The second she slides into the passenger seat, you’re judging the shortness of her skirt, eyes greedily tracing the length of her thighs, all the way up to a hint of lace that’s destined to be ruined later.

You’re not subtle. And in that outfit, she’s not either.

“What took you so long? I swear to God I’m going to punch the next guy that asks me ‘how much of a baddie I really am’.”

No thank yous, no pleasantries, not even a look in your direction.

To think that you used to be impressed by how quickly she could drop the act: gone is the sugary sweetness that she’d fooled those simps with back at the club; the pretty, airheaded, ‘lucky Vicky’. As fake and useless as the glasses resting on the bridge of her perfectly shaped nose.

Next to you is the real Wonyoung, the one that you’ve become intimately familiar with: intimidatingly smart, unfathomably hot, and all too aware of how dangerous a woman those two traits made her.

“Why is this car black? I thought I told you to get the red?”

You glare at her. The gall on this woman.

“What are you waiting for? Drive.”

Barely a minute in and she’s setting a personal best record for time taken to piss you off; impatiently kicking off her heels, tossing them over her shoulder and into the back seat (of again: your car, not hers).

You can be just as childish: you slam your foot down, pedal to the floor, wheels screeching, and you peel off into the night. The acceleration forces Wonyoung back into her seat, scrambling for her seat belt, yelling, “What the fuck?”

Now she’s looking at you. You’re casual, offering, “Oh, sorry, did I scare the passenger princess?”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Yeah, and you’re welcome,” you grumble, slowing to a more reasonable (legal) speed as you turn onto the highway. “Remind me, when was it that I started operating a taxi service for wasted idols?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” She rolls her eyes, puts her hands together, bows her head down low. Rich, coming from someone who’s never had to genuinely apologise for anything in her life. “Didn’t realise washed-up trainees had such precious schedules.”

It’s a low blow, her go-to insult for you. Nothing you’re not used to; it’s been years of this, after all.

Years of Wonyoung, the living reminder of your biggest failure, making your life her personal pet project. Years of her smugness, of her flaunting her success in your face, of her demanding more from you, demanding better.

Years of you pushing back, pushing her, and somehow always ending up in the same place, the same bed, the same tangled mess of sweat and spite.

To think it all started when you saw her across that shitty practice room and one of you (you forget who, though it was probably her) said the wrong thing at the wrong time, and it was pure hate at first sight.

“Couldn’t get literally anyone else? Don’t you have friends?” You throw the question out there, keeping your eyes on the road, and not down at her legs, crossing and uncrossing, teasing and taunting.  It’s a herculean task—she’s practically ninety percent leg anyway; so fucking easy to admire, so right wrapped around your waist.

“Trust me, I tried. None of the girls have their license, I definitely can’t call someone from the company, and the last time I tried to get a taxi the fucker recognised me and threatened to leak my address. So that leaves me with you,” Wonyoung sighs. “The last resort.”

“Wow, what an honour,” is your reply. You’re still not looking—not sneaking glances at her stomach, as she stretches in your passenger seat.

As an exercise, you pretend she doesn’t exist. Pretend that the hem of her shirt isn’t rising up, peeling back to grace you with a glimpse of her midriff, that waist, her abs tight and exerted after a night spent out on a dance floor.

It nearly works—for a second, you forget you’re supposed to be annoyed at her.

Right until Wonyoung laughs. Not that fake, high-pitched giggle that she knows you find so grating. No, this has an edge to it, a bite that she reserves just for you. “Don’t pretend like you weren’t waiting for me to call. Or were you in the middle of jerking it to my fancams again?”

There’s the memory, the one loss in territory you haven’t quite recovered from. (A reminder: be less blasé about what you choose to name your saved playlists.)

You fire back with, “Yujin’s actually, but nice try.”

“Whatever, pervert.” Your attempt at a riposte doesn’t work, it’s dismissed, leaving Wonyoung satisfied that she’s won this exchange.

As for her prize, she does what she always does—gets touchy with your property.

She busies herself, fiddling with the touchscreen on your dashboard—’What the fuck is this playlist?’ and 'Why do you listen to this group? You know all those girls are absolute bitches, right?’.

“Stop that.” You reach over to slap her wrist before she starts getting too ambitious and messes with the temperature controls again.

"Hey!” Wonyoung yelps, recoiling, and then pauses. You turn to her, see her annoyingly flawless features scrunch up in disgust as she asks, “What’s that smell?”

You curse under your breath as you realise what’s coming. Wonyoung’s frustratingly sensitive when it comes to scents; she’s got a nose like a bloodhound—and a penchant for sticking it in the parts of your life she doesn’t belong.

She’s gone as far as 'gifting’ you every perfume you’ve owned, every body wash, every shampoo, even your fucking laundry detergent.

Just another way she’s tried to take over your life.

You give your own car a whiff, if only to see if this is just another case of Wonyoung being a brat.

It doesn’t smell bad at all.

In fact, it smells sweet. Too sweet.

“Ew, seriously, what is that? Is that you?”

You’re too slow—she’s got your forearm now. For someone that looks so delicate she’s got a grip like a vice. She brings your wrist up to her nose, sniffing, making her way higher up your arm.

“Let it go, Wonyoung.”

She’s not listening at all, unbuckling her seat belt, leaning over the console, pulling herself closer to you, pushing her body against yours. Whatever little respect Wonyoung had for your personal space is gone; her nose is on your neck, her breath hot against your skin.

“It smells like…” She pauses, getting even closer, taking a deep inhale as she tries to place the fragrance. “Why do you smell like a whore?”

Her voice is low, coloured with a barely noticeable slur. You can feel it: the powder keg about to explode, Wonyoung getting ready to go from zero to a hundred. So, you deflect, “Sure you’re not smelling yourself?”

“Fuck you, I don’t use that cheap shit,” she snaps. “You fucked someone tonight, didn’t you?”

You don’t reply. It’s not like you owe her one, anyway—she’s not your girlfriend, you’re not her boyfriend, you two are…

Rivals, mortal enemies, fuck-buddies, friends-with-benefits (except without the whole friendship part).

(Take your pick, call it whatever you want, or in Wonyoung’s case: don’t call it anything at all.)

“Who—who was it this time?” Wonyoung’s fingers tighten around your arm, and there’s that spark in her eyes.

Every chance she gets, she’ll insist she gives so few fucks about your personal life, but one mention of another woman and she’s diving right in the mud, for once not hiding the fact that she may actually give a shit about you.

It’s probably why you do it.

“Who’s the slut dumb enough to spread her legs for you?”

Now it’s your turn to avoid her gaze, to pretend that having her this close isn’t doing wild things to your heartrate. You make an unforced error: “None of your business.”

“So you did fuck someone.” Her hand moves down your arm, dragging her fake acrylics across your skin until they find purchase in your thigh, digging in hard enough to make you flinch. “You fucked someone I know didn’t you. Who…” She’s reading you, trying to find the answer somewhere in the stress lines of your face. “Hyewon. Yena. Yuri. I swear if it was fucking Eunbi, I’m going to—”

“Going to what?” You challenge. You know this game. You’ve played it before—every damn time she gets like this (and you know where it leads). “Going to lie to me about your own personal survival show back there?”

Wonyoung scoffs. It’s a throaty sound that seems almost foreign coming from her—too impolite, too uncouth for the elegant, refined image she’s painstakingly cultivated. But she makes it anyway, because she’s had a few too many drinks and you’re the only one who’s around to see her like this—raw, unfiltered. “Those losers? I’m not like you, bringing home every pair of tits that strokes your ego.”

“Good to know that I’m special then,” you smirk, but she’s not smiling back.

No, she’s just looking at you, in that annoying, Wonyoung way. It’s those big, doe eyes of hers that you’ve seen do so much damage before—make men bend over backwards, light themselves on fire just to get her to look their way. “You wish.”

You push on, push her just a little bit. “Drop the act, Wony. I wasn’t your last resort—I’m the only one you even considered. You needed your daddy—isn’t that what you were calling me before?”

“I never said that.”

“Wony—”

“And if I did, I’ll never say it again,” she declares, before emphasising. “Never. Again.”

But you know her better than that. You know her lies just as well as she knows yours; it’s in the quickness of her response, the defensiveness—the vulnerability.

“I doubt that,” you say, making the most of the tiny crack in Wonyoung’s armour. “I remember you screaming it. Had you cumming like a fountain—ruined a perfectly good set of sheets, you know?”

“You’re disgusting,” she hisses, but she’s got the same memories in her head—that same night, so similar to this one (so similar to every night before).

The fighting, the fucking, the endless cycle of pushing each other’s button until one of you snaps.

“And what about you? You got here awfully quick for two in the morning,” she says. Her hand’s still on your thigh, less nails, more fingertips now, tracing patterns through the denim of your jeans. “Couldn’t bear the thought of me with someone else, could you? Lie to me—tell me that you weren’t waiting to get your hands on me again.”

Your denial dies before it even makes it past your lips—your own body turns traitor on you, provoked by her hand rising higher. There’s a smile as Wonyoung finds what she was looking for, the proof in the stretching of your jeans, the outline of your cock begging for more of her attention.

“At least this part of you is honest,” she muses, fingers dancing around your growing stiffness.

You grit your teeth, doing your best to keep the car steady, managing to grind out, “Please. It’s like you said, any decent pair of tits does it for me. Even your tiny ones get the job done.”

Her hand freezes on your thigh—you’ve hit a nerve, hit that dark part of her that’s so desperate for validation. “You think you can replace me? Find someone else to fill your sad, lonely nights?”

She’s closer now, her breath against your neck, her fingers drumming a beat right over where the head of your cock is. It’s a heady feeling, one that you hate and crave all at once.

“Was she even good?”

You know what she’s really asking: Was she better than me?

And you know the answer: How could anyone be?

But you don’t say that. You don’t need to. Instead, you reply, “It’s not a competition.”

“Everything’s a competition.”

Wonyoung’s hand relaxes, nails retreating from your thigh, leaving you flustered and fighting against the constraints of your own jeans. She settles back into her seat, having done her damage.

And for a moment, silence reigns inside your car, allowing you to actually focus on the road. Not that it really matters, you know the route to her apartment by heart—you could drive it blindfolded if need be. It’s just a welcome distraction to avoid dealing with the state she’s left you in.

The quiet survives a beat, two, and then Wonyoung’s squirming, shifting in the passenger seat.

And then she does it again.

And again.

You should keep your eyes ahead—you need to keep your eyes ahead.

You know exactly what you’re going to find if you look over at her.

That’s the problem with you and Wonyoung. You know each other too well. Your likes, your dislikes. What gets you off. What makes you mad.

What drives you fucking wild.

And yet, because you’re a sucker for punishment, you still risk a glance, and see Wonyoung, leaning back in her seat, her hand sliding up her own thigh, so casually drifting up her soft, bare skin, higher and higher.

The skirt rises, inch by torturous inch, and it’s those panties—the same set that was around her ankles the last time you had her bent over your couch, swearing she’d hate you forever. The same set that’s probably already soaked, just waiting for you to rip them off again.

You have to tell her to stop, to keep her hands to herself, to not do this to you, not now. Not while you’re trying to keep you both on the fucking road. But your mouth is dry, and all you can manage is a choked, “Wonyoung—”

Her fingers have slid past the hem of her skirt, now playing with the lace that’s the only barrier between her and open air. She’s biting into the plumpness of her bottom lip, staring at you, expecting your full attention, even now. There’s no subtlety with her, there never is, it’s one of the few things Wonyoung’s bad at.

You swallow hard, finding your voice. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Making myself comfortable,” she says, a little breathy now, as her fingers slip under the lace. “You got a problem with it?”

There’s the flash of skin, a gasp as her fingers find purchase between her folds. She’s so wet that you can hear it—the slickness of her arousal, the quiet sound of fabric sliding against her skin.

You’re straining, gripping the steering wheel so hard it’s a miracle it doesn’t snap in two. Her hand’s dipping lower, her finger sliding inside herself; not deep, not yet, just teasing. Enough to make you want to pull over, to grab her and throw her on the hood of your car, to show her exactly why you’re the only she thinks about when she’s lonely and desperate.

But you don’t, despite the way your body is begging for you to do something, anything, to ease the ache in your cock.

Because if you stop, it’s over. You know how this ends—or rather, you know how she’ll want it to end. She’ll want you to apologise for even being in the proximity of another woman, she’ll want you to beg for her forgiveness so that she might bestow upon you the privilege of touching her again.

If you’re lucky, she just might let you. But only if you play her games.

So you drive faster.

You push the speed limit, weaving through the mostly empty streets.  You’re racing to a finish line, except all that’s waiting at the end of it is the taste of Wonyoung on your tongue, the feeling of her wrapped around you, the sweet victory of making her scream.

It’s hell—ignoring the sound of her pleasure, the wetness of her fingers working in and out of herself. There’s glimpses of her in the corner of your eye, she’s still watching you. She’s enjoying this, loving every second of it.

“What’s wrong?” She asks, oh-so-innocently, even though she doesn’t expect an answer—she just likes to hear her own voice. “Getting distracted? It’s a long, long way back to my place. No one can blame you if you need to give up and pull over.” 

Wonyoung’s getting bolder now, pulling her skirt up to her waist, parting her legs for you, so you can see her hand moving faster, her hips rising to meet her own touch. So you can hear her, hear the fucking sound of each stroke of her fingers inside her, punctuated each time by a wet slap of her palm against her cunt, reverberating through the car, taunting you.

“You want it, don’t you?” She throws the question out so casually, like of course it’s only natural for her to be fingering herself in your car, of course she should be doing everything in her power to make you want to drive into a fucking wall. “I can tell, you’re so desperate to touch me. Definitely going to die if you don’t fuck me soon. Maybe even right here, right now?”

Your foot slips and the car swerves a little—it’s not much, but it’s enough to let her know that you’re losing focus, that she’s winning.

“Careful,” she laughs. “You wouldn’t want to crash before we get to the fun part.”

“You can’t wait until we get back to your place?” You finally ask, the question burning in your throat.

“No. You need to be reminded that you’re-ah-mine,” comes Wonyoung’s answer. “You’re going to fuck me anyway, so why not-mmph-why not save us both the trouble and get started on my own?”

“You don’t own me, Wonyoung.”

To that, Wonyoung raises a carefully sculpted eyebrow.

It’s not even worth a proper reply. Without a word, Wonyoung reclines back into her seat and snaps open the buttons of her shirt, nonchalantly revealing the swell of her breasts, the darkened peaks of her nipples.

No bra—they’re just there. Right there, in your face—those tiny, round, perky tits that you’ve had in your hands, that you’ve had between your teeth, that you’ve covered with your cum more times than you can count.

She’s not shy about it—never has been—arching her back, pushing her breasts out even further. It’s the confidence from knowing every other idol (hell, every other woman in the world) would sell their soul to have a body like hers. So why the fuck not flaunt it?

“Somehow, I don’t think that’s true,” she says, reaching up to her chest. A palm finds her tits, pinching and rolling the sensitive nubs, making them nice and red and swollen for you.

She’s moving faster now, grinding down on her own hand, teeth sinking down into her bottom lip so deep you’re surprised she hasn’t drawn blood. Her breaths are getting shorter and shorter, she’s so close, she’s so fucking turned on, she’s so hot it hurts.

Her eyes remain fixed on you; seeing you struggle only makes her hotter, spurs her to circle her clit faster. She’s drinking you in—the tightness of your jaw, the way your eyes can’t decide whether to keep on the road or on her, the way you swallow, trying (and failing) to keep it together.

The worst part of it all is this wicked smile that’s settled on her lips; thoughts of wiping it off her face with your cock flash through your mind. She’s just so fucking smug about it, so sure of herself.

And maybe she should be.

“Admit it,” Wonyoung purrs. “Admit that you need me.”

“Why would I? You’re just a convenient hole to fill.” It’s not true, of course. You’ve never believed it; none of the hundred times you’ve said it to her before—and she’s never once been fooled.

Wonyoung is back in your ear, “You’re a bad liar.”

Her hand’s returned to your thigh, teasing closer and closer to where you really want it to be. You grunt a weak, “Wonyoung, if you think that’s going to work—”

But she doesn’t listen (she never does).

She reaches for the bulge in your pants, far too quick for you to stop her from wrapping her fingers around you, from taking a hold of you and squeezing.

“See?” She whispers, thick with satisfaction, feeling you throb in her grip. “You’re already about to burst. You can’t resist me. No one can.”

You’re not backing down. You’ve got your own pride to think of, after all. “Save it for your fan club.”

Wonyoung’s never been one to take no for an answer. Her hand moves with purpose, sliding over your zipper and giving it a forceful tug. The sound rings through the car, and it’s an out of body experience; it’s all in slow motion as she pulls out your hard, aching cock.

Fuck.

“Last chance to pull over.” Wonyoung takes a hold of you, fingers curling around your cock with a firm grip that leaves no room for doubt—she’s not letting go until she gets what she wants.  “Who knows what will happen if you keep driving like this. Wouldn’t want to ruin these expensive leather seats with your cum, now would we?”

“Not a fucking chance.”

“Your funeral,” she answers, her smile widening into a full-blown grin as she starts to move, stroking you, her hand gliding up and down your shaft with familiar ease. “Or ours, I guess.”

She’s not making it easy—there’s the slow, deliberate pumps, her thumb circling the head, her fingers teasing the sensitive skin. It’s so natural for her, so goddamn good. 

“Are you sure you can handle this?” Wonyoung’s question hangs in the air, joining the sound of her fist pumping your cock, the squish of her own fingers plunging in and out of her cunt. It’s a taunting metronome, the more you try to ignore her, the tighter she squeezes, the fastest she strokes you, the louder she moans in your ear. “Are you sure you can handle me?”

“I’ve done it before and I can do it again,” you grit out. “You’re going to be the one begging for it in the end. Like always.”

She huffs, and you’ve found your mark. “Oh, really? You think you’re so much better than me? You think you can just ignore me like that?”

“Better than you? Easily,” you answer. “You’re just a pretty face and a pair of legs that can’t keep itself shut.”

That makes her stroke you harder, tighter now, firmer, she’s trying to make this hurt. “Is that what you tell yourself?”

“What gives you the impression I even think about you at all?”

“Oh, I know it keeps you up at night—thinking about me, wondering if I’m thinking about you, wondering if any other slut can make you feel the way I do,” Wonyoung’s leaning on you, chin propped up on your shoulder, a devil in your ear. “You hate it, don’t you? You hate that it’s my cunt that you can’t get out of your head, that it’s my pretty lips that you need so badly around your cock.”

"Are you sure you’re not just projecting, Wony?” You ask, glancing down to her hand between her legs, her fingers deep in her folds, her cunt dripping with juices and making a small puddle beneath her. “Look at how wet you are at just the thought of having my cock back between your pretty lips again.”

“Fuck you.” Wonyoung’s panting, short harsh breaths. There’s no conviction in her voice, no denial to be found—this dance of spite and lust has her so fucking heated. All of it—the hate, the competition, the push and pull: it’s all just foreplay. “You’re nothing to me. Nothing but a back-up plan, a toy I play with when I’m bored.”

“Now who’s a bad liar.”

“Go fuck your—”

You don’t let her finish her insult. You’re tired of the back and forth, the games, the fucking power plays. You take your hand off the steering wheel, grabbing her by the hair, wrenching her head up to meet your eyes.

“What the fuck do you think you’re—” Wonyoung’s mistake is opening her mouth in protest—you push her face down onto your cock; not giving her a chance to argue, not giving her a chance to do anything but suck you dry like the skinny little slut she is.

She chokes, hacks a cough as you plunge your cock down her throat, her nose meeting your waist, and it nearly has you emptying into her mouth then and there.

Turns out, she’s right.

You do need this. Need to feel her perfect, pouty lips on you again, her teeth grazing against your skin, her tongue giving in and worshipping you like she’s never done with anyone else.

You keep a hand wrapped up in a fistful of her hair, but you don’t even need to hold her down—she doesn’t fight you, doesn’t even make the slightest noise of protest. No, she just takes it; never mind how much her eyes water, her mouth drools.

“Fuck,” you’re moaning before you can think better of it, and just like that, you’re conceding the smallest victory to her.

And it makes her smile around your cock.

You grunt in response; buck your hips, feed her your cock, make her gag (make her regret it).

You don’t ease up, because if there’s one thing you know about Wonyoung (one thing you know about fucking Wonyoung), it’s that the most insulting thing you can do to her is to take it easy on her.

Just fuck her face and behold the sight of Wonyoung taking your cock. God, her pretty lips wrapped around you, her throat bulging at your length, her teary eyes staring up at you with a mix of defiance and something that’s eerily close to adoration.

It almost makes you forget that you’re supposed to be driving, and it takes a honk from a car behind you and a smile and a curt nod from Wonyoung to remind you of the world rushing by outside.

You pull your eyes back to the road, both hands on the steering wheel to right the car back on track, barely escaping death by deepthroat.

Wonyoung laughs around your cock, a muffled sound that sends vibrations up your shaft. You try to ignore it, but she’s already seizing the opportunity, taking full advantage of the distraction to push down on her own accord, to take you deep—to start properly sucking.

You swerve again.

Her mouth is absolute heaven, pure and simple—she’s a fucking master at this. Your cock’s been in her mouth so many times before that she could probably write an instruction manual on exactly how to make you come unglued.

Too much all at once—you’re groaning now, unable to help it. She’s not even trying that hard; just taking your cock between her lips, sliding it all the way down her throat, a few gentle licks here, a swirl of her tongue there, but it’s more than enough. It’s what keeps you coming back. No one else feels like this—no one else has mapped out your cock like she has—every inch, every vein.

It’s the rhythm that she’s got down to a science: how fast to take you, how much pressure to apply, when to break from her pace to keep you teetering on the edge.

You can feel her eyes on you, scanning you for any sign of weakness—this is precisely where she wants to be. Like this was her decision—like everything leading up to this was part of some messed up strategy to provoke you, to make sure that your cock ended up in her mouth.

You don’t get a chance to dwell on that thought, not when Wonyoung’s teeth is at the base of your cock, her cheeks hollowed out, her tongue doing these little flicks that make your toes curl.

And there’s the question in her eyes: ’is that all you got?’.

Fuck it—risk taking your hand off the steering wheel, it belongs in her silky, dark hair. Make her eyes widen, make her take you deeper, kiss the back of her throat with the tip of your cock, force these divine fucking sounds.

The noises when she gags around you, when the spit is hacked up and drooled down your cock; she’s so sloppy, so filthy.  

And she takes it, takes all of it.

Push her down before pulling her up by the hair, choke her, gag her, have her slobber all over your cock, make her feel you.

Wonyoung takes and takes and takes.

It’s fucked up how you’re treating her (how she’s letting you treat her); she’s an idol for fucks sake. But that’s the last concern you have on your mind—all you can focus on is how fucking good it feels to do this to her, to have her fighting for air around your cock, fighting to keep her eyes on you as you fill them with tears.

Wonyoung’s not giving up though—she’s timing it, timing you. When to relax her throat to take you deep. When to suction her lips. Where to dart her tongue to find that sensitive spot along your shaft.

She’s battling back, in her own way, just as determined as you are to not lose this war of wills. But in the end, you’re the one in the driver’s seat.

“Mmmph,” she’s the one moaning now, moaning around your cock. Shivering in your lap, body jerking and trembling; you can tell her fingers are still buried in her cunt, playing with herself.

She’s so fucking shameless, so fucking pretty, even like this—cheeks flushed, makeup smeared, eyes watering.

You want to kiss her, but that would mean separating her lips from your cock. You want to tell her how much you hate her, but the words won’t come out—they’re stuck in your throat, lodged between your grinding teeth.

“Wait—fuck.” You realise you’ve missed your turn, a split second too late. You jerk the steering wheel, needing both hands as you pull a sharp U-turn. The tires squeal as you try to correct your error, Wonyoung’s mouth around your dick scrambling your brains.

She pulls her lips off from your cock with a hollow ‘pop’. “I thought you could handle me?”

You try to reply—try to form a single coherent thought—but the chance slips by as Wonyoung’s back on the offense, back throating your cock so quickly that your vision swims.

A deep breath is what you need to keep it together. You’re barely thinking straight, holding onto the steering wheel for dear life, doing everything you can to keep yourself from giving up (giving in to Wonyoung’s mouth).

But it’s hard. So fucking hard.

You’ve blown far past any normal speed limit, trying to keep from spinning out with every one of her enthusiastic bobs—it’s by some divine benevolence the car hasn’t completely flipped over by now.

Wonyoung’s relentless, her mouth’s a fucking black hole, sucking you in, stealing every thought from your mind until there’s nothing rattling around your skull but the feel of her wet, warm lips on your cock, and the obscene sounds of her fingers sawing in and out of her pussy, fucking herself.

You’re almost there, and Wonyoung knows it. You can feel it in the suction of her lips, in how hard she’s working you over. It’s the sweetest kind of torture—knowing that she’s got you right where she wants you, that she’s got you on the edge and you can’t do anything about it.

You’re not going to last much longer.

Neither is she.

So you drive. You drive like your life depends on it, because maybe it does. Maybe the only thing keeping you sane is the promise of your eventual release, of filling her mouth with her cum, of pulling her onto your lap and fucking her cunt raw until she screams your name.

“Come on, you can do it,” she’s taunting you now, lathering your cock with just her tongue, dragging it along your length, licking you all the way from your balls to your head. She’s giggling as she steals the pre-cum from your tip, the fucking bitch—like she’s got all the power in the world.

You can see her apartment building in the distance, a beacon of light in the darkness.

You’re almost there.

You reach for the garage remote, mashing the button as you get closer and closer (you’re going to break it). The gate sluggishly opens, and you make a sharp turn to swerve into the dimly lit building, not bothering to slow down.

You can’t, not when Wonyoung’s balancing your cock on her tongue, her hand now squeezing at your base, stroking so fast, so erratic, determined to have you cum in her mouth as soon as fucking possible.

“You’re going to cum for me, aren’t you?” she asks, expectantly. “Cover me in it, give me what I deserve—show me how much you need me.”

The car’s screeching to the closest parking space, the sound echoing through the garage, as you skid between parallel white lines.

You’re cumming before the car’s even completely stopped.

It’s explosive; a white-hot heat searing through your veins, a roar in your ears as you shower Wonyoung’s perfect face with ropes of cum. She’s still jerking you off with her hand, her mouth hovering around the head of your cock, slurping up every drop she can get.

“All mine,” she chants, greedy for it. You pulse in her hand, your cum spurting over her cheekbones, across her nose, painting over that tiny dark freckle above the corner of her mouth.

She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even blink; she’s a statue, a goddess demanding her sacrifice. Her grip is ironclad, stroking you through your orgasm, not stopping until you’re drained, until your cock is twitching in her hand and there’s nothing left but a sticky mess plastered across her big, wide grin.

You feel the last of your orgasm pulse out of you, dripping down her dainty fingers. She licks her lips, smearing your cum across her cheek with her thumb before she sits up straight, basking in her victory.

“Fuck, Wonyoung,” you manage to get out, your chest heaving, your hand finally loosening its grip on the steering wheel.

“Mm-hmm,” she nods, not looking away from you, not breaking the eye contact that’s holding you in place. “I knew you couldn’t resist me.”

She’s not done yet—she still has to take her victory lap.

Wonyoung pulls herself off you, giving the tip of your cock a parting kiss as she sits back in her seat. She lifts her legs up—those endless stretches of porcelain skin—one after another, slow, dramatic, placing her bare feet on the dashboard.

Her skirt rides up, and with a stretch she drags her panties up her thighs, along her calves, and off her feet; the lace is soaked with her juices, leaving a trail of stickiness as she reveals herself to you.

The panties disappear somewhere into the backseat of your car, another spoil of war, and she spreads her legs wide, so wide, making sure you have a perfect view of her gleaming cunt. You can see her clit, peeking out from between her folds, and it’s all you can do to keep your hand from reaching over and taking over.

But this is her show, isn’t it? This is all for her, all about her getting off. And she’s fucking drowning in it—fingers in her cunt again almost immediately, so wet, so hot, so shameless in your car, so confident in her ability to get what she wants from you.

Her hips rock up and down, she’s fucking herself in front of you—for you. She’s daring you to look away, challenging you to deny how fucking hot she is.

You can’t.

“I’m going to cum now.” It’s a low hush, confident. “Watch me. Don’t move. Just fucking watch me.”

Wonyoung’s eyes are crystal clear, staring deep into you with the look of a girl who’s gotten everything she’s ever wanted in life. It’s that look she gets right before she shatters, and you know she’s there—right fucking there.

Her other hand reaches up, cradling your cheek, needing some connection, needing you to be with her. It’s not enough to just simply cum, she needs you to see it, to be a part of it in some twisted way.

“Just look at you,” Wonyoung says, like she’s not the one that’s covered in your cum, that’s not bucking her hips into her hand, working herself into a frenzy, like she’s trying to tear herself apart. “You can’t keep your eyes off me, can you?”

And she’s right—you hate her, you love her, you want to fuck her, you want to strangle her—it’s all a jumble of emotions in your head.

“That’s it—keep looking at me—don’t fucking take your eyes off me—fuck—yes—I’m going to—”

The only warning you get is a strangled gasp as Wonyoung cums, feeling it through her entire body, forcing her to keel over by just the force of it, making her fall into you.

Her hand on your cheek drags down to wrap around your neck, anchoring herself to you, pulling herself closer so she can smash her mouth against yours.

She’s kissing you, really kissing you, mouth open and hungry, all teeth and tongue, sloppy and wet. She’s marking her territory now, claiming you as she cums, and fuck, you can still taste yourself on her lips—salty and bitter.

Wonyoung’s hand is still working her clit, prolonging her bliss, and then she’s climbing on top of you, straddling you, grinding down on your half-hard cock as she rides out the last of her orgasm.

Her thighs are sticky with her juices, her skirt riding up so high that you can see the bare, plump skin of her ass, and you’re fighting the urge to just push it aside and plunge your cock inside her—

But she’s not giving you that satisfaction—not yet.

Her climax dies right on top of you—her hips rolling on her fingers, her body living and dying on the last embers of pleasure.

Finally, Wonyoung stops, collapsing against your chest, and you let out a deep sigh, feeling the weight of her body pressing down on you. She’s a mess, a fucking disaster, and you hold her tight, your arms around her impossibly tiny waist, your cock coming back to life between her thighs.

It’s intimate, almost kind of romantic in a way that’s entirely fucked up, considering, well everything. You’re both a mess of cum and sweat, panting against each other, intertwined together in the driver’s seat of your car, the garage lights flickering overhead like some kind of sick mood lighting.

Wonyoung laughs.

“You’re all sticky.” She leans back, taking her finger and swiping it across your cheek, coming away with a glistening strand of your own cum, a rope that must have strayed from her face and onto yours.

There’s a glint in her eyes, a dirty little idea, and before you can even react, she’s leaning in again, her tongue tracing the line of your jaw, collecting the rogue drops of you.

She rolls her hips down and over you as she does it, stirring your cock back to attention, because apparently she’s not done with you yet.

“You’re a fucking bitch, Wonyoung,” you reply, but there’s no venom behind it. You’re just stating a fact: the sky is blue, the sun rises in the east, and Wonyoung is a bitch.

It’s just the way she is.

You can feel her smirking against your neck, you can picture the look on her face—like she’s already won. It’s infuriating, really, and you’ve got to even the score.

“What are you going to do, take me upstairs and punish me?”

“No,” you say, the word sticking in your throat like it’s made of honey. “Not upstairs.”

“Here?” Wonyoung looks around your car, doing a terrible job of feigning shock (as if she doesn’t know what you’re about to do to her). Yes, she’s a horrendous actress, but it would take an Oscar worthy performance to mask the heat radiating from her thighs, her cunt dripping down onto your lap. “What makes you think I’d let you?”

“What makes you think you have a choice?”  

A press of a button has your seat sliding back, giving you just enough room to lift Wonyoung up, hoisting her above you like she’s a trophy you just won. Congratulations, here’s your Grand Prize—Wonyoung’s tight body, yours for the night (yours for every night).

She can’t do anything but be held by you, have her hips positioned, her cunt aligned with your cock—in your hands, at your mercy, under your control.

“Wait, wait—fuck—”

And then you slam into her.

“Daddy!”

That word. That filthy, devastating word is fucked out of her mouth, a gasping scream as you bury yourself deep into her.

You’d do anything to hear it again.

You don’t bother with gentleness or foreplay—this isn’t a romantic reunion after a long day apart. It’s your hands on her narrow hips; hers doing its best to brace herself on the roof of the car, the window, anywhere she can get a grip.

“Say it again,” you grunt, pulling her back down on you, so hard that she bounces back up, only to be met by another thrust.

“Fuck you,” she spits out, but she’s moaning with every thrust, tightening around you each time, her body betraying her words.

“Fuck you, who?” You’re laughing now, the sound thick and low in your throat as you watch her squirm in your grasp. “You’re going to need to be more specific than that, baby.”

“You know who,” she says, her eyes flying open, glaring at you as she catches her breath. “You always know who.”

“Then say it.”

“Fuck you, daddy.”

“That’s fucking right.”

Her legs are trembling around your waist as you drive into her, her nails digging into the threads of your shirt. She’s begging you for more—harder, faster, deeper—because that’s what she wants from you, that’s what she needs from you. It’s always been like this—no soft embraces, no tender kisses. Just more, more, more.

You wrap your hand around her throat, not enough to cut off her air, just enough to remind her who’s in charge, who’s giving it to her. You lean in, so close her eyes cross, and whisper in her ear, “This is all you’re good for, you know that?”

Wonyoung’s response is to tense her muscles, clench her cunt around you, buck her hips to slap her ass against your thighs. Another battleground in your endless fight for dominance. Fighting for control, trying to dictate the pace, to set the rhythm, to be the one doing the fucking and not the one getting fucked.

And fuck, she’s tight.

Her cunt, her waist, her body. God, it’s like she was built for this.

Designed to fit perfectly in the palm of your hand, to be filled by your cock, to have her skirt hiked up to her waist like a flag of surrender. You’ve got her right where you want her, where she’s always been, where she always will be.

“I fucking hate how good you are at this,” she gasps, the confession spilling from her lips.

You laugh, “I fucking hate you too.”

She’s kissing you again, fingers in your hair now, scraping the back of your scalp, as she rises and falls on your cock. Reflex has your hand tightening around her throat, feeling her pulse quicken beneath your thumb, making her choke out another ‘daddy’.

You’re fucking her like you hate her, like you’re trying to punish her for every sharp word and cold shoulder she’s ever thrown your way. And she’s taking it like she loves it, like she’s been waiting for this all night, all year, all her fucking life.

Wonyoung looks so fucking good, so perfect riding you like this, it’s starting to piss you off. Her hair’s framing her face in perfect waves, not a single strand out of place, even though you’ve had your hands all through it, your fingers tangled in it. Her makeup’s smudged—you can see the tracks of your cum on her cheek—but she wears it like a fucking badge of honour—and like all things, it looks good on her.

It’s like the universe took one look at her and said, ‘nah, she’s too pretty to let any of that shit ruin her.’

But you’ll try.

Keep going—keep fucking; each moan into your mouth, each push of her tongue against your own, each graze of her teeth against your skin—tells you you’re getting there.

Like you’re trying to fuck out all the spite and anger that’s been building up between you, like you can somehow purge it from your systems and just be left with the good parts.

(It’s never that simple.)

“Wonyoung—” you start, but she cuts you off.

“If I could just have your cock without the rest of you—without your stupid mouth, without that fucking look on your face—fuck yes, just like that—without all the bullshit and fighting—fuck, fuck, fuck—”

You don’t believe her, of course—you’re not just a cock to her, the same as she’s not just a pussy to you. But you let her have her fantasy, let her keep pretending she’s just using you for a good time.

“You’re such a bitch,” you murmur, making her chuckle in your ear, her teeth finding the sensitive skin of your lobe, biting down and making you hiss.

Wonyoung’s confession: “Only because it—gah—makes you fuck me harder.”

And it does—it makes you want to show her, prove yourself to her, make her feel it the next day and every day after. Fuck her until she’s nothing but a trembling, whimpering mess, until she’s begging for you to stop. Until she’s begging for you to never stop.

You’re both getting sloppier now, Wonyoung’s hips stuttering as you pound that spot deep inside her, the one that makes her see stars and scream your name, the car shaking with the force of your fucking.

It’s a badly-kept secret you’re keeping from the world outside—the car’s rocking, the lights inside are on, making no efforts to hide what the two of you are doing (doing to each other).

If anyone looks closely enough, if the security cameras in the garage get curious and zoom in, they’ll see your silhouettes; her body arching back, your hips thrusting up and into her.

They’ll see Jang Wonyoung, the princess of the industry, getting fucked in the front seat of a car like some common whore.

And she’s loving it. The danger, the thrill of being seen, the risk that anyone could walk by and hear her moan your name, her voice strained by your hand on her throat. It’s the fact that she’s letting you do this to her, that she’s letting you fuck her like this, even when she’s telling you she fucking hates it.

This moment—Wonyoung—right here, is what you live for.

You want to save it, to bottle it up and keep it with you forever. You want to remember how she feels, how she tastes, the fucking sounds she makes when she’s just about to cum. You want to replay this in your head every time you’re alone, every time you’re with someone else—because even though there might be someone else, they’ll never come fucking close to her.

And then you get an idea.

It’s a terrible idea, one that’ll surely end in disaster—like all the best ideas.

You hold down on Wonyoung’s hips, stopping her mid-thrust, and she’s whining, letting slip just how good you’re making her feel.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she snaps, taking short, sharp inhales, replenishing all the oxygen you’ve fucked out of her.

You ignore her, reaching for the dashboard camera that’s been silently facing outside, towards the wall of the garage. It’s been switched on the entire time, waiting to record the car crash inside—you and Wonyoung tearing each other apart.

Wonyoung’s scared. “Oh no, don’t you fucking—”

But she can’t stop you. You’re already spinning it around, pointing it directly at her cum-covered face, her sweat-drenched body.

“Smile for the camera, Wony.”

Her mouth opens, but she can’t muster the words. You’re fucking her again, the camera watching everything, capturing every moan, every slight quiver of her body. It’s a side of her nobody gets to see—the side you’re most familiar with.

Wonyoung at her most honest, when she’s undeniably yours.

Just her—getting used (using you)—and fuck, there’s nothing more worthy to be captured and preserved for all eternity.

Her eyes dart to the camera, then back to you, her mind racing a mile a minute. You can see the gears turning—she’s trying to figure out how to get out of this, how to win back some ground, but she’s lost.

You’ve got her, and she knows it.

You’re fucking her, and she has no choice but to follow—whether she likes it or not.

“Fine,” she says, the admission torn from her throat as you push back into her. “But if this leaks—if you ever show this to anyone, I’ll fucking kill you.”

You just laugh. “You really think so little of me? Like anyone would believe it anyway.”

And you mean it. You’re not that stupid. But the thought of having a permanent record of this moment, of Wonyoung, begging in high definition—it has you hooked.

You can’t help but add, “But we’ll always know it’s there, won’t we? Forever.”

Wonyoung narrows her brows at you, but she doesn’t protest anymore. Instead, she does the opposite. She starts to lean into it.

She tips her head back, arching her spine so that her tits are pushed up, giving the camera a picture-perfect shot of her body, her chest, the stiffness of her nipples—everything.

Jang Wonyoung—always the performer.

A free hand runs through her hair, flinging it back over her shoulder, and she starts to roll her whole body; fucking herself on you in a way that’s so deliberate, so fucking pornographic.

“God, I fucking hate this.” Wonyoung puts it on public record, eyes never leave yours as she performs for the camera—or for you, it’s hard to tell.

“What’s that, baby?” You tease. "You hate how good this feels?”

“I hate that it’s you,” she says, the words forced out between gasps. “I hate how fucking hot you are.”

“The feeling’s mutual.”

You’ll never understand it. How someone you despise so much, with every fibre of your being, can fit so perfectly around you, feel so downright incredible on top of you. It’s a cruel joke that the universe decided to play on you both.

But you play along, let her ride you like it’s her fucking birthright, lock you in some petty staring contest, keep your mind filled with nothing but the tightness of her cunt.

You’re both panting now, sweat slicking your skin, making it easier for her to slide up and down on your cock. Her small tits bounce with every movement, and you can’t help but reach out to grab one, pinch it hard, making her wince, making her gasp.

“Fuck—you should quit whatever the fuck you’re doing,” she says, trying her best to form complete sentences through the pain, the bliss. “Work for me.”

“And do what?”

“I don’t know.” Wonyoung looks down at you and you can see it on her face: the fucking slut is dead serious. “Manager, bodyguard, assistant. Whatever I can do to keep you close so you can fuck me like this whenever I want. If Yujin can have her drummer boy, it’s only fair that I get you.”

“Why the fuck would I want to spend all day waiting on you?”

She corrects you: “Spend all day inside of me.”

There’s your fantasy—mornings fucking Wonyoung in some hotel room, drinking all the juices from her pussy in the car on the way to work, having her suck your cock backstage at some concert, making her scream your name every night before going to sleep.

And then waking up and doing it all again.

There’s no hiding the smirk on your face. “Go fuck yourself, Wonyoung.”

Wonyoung mirrors your grin, that wild, cock-drunk look in her eyes. “Why would I do that when I have you?”

“No.” You’re pulling her close, holding her body tight to you, making her feel it. “You’re mine.”

That word again—'daddy’ on her lips, turning into a desperate cry as her thighs tense on either side of you, her hands locking behind your neck. She’s holding on tight, because you’re not giving her a choice, you’re not giving her anything but what she’s begging for.

You watch her face in the reflection of the car window—the way her mouth hangs open, the way her eyes flutter shut and then open again, searching for something, anything to keep her grounded.

"Fuck me like I’m yours,” Wonyoung pleads. “You own me? Then fucking treat me like you do. Treat me like I’m your fucking whore, daddy.”

It’s too much, all of it. Wonyoung: her face—those lips, her body—those fucking legs, her voice—the way she says your name, how she calls you daddy, like it’s a fucking curse. You’re so close to the edge now, so close to cumming again, cumming inside her. You can feel the beginnings of it, the tension coiling in your balls, the white creeping into your vision.

But she’s still talking—and so are you, you realise.

One of you cries out—holy shit—answered with a—so fucking good—followed by an exchange of—fuck yous—and—I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

It keeps going, this fucking, this using, this hating—whatever this is.

“I fucking hate you—”

“Hate you too—”

“Hate how good your cunt feels—”

“Hate how big your cock is—”

“Hate how perfect you are—”

“Hate how much I want your fucking cum—”

“Fucking slut—"

“Daddy—”

“I’m going to—"

"Please!"

And that’s it.

It’s over—your cock pulsing deep inside her, Wonyoung’s cunt clamping down around you, and you’re cumming—together—tightening and writhing and calling each other every name under the sun, except maybe the one that actually matters.

Wonyoung’s head falls back, losing control of her own body, the camera catching every glorious moment as she cums, her orgasm ripping through her in a scream that you feel in every inch of your body.

You kiss her—her tits, her neck, her jaw, her lips—claiming her, making sure she feels every drop of you. You hate her, you love her, you hate that you love her, you love that she needs you, you hate that you need her.

And all the while the camera keeps rolling, capturing your sweaty, heaving chests; capturing you filling her, spilling out of her, giving her the cum she so desperately pleaded for. It’s so much more intimate than any kiss, any love confession, any of that romantic shit she sings about.

But it’s not enough. It’s never enough.

It’s every twitch, every shiver, every little pulse of your release flooding her. How she tenses and clenches around you, soaks you with her wetness, drowns you in her tight, drenched heat.

And she keeps calling you it—whispering it—‘daddy’—over and over again, even as she’s coming down from the high, even as she’s gasping for air, even as she’s forcing her tongue into your mouth.

Wonyoung slumps against you, your cum dripping out of her and down your cock, staining the leather of your car seats. You can feel the stickiness of it, the mess you’ve made together. It makes you want to do it all over again.

To make her say it again, to make her scream it again.

“You’re so fucking mine,” you murmur against her neck, kissing her collarbone, tasting the salt of her sweat.

Wonyoung just nods, too exhausted to argue, too satisfied to care. Her hand finds yours, weaves your fingers together, and you hold onto her, tight. It’s sickeningly sweet, and yet, despite your best efforts, the insult, the quip to break the spell doesn’t come.

Because in the end, you don’t want to kill the moment—not when it’s so perfect.

You don’t want to ruin it with talk of the real world, with the harshness of the light that’ll be waiting outside the car door.

You stay there, parked in the garage of her apartment building, the headlights dimming down to black. The air is thick with the smell of sex and sweat, the taste of it lingering on your tongues. It’s a bubble you’re both loath to burst—because once it does, once it pops, you’re just Wonyoung and some guy she fucking hates again.

“Thank you, daddy.” Wonyoung’s breathing slows, her grip on you loosens. She’s drifting off, the stress of the night and the alcohol finally claiming her.

You don’t know how long you sit there, the two of you tangled together. It’s quiet except for the occasional hum from her, a cute little sound that she’s probably unaware she makes. It’s soothing, almost sweet.

But reality has a way of crashing in, doesn’t it?

You know you can’t stay here forever. You know you’ve got to get her upstairs before someone sees, before the cameras (the dangerous ones, the ones you don’t own) spot you. Before the rest of the world catches up.

You ease her off your cock, she whines, her eyes struggling open. “Take me home,” she mumbles, still not fully coherent.

“Already am, baby,” you reply, gently untangling her body from yours.

With a bit of effort, you manage to get her into an almost presentable state—straightening her skirt, buttoning her shirt, dabbing the cum that’s pooled between her thighs. She watches you as you do it, through a hazy gaze, still recovering from being fucked into oblivion.

It’s an act. Partly at least. A way to save face—pretend that it’s only the exhaustion, that she doesn’t really need you, doesn’t really want to be taken care of like this. Doesn’t want to nuzzle her head into your shoulder, or hug you tight, or have you kiss her on the forehead and tell her that you’ve got her.

Tomorrow she’ll yell at you for it, probably call you an overbearing asshole for treating her like a delicate flower. Make fun of you for going soft, for totally falling under her spell.

(And sometime even later, in a moment when she’s all quiet and feeling vulnerable, right after you’ve fucked each other and hated each other and ended up holding each other for the millionth time, Wonyoung will say:

“You’re the only one who can keep up with me.”

You’ll know what she means right away; you’ll kiss her again and you’ll answer:

“I know.”)

Because despite the fact that when she wanted to be (and it was often), Jang Wonyoung could be a real fucking bitch, you’re also kind of in love with her.

And, if you were to ask her, she’d probably the same about you.

[luveline]

I love bombshell reader. Would she ever get jealous?

Your eye is most definitely twitching. The pull and cinch of your lashes and the delicate skin of your eyelid distracts you mildly from the sight in front of you, but not for long. 

You rub at your eye with a perfectly filed nail, smudging intricate makeup all over the place. You remember your mascara only after you've mussed it and groan in annoyance. "Fucking fuck," you murmur, slipping a hand into your jacket pocket. 

"You okay?" Emily asks. 

Using your phone screen as a substandard mirror, you clean up the smudge you'd made of your make up with your pinky finger carefully. "I'm great," you say breezily. 

"You sure? You sound stressed." 

"She's jealous," Morgan says. Smugness lines his face and the otherwise handsome set of his mouth. 

You roll your eyes at him, to his bemusement, and sit back in your cold, leather-backed chair. "Sure, Morgan, I'm very jealous. Of what?" 

"Of our baby boy's new friend, obviously," he says. 

You don't give him the satisfaction of looking back at Spencer where he stands at the bar, nor do you let the practised smile you're wearing falter. Your guts an aching wound and your skin flushed with heat, you reach for the cherry coasting along the surface of your drink and pull it out by the stem, twisting it between your fingers. Unbothered on the outside, and an insecure, hurt mess on the inside. 

It really looked like Spencer was flirting with her. 

You chew your cherry for much longer than you need to for want of something to do, hot tears begging to well behind your eyes. Spencer isn't your boyfriend, you've held hands a couple times and that's that. He's allowed to want someone else. Someone prettier, smaller, she'd had a head of perfect braids and a dewy, do eyed smile. Cherry swallowed, you knock back your drink. 

"Sorry," Spencer starts, sliding into the booth next to you with another cherry sour for you and what looks like an ice cold glass of coke for himself.

You hadn't asked him for a drink and he hadn't mentioned getting you one. For a moment, the ugly weight of envy lifts from your shoulders. "Oh, thank you." 

"I just met this girl at the bar and she had something very interesting to ask me," Spencer says. 

You don't want to hear it. Morgan absolutely does, and with Emily to encourage him, they're happy happy torture you both. "Why's Penelope taking so long?" you ask, trying to change the subject too late. 

"What did she want, loverboy?" Morgan asks.

"Did you think she was pretty?" Spencer asks you.

Mortified, you stare at him. Plainly hurt, to his surprise, you clasp your hands together tightly in your lap. "Why would you ask me that?" 

"Because she wants to ask you out?" Spencer's knee bumps yours. "She thinks you're, quote, intimidatingly pretty." 

Emily and Morgan laugh together gleefully. You're glad this is entertaining for them, but mostly you're relieved. You pick up your drink and take a sip, looking over Spencer's shoulder into the bar for the girl he'd been speaking with. She smiles shyly. 

"I'm assuming this is from her?" 

"What? No, that's from me." 

Your gaze flickers back to him. "Really?" 

"That's my boy," Morgan jokes, swinging his arm behind Emily's seat. She laughs approvingly. 

Firmly back on stable footing, you give Spencer your stickiest grin, looking over his pretty face greedily. He's looking at your drinks rather than you but his torso is turned your way, the backs of his fingers brushing your stocking clad thigh. "Maybe I should go let her down gently?" you murmur, shifting in your seat to turn his way too, flirting with the idea of touching his cheek. 

"You might not need to," he says. 

"How come?" you ask. 

"Well, I… I sort of implied you were taken. You know. With the drink. And I also might've said you weren't interested." 

"Yeah?" You put your hand on his shoulder, tracing a whisper of a path up the slope of it to the base of his throat. "Well, it's a good thing I'm not." 

Emily shakes the small bowl of roasted peanuts, a deviousness about her as she says, "Good for all of us. I've never seen Y/N that jealous before. For once, I thought we'd have to protect her from you." 

You could kill her. Flustered, you tilt your head to one side and look out over nothing, mumbling, "I wouldn't say I was that jealous." 

"No?" Spencer asks. "I can go tell her you've changed your mind." 

"Don't push your luck, Reid." 

[thesirenisles]

Pluto’s Sirens 🦂

beauty, love astrology observations ✨

scorpio sun, scorpio moon, scorpio mars, scorpio ascendant , Scorpio lilith, Black moon lilith

8th house placements including Lilith

Lilith aspects, Pluto Aspects, Venus Opposing Trine Conjunction Square Pluto, Ruled, Dominant

Pluto in the 1st house, Pluto in the 8th house

“She knew death quite well. She often drowned. But, never in fear. The storm waters of love, pain, and sorrow filled her lungs and from their depths, she rose metamorphosed — a captivating phoenix of the sea.”

-The Siren Isles

do not steal any of my original work. All rights reserved. © 2024 The Siren Isles |

🦂Child of Pluto,

The stunning dark beauty that disappears intermittently, only to reemerge a brand new person.. having lived another full life to it’s completion.

You have walked the Valley of Death and your essence was fortified by means of eternal hellfire. There’s really no wonder why you’re so intimidatingly hot. 🔥

As a water sign, this is similar to the siren-like energy of Neptune. However, a Neptunian might unwittingly lure suitors to their death, but you, Plutonian Goddess are the siren who wants the kill.

🥀You are the siren they fear.

You are a mistress of the deep, a beacon of light through the annals of life’s taboo topics like sex, death, occultism, and mystery.

When considering Plutonian energy, I imagine the scorpion deep within a fierce ocean of emotions, burrowing deeper and deeper into the sand… searching and feeling…

Deep within these depths is where you thrive. The drowned woman… I say this because Scorpio is a fixed sign, meaning its energy can be stagnant.

So, it is literally fixed water or stuck water. Being stuck underwater can symbolically connote to drowning.

This is also where the big misunderstanding of Scorpio comes from because… a scorpion does not belong underwater?? Yup, you’re an anomaly.

But, hence this is literally why you cannot stay under water for too long. You’re meant to dive deep beneath the surface, transform yourself, others, and your surroundings BUT only for a little while.

If you try to resist and stay submerged, life literally pushes you to transform and resurface for fresh air. By the end of your journey, you come out reborn anew, carrying nothing but the wisdom you’ve gained.

At your core, you are here to transform yourself and others.

With this energy, you are always digging and craving depth wherever you go, whether you realize it or not just like the scorpion. This could be for emotions, the truth, or other extremes.

Your plutonic vibrations sometimes does this for you and easily charm souls into revealing their darkest and deepest desires to you.

Pluto has gifted you with a gaze that certainly helps to compel information, while also commanding authority and exuding power. (It’s giving Vampire Diariesss)

🥀A fierce siren, you wish to take hold of your romantic partners, friends, and families and lead them to the deepest depths of human existence.

But, this is only an attempt to free them from the confinement of the human ego and mundanity.

🦂The Misunderstood

The Scorpio/ 8th house slander is endless. But, I feel it’s just misunderstood. I love Plutonian energy. I find it refreshing, possibly because I have Scorpio 11th house & Scorpio Mars lol.

But, I get them. My longest friendship is with a beautiful Scorpio Sun and I have never had to second guess her loyalty.

She has been through more than anyone would guess, but maintains a heart of pure gold. Her shell is hard to crack though.

This is because you guys have seen the other side of life… death. You are aware most people aren’t living their truths or even knowledgeable of the truths of this Earthly realm… and it infuriates you at times.

It’s not easy being the one who sees a liar in a fake smile or an enemy within a friend. You see people without their masks and you call them out when needed… including family.

This can ruffle many feathers, of course. We all know how truth tellers are deemed in society.

And to some, your intense need to dive deep can terrify them and trigger them because in some way they are not living their authentic truth.

But, it’s meant to!

Pluto in the 1st house natives know this reaction well, as they wear the hellfire mark wherever they go. This triggers those who are not comfortable with darkness or their own shadow self.

Significant Lilith placements can resonate with this energy. Your presence and rebel energy triggers those whose identity is based upon a facade.

A Plutonian is a friend with their shadow self. They have seen the likes of all darkness.

You are the wounded warrior with these placements, (and honestly deserve so much more and so many hugs for what you’ve survived🥹) But, you seldom allow anyone to see you sweat or any weakness.

This need to conceal weakness hides your incredibly, loving heart and loyal spirit.

You can come off a bit brash at times. (Think, Jade from Victorious… Marlo from The Wire.. Matthew McConaughey’s character in True Detective) But, Its hard to empathize with those who seem ungrateful for their less challenging life paths or who refuse to make simple life changes out of fear.

You are like a butterfly. You have lived several lives, experiencing completely new things at each stage of life, but ultimately improving yourself each time.

While painful at times, that’s your superpower. ✨

The ironic part is that people see you in your Butterfly phase, ornate wings and beautiful colors, and assume you have not had it hard.

Until you sting. 🦂🩸

Absolutely incredible and yet so misunderstood.

Believe me when I say, it is such a GIFT to be able to transform in a world where Saturn’s energy reigns supreme.

🥀A piece of advice I leave to you all is… while understanding death.. DON’T forget to LIVE. Take a page out of the book of your sister sign, Taurus or Planet Venus… pamper your soul. 💅🏾

You are allowed and capable of just as much happiness and soft living as any other soul. Do not be afraid to open up and love or allow yourself to be loved.

You ARE loved over here! ❤️🫶🏾

🦂La Petite Mort “Little Death”.

To possess significant scorpio or 8th house placements is to live through many small deaths to be born anew.

Ironically, while Pluto rules sex, the French saying for an orgasm is Le Petite Mort … or “Little Death”.

Perfectly fitting.

With these placements, you can transform yourself and others through your sexual encounters.

🥀Your sex is transformative!

The sexual energy exudes from your pores, thanks to Papa Pluto and those around you can smell the fragrance.

When a suitor spots you, perched upon a rock amidst the chaos of the ocean… they can’t look away.

They don’t know what it is about you, but they are drawn… hooked and captivated by your watery siren gaze.

You call to them on the shore… and they approach only to be grasped and delivered to the bottom of the ocean for an unforgettable awakening.

This is why Scorpios/ Plutonians/ 8th housers rule the sack. There is less inhibition, less hesitation, and your goal is sink your prey… to the depths… and transform them. (This gives me chills to think about… very powerful stuff!)

Both men and women of Pluto have this quality. Even if they aren’t perfectly symmetrical or dreamy, you have to admit they are HOT AF & their raw sexual energy caught your eye and made you wonder if you even possess the endurance to swim in their waters…

Keep transforming the world Plutonians! We need you!

Thank you for reading! Wishing you blessings💋

Neptune ♓️⬅️✨ MERCURY♍️♊️ Mars ♈️♏️✨ Venus | masterlist

Alton Mason (Scorpio Sun) and Kofi Siriboe (Scorpio Pluto, Moon, Jupiter STELLIUM 😮‍💨)

@thesirenisles | masterlist |🧜🏾‍♀️

[justagalwhowrites]

Oral Fixation - A TLOU One Shot

It's your boyfriend Joel's birthday but what do you give the man who has given you so much? AKA You learn how to give Joel a blow job. A one-shot set in the Lavender universe.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader from Lavender

CW: Oral sex, mild age gap (Joel is turning 33, reader is 21 almost 22), mild description of past sexual encounter involving oral sex that wasn't the best, Joel is almost disturbingly happy because he hasn't been traumatized yet RIP trauma-free Joel, unprotected P in V sex, no use of Y/N, 18+ only minors DNI

Length: 4.5k

A/N: The final part of the Joel Miller Birthday Celebration! Can be read as a stand alone fic with the understanding that reader is Sarah's nanny and has been seeing Joel for about six months.

Masterlist | Lavender Masterlist | AO3

September, 2000

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” you said, all but clinging to Cassie’s arm as the two of you made your way through the adult store. You weren’t sure what you’d been expecting but it wasn’t this, neon colored silicone penises and intimidatingly tiny scraps of lace everywhere you looked. 

“And I can’t believe you don’t own a vibrator,” Cassie said, rolling her eyes. “Don’t be such a prude, with the way you and the DILF go at it I’m pretty sure you’ve had more sex than I have at this point.” 

Your cheeks got hot but… she was probably right. You and Joel had sex a LOT. So much that it was hard to believe that, just six months earlier, you’d still been a virgin. Sure, you doubted that sex with anyone else was even half as good as it was with Joel but it felt like you’d been denying yourself a whole world of good things because you’d been reluctant to make that leap for so long. Now, you wanted to make up for lost time, something that Joel was happy to oblige. 

But, because you were so new to it, you didn’t really know much and, what’s worse, you didn’t know what you didn’t know. 

Which is why you’d turned to Cassie in the first place. Joel’s birthday was coming up and you’d drawn a complete blank on what to get the man. You’d never gotten anyone a birthday gift who wasn’t your grandmother or your friend. What the hell did you get a boyfriend? What the hell did you get a man? 

“You, naked, ready to recreate the filthiest porn the guy’s got,” Cassie said, not even looking up from the latest issue of Cosmo as she did. “And, because it’s you, bake him a cake or something. He’ll be thrilled.” 

“I don’t know that Joel watches porn,” you crinkled your nose. That made her look up. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” She asked, incredulous. “Babes. He’s a man. Of course he watches porn.” 

“I’m sure he would if things were different,” you said. “But he has a kid at home, we have to fight for privacy, I don’t think he’s exactly sitting down and putting on some…” 

“He is,” she said, closing the magazine now. “I promise you, he is. Maybe less now that you’re in the picture but he definitely is. Stashed under his bed or in some shoebox at the back of his closet is a pile of all his dirtiest fantasies and all you have to do is gift wrap yourself, ready to fulfill them.” 

So you might have done some snooping the next time you were at Joel’s before he got home from work. 

Maybe. 

Just a little. 

And yeah, Cassie might have been right. There might have been a box - one a bit bigger than a shoebox but not much bigger - that had tapes and magazines inside. You took a quick inventory, looking at the covers of the videos and flipping through the pages of the more well-worn magazines. 

It seemed both invasive and oddly impersonal, rifling through something that was mass produced and clearly not intended for you to see but was something that it seemed like you should know. The women in the magazines and on the covers of the tapes were so much more… everything than you were. More sexy, more confident, more knowledgable. It made your stomach twist. 

Was this what Joel really wanted? He was older than you and you’d been a late bloomer in the romance department. Of course he had more experience but he’d never made it sound like anything was missing from your sex life. But maybe he was just being nice. Maybe what he really wanted was something more like whatever someone named Candy was doing on the back of this VHS sleeve. 

It seemed like the least you could do for Joel was find a way to give him what he wanted.

So Cassie had convinced you to come to this store to figure out something to do for him for his birthday. Not that you had much idea what that would be. 

“What’s his favorite color?” She asked, examining the tiny scraps of lace. 

“Forest green?” You asked more than answered, examining something that you were pretty sure was a bra but seemed to be missing some key components. You were about to move on to something else when one of the movies playing on the opposite wall caught your eye. It was one of the actresses from the tapes at Joel’s, you recognized her. She was looking hungrily at a cock before taking it into her mouth, eyes closed in bliss with a satisfied groan. 

Cassie noticed where you were staring and joined you, smirking a little. 

“Like watching someone get their dick sucked, eh?” She teased, elbowing you lightly. 

You glared at her. 

“I just…” You looked back at the screen. “I think Joel has that video.” 

“Really?” She said, brows raised, looking back at the screen as the woman started to slide up and down the thick cock. “Well, that’s simple enough. Just blow him, wham bam thank you ma’am, you’re set.” 

“I don’t…” 

“Oh don’t tell me you suck him off too much as it is,” she said. “Your sex life is already insufferably perfect.” 

“No,” you said, defensive, your cheeks getting hot. “I just…” 

“Just what?” She asked when you stayed quiet a bit too long. 

“I’ve never… done that,” you said, looking back at the screen as the woman there hollowed out her cheeks and moaned. 

“What!” Cassie yelped and you shushed her as the other people in the store turned to stare. “You’ve never…” 

“Not with Joel,” you said quickly. “I did once with a guy but it didn’t go great and I really didn’t like it and honestly I think Joel might be too big to…” 

“Too big?” She grabbed your arm, her eyes wide. “Babes, you said he was big but like… what do you mean too big? Gimme a ballpark, like…” she tugged you over to a wall of remarkably life-like dildos and pointed to one on the larger end. “That big?” 

“No,” you said and she looked relieved for a moment before you pointed to one that was even bigger. “More like that one.” 

Cassie’s jaw dropped, looking between you and the silicone dick in awe. 

“That’s what the DILF is packing?” 

“Can you please not call him that?” 

“You big slut!” She was practically beaming. “Taking that for your first time? You deserve a medal!”

“Can we just…” 

“That’s it, you’re sucking his dick for his birthday,” she said, grabbing flavored lube, throat numbing spray and a copy of the tape that was playing overhead. “As often as he apparently goes down on you? Seems like the least you can do is return the favor as he turns… what, 47?” 

You glared at her and she smirked at you. 

“33,” you said. 

“And you don’t want me to call him a DILF,” she said, grabbing a surprisingly conservative set of lingerie and a small vibrator on her way to the counter. “Come on, we’ll turn you into an oral champ before you know it!”

You watched the video with Cassie that night after you had half a bottle of cheap wine in your system. The woman on screen seemed so… into it. The one time you’d gone down on someone was the summer before you left for college, going out with a boy you met at the movie theater when you took the kids you were babysitting there to see Hercules. He was cute, nice, didn’t carry the baggage a lot of the boys you’d gone to high school with did. On your fourth date, you were making out in his car and he’d nudged your head down lower and lower until it was in his lap. He pulled his cock out and you cautiously, hesitantly, took him in your mouth and you did try to do what you thought he wanted while taking it slow. But it didn’t take long before he was moaning and thrusting up into your mouth and you gagged as he pushed your head down further on his dick. You’d all but ripped yourself away, coughing and sputtering, and he half heartedly apologized before trying to push your head to his lap again. You didn’t go for it that time and he took you home. You didn’t go out with him again, deciding to write off men until you were away at college and hopefully meeting one who was fine with you doing things like not sucking their dick. 

Which, Joel was. Or seemed to be, anyway. But if he enjoyed it - if it felt like it was something that was missing from your sex life - you wanted to give it to him. He’d given you so much, you wanted to give him everything. You just needed to figure out how to do it. 

After you giggled your way through the video the first time, you started it again as Cassie gave you some tips: How to breathe through your nose, how to swallow around your gag reflex, how to use your tongue, how guys liked when you choked on it a little. It felt almost like you were in class, taking notes on a piece of scratch paper you mentally vowed to set on fire after you practiced a little with a cucumber so no one had to know that you needed someone to teach you this stuff, stuff that seemed like it should come naturally to you. 

“Just use the throat spray, use the lube and breathe through your nose,” she said when she left to go home the next morning. “You’ll have him eating out of your hand.” 

“Right,” you said, trying to ignore the tight knot of nerves that had settled in your stomach. “I can do it.” 

You carefully selected a Joel-sized cucumber at the grocery store and tried to not feel like an idiot as you followed Cassie’s advice as you practiced leading into Joel’s birthday. It wasn’t as bad when there wasn’t someone shoving your head down on their lap though it still wasn’t your favorite thing. But for Joel? You’d deal. 

The day you were going to celebrate his birthday, the reality of it set in. If there was one thing you were an expert in by now, it was your boyfriend’s cock and your boyfriend’s cock was… big. What if the throat spray didn’t work as well when you weren’t the one in control of what was going in your mouth? Worse, what if you were just bad at it? What if he had an ex who was as good at sucking him off as that porn star would be and you’d be struggling to measure up the whole time? 

You were rarely nervous with Joel anymore but you were weirdly nervous as you made him dinner - chicken fried steak - and tried to not let it show as the two of you ate together and had drinks and cake while watching Alien in his living room after. 

“You spoil me way too damn much, baby,” Joel said as your head was nestled against his chest, his lips in your hair. You could feel him smile against you as he kissed you there. “Best birthday I’ve had in years, thank you.” 

“Well, I might have one more thing for you,” you said, sitting up from him and smiling a little, your heart pounding in your chest. 

“Really?” He cocked a smile at you, his cheek dimpling. “Does it involve you naked?” 

“It might,” you teased, relaxing a little as you looked at him. This was Joel, the safest man you knew, the person you loved more than any other. It would be OK. “Want to go to your room and find out?” 

“Good luck stoppin’ me,” he winked, getting up and helping you off the couch. Once you were up stairs, the two of you kissed your way down the hall but he moaned as you pulled away from him and nudged him back toward the bed. 

“Just stay put,” you said. “I’ll be right back.” 

“Not goin’ anywhere,” he called as you disappeared into his bathroom. You looked at yourself in the mirror, forcing yourself to take a deep, calming breath before going to his linen cupboard and pulling out the throat spray, lube and lingerie you’d stashed away earlier. You used the spray first, wincing at the antiseptic-like taste of it, before you quickly stripped, balling up your sundress and bra and pulling on the deep green lacy babydoll set Cassie had picked for you. As you examined yourself in the mirror - fluffing your hair and adjusting your breasts in the sheer cups - you gave your best friend this much: she knew how to help make you comfortable. The set wasn’t too revealing or over the top but still highlighted your curves and put all the parts of you Joel seemed to like best on display. 

“Thank you, Cassie,” you muttered before taking a deep breath and steeling yourself, the strawberry flavored lube clutched tight in your hand. You looked your reflection in the eye and tried to get lost in the almost-porn star version of yourself in the mirror. 

“You got this,” you said almost silently, giving yourself a single, resolute nod before going for Joel’s room again. 

He was sitting obediently where you’d left him, watching the bathroom door. You draped yourself against the frame, popping a hip out to accentuate your curves, one arm stretched high over your head against the wood. Joel’s mouth dropped open, his eyes going wide. 

“Like what you see?” You asked more confidently then you felt. 

“Goddamn, baby,” he said reverently. “Gonna gimme a heart attack, looking that damn good.” 

“Well don’t go dropping dead on me now,” you teased, walking toward him in what you hoped was a sexy way and not something that made you look like an idiot. “You haven’t even gotten your present yet.” 

He put his hands on your waist when you reached him but, instead of straddling him, you reached down and spread his legs so you could step between them. You knelt in front of him, holding his gaze as you did, reaching for his jeans to open them. 

“What…” he frowned, looking down as you freed his cock, thick and long and hard. 

“Told you,” you said, trying to make yourself sound sultry and not nervous. “I had something for you.” 

You didn’t give him a chance to respond before you licked his shaft from root to tip, his skin velvet smooth and salty on your tongue. He groaned as you did and you took a deep breath as you took his tip into your mouth, sucking him gently as you did. 

Even just that was a lot and, as your tongue teased him, you squeezed some of the flavored lube into your hand before you spread it over his shaft, working him with your hand, your heart racing. 

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned as you started taking more of him into your mouth, licking and sucking and trying to focus on breathing through your nose as you did. It took more time than you really wanted to get all of him in your mouth, swallowing past your numbed gag reflex as best you could to take his length into your throat. You moaned as you did, sucking him hard, hollowing your cheeks like the girl in the video had done and he moaned, too, his fingers tightening on the edge of the bed. “Goddamn, your mouth…” 

You would have smiled at that if your mouth wasn’t open so wide. Instead, you started trying to work his cock the same way you did the cucumber in practice, hopefully the same way the girl did in the video he had. 

Joel’s breaths started coming quicker, needy little pants dripping from his lips as his cock dripped in your mouth and you took the encouragement, trying to move faster as you did, trying to take him as deep as you could every time. 

But Joel was big and you were almost positive he was getting bigger as you worked him, his cock swelling even further, his precome salty at the back of your throat, and the faster you moved the harder he was to take. Eventually, even with the spray, it was too much and you choked, coughing and gagging enough that you had to pull back from him, tears stinging the corners of your eyes. 

“Woah, you alright?” He asked, leaning forward and frowning at you, still a little breathless as he did. 

“Mhmm,” you hummed as you nodded, trying to keep yourself from coughing, massaging your throat as you did. “Sorry, I just…” 

“Don’t apologize, baby, goddamn,” he laughed once. “Not after doin’ all that for me…” 

You smiled a little sheepishly, feeling like you could breathe again. But the numb feeling at the back of your throat was gone. 

“I can do it again,” you said, sitting back on your heels. “I just… I got some throat spray and I just need to…” 

Joel’s eyebrows knitted together, frowning deeper this time. 

“Throat spray?”

You nodded. 

“It’s numbing?” You said, almost like it was a question. “I hadn’t really done this much before and I really wanted to do it like…” 

“Like what?” He asked and your eyes went wide. Shit. You hadn’t meant to say that part. “Like what, baby?” 

“Like the woman in one of the videos in your closet?” You said sheepishly, your heart pounding, everything else coming out in a rush. “I’m really sorry, I just couldn’t figure out what to get you for your birthday and Cassie suggested finding out what porn you liked and trying to recreate it so I might have looked through some of your things, I promise it was just to surprise you and give you what you wanted and…” 

“Baby,” he cut you off gently, tucking his cock back into his jeans. “Hey, it’s OK, c’mere.” He tugged you up on the bed beside him and you kept your eyes determinedly on your hands. “Think you can look at me?” 

You took a deep breath but listened, gnawing on your lower lip as you did. 

“There are those pretty eyes of yours,” he smiled a little, cupping your cheek. “Now, I ain’t sayin’ I don’t appreciate the thought - don’t think any woman’s ever done something like that for me - but honey, I don’t want to do something you don’t want to do. I really don’t want to do something that’s rough enough on your body that you gotta numb yourself to get through it.” 

You frowned. 

“But you go down on me…” 

“Yeah, because I like to,” he said. “Like seein’ what I can do to you but that doesn’t mean you have to do it back to me, not unless you want to. And if you do want to, you don’t need to do it so hard that you hurt yourself. It’s not good for me if it’s not good for you, too.” 

You took a deep, steadying breath, and nodded. 

“Besides,” he smiled a little. “Haven’t needed those videos in a while. Honestly, I kinda forgot I even still had ‘em.” 

You scoffed. 

“Hey, I’m being serious,” he said. “Haven’t used ‘em since you and I got together, that’s for damn sure. And for a few months before that I may or may not have had better luck thinkin’ about this sexy nanny I had working for me…” 

“Oh really?” You teased lightly, heat taking the place of the nerves in your stomach. 

“Really,” he said, almost unsettlingly earnest. “I’ve been yours for a while, baby. And that’s because I love you, don’t have a damn thing to do with what you do in bed.” 

You smiled softly and kissed him, his lips gentle on yours for a moment before it deepened, turning hot and needy. 

Joel tugged you back on the bed with him, one hand splaying wide over your back, the other slipping into the soft lace of your lingerie to cup your breast. But, before you got too distracted, you pulled back from him, making him frown a little. 

“But what if I want to,” you said, biting your lip again. 

His frown deepened. 

“Want to what?” 

“Suck your cock,” you said, trying to ignore how hot your cheeks got. 

“Fuck, baby,” he said, his eyes darkening. 

“Because I do want to,” you said. “I want to make you feel the way you make me feel.” 

“You sure?” He asked. “Because I know I can be… a lot to take.” 

You smiled a little. 

“Think I know how big your cock is, Joel. And I know what I want.” 

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he groaned, lying on his back, freeing his cock and stroking it as he did. “Gotta take it easy and let me help.” 

You nodded eagerly before settling near his hips, taking his length in your hand and stroking him up and down, running your thumb over his leaking tip. When you looked at him now, you weren’t intimidated. Instead, you were hungry for him, wanting to feel him deep inside you in a different way, your mouth watering with it. 

You lowered yourself over him, licking his head, your tongue wide and flat against him and Joel groaned, his fingers tightening in the blankets on the bed. You took a moment to really experience him, the taste of him, the heady concentration of the scent of him in the thatch of coarse hair at his base, the tender softness of his skin. It shouldn’t have been surprising but you wanted more, more of all of it. 

So you took more, his tip disappearing into your mouth slow and easy. 

“Fuck, there you go baby,” he was damn near panting with need and you smiled a little around his intrusion, at what you were doing to him. “Nice and slow.” 

You moaned as you sank lower, easing more and more of him into your mouth before rising up and then taking a little more of him, your tongue pressed tight to his shaft as you did again and again. 

And then he was at the back of your throat, no longer numbed, and you tried to do what Cassie had told you to do: Swallow him past your gag reflex to get all of him inside. 

It worked, at first, your lips making it almost to the base of his shaft as he groaned. But it didn’t last, your body quickly trying to reject the thick heft of him in your throat, making you gag. This time, though you didn’t try and force it, pulling back quickly but leaving his head in your mouth. 

“You OK?” He asked, his voice strained, one large hand coming to cradle the back of your head. You just nodded, his tip still in your mouth. “Here, gimme your hand.” 

You obeyed and Joel guided your fingers to the base of his shaft. 

“Just…” you could hear the desperation in his voice. “Hold on like that, don’t gotta take it all. Feel the most at the tip, anyway.” 

You nodded and worked your way lower again, a little faster this time, adjusting your grip so you were still taking most of him into your mouth but not quite hitting your gag reflex. Joel’s breaths grew sharper, more desperate and you could feel him straining to hold back from fucking up into you and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of power at that, the way you could make him almost lose himself to pleasure. 

You started to work him faster, your tongue pressing and curling around him, your mouth working in tandem with your hand. It wasn’t long before you found your rhythm over him, rising and falling, sucking and licking, savoring every inch of him you could take. And even though you were focused on making Joel feel good, it was making you tight and needy, too, the hand not around his cock finding your slit, fingers trailing through the wetness that had grown there. 

“Fuck,” he groaned. “Takin’ me so well, baby, doin’ so damn good.” 

You moaned, working him harder, faster as your fingers grew firmer on your clit and you suddenly, desperately, needed all of him in your mouth, gag reflex be damned. 

So you took all of him, moaning as his head slipped into your throat, sucking him hard and fast and you felt him twitch in your mouth before he all but ripped you away from him, leaving you stunned for a moment. 

But then he damn near jumped between your thighs, shoving your panties to the side and pushing into you. You gasped at the stretch of him, your pussy already tightening around him. Joel’s hips snapped into yours just as fast as you’d been sucking him before. 

“Ain’t gonna last,” he said, burying his face in your neck and kissing the delicate skin there. “Too fuckin’ good at that, Jesus…” 

You could only moan in response, your own orgasm building quickly, your fingers tugging at his shirt as you tried to pull him impossibly closer, your pussy drawing tight around him for a second before you fell apart. Your orgasm was so powerful you couldn’t move, crying out with the force of it as Joel fucked into you twice more before he came, too, pressing himself deep inside as he spilled into you.

Joel collapsed, spent, on top of you after, still fully clothed and panting for breath as you held him close. 

“Holy shit baby,” he said eventually, still a little breathless. 

You laughed quietly. 

“Did I measure up to the video?” You teased. 

He pulled back from you, looking you over for a moment, like he was trying to tell if you were joking or not. 

“Think you know the answer to that,” he said, kissing you gently as he slid himself from you and lay beside you. He tugged you against him as he settled, tucking your head against his chest. “But in case it wasn’t clear, yeah. You beat ever damn porno I ever watched, ain’t even close.” 

You smiled, proud. 

“Good,” you said. “Because… I liked doing that.” 

You felt him lift his head to look at you before dropping back down to the bed. 

“Really?” 

“Yup,” you said, tracing your fingers over the outline of his pecs through his shirt. “Think I’ll want to do it again.”

“Sure as hell won’t get any arguments from me.” 

“There is a downside, though,” you said, sitting up just enough to look at him. 

“What’s that?” He frowned and you smiled. 

“Now I’m going to have to figure out what the hell to get you for your birthday next year.” 

He laughed and tucked you back against his chest. 

“Just keep givin’ me you, baby,” he said. “Doesn’t get any better than that.” 

A/N: I missed Joel and Doc so I wrote this. Thanks for reading them even more than a year after Lavender ended.

Happy birthday, Joel!

Love you all!

[salsakiyoomi]

Hiii, I have a request! Ok so hear me out, what if Sukuna finds another woman and replace reader. make it as angsty as possible with a happy ending pretty please with a cherry on top🥹

a/n : absolutely!! you can read this for more context. cw : extremely suggestive towards the end, vulgar language

you couldn’t believe your eyes.

the sight in front of you was one for sore eyes, and it made your heart pang in your chest — sukuna with his arm wrapped around a pretty blonde, a very pretty blonde in fact, with the bluest eyes you had seen and pretty cherry red plump lips.

it’s not the first time you had seen him around with her. It’s been two weeks since he had seen you coming out of that guy’s dorm room covered in hickeys and whatnot, and it’s been two weeks since he had stopped talking to you and started hanging out with that girl.

you weren’t sure why your heart hurt so much and why your shoulders were heavy as you watched him kiss her temple and tug her closer — he never did that to you, in public at least, he insisted that since the two of you weren’t official there was no need for pda, nobody even knew that you had any connections to sukuna, most of the time he’d ignore you in public, but when night came? it was like you were the only girl for him.

so why was he holding her like that? like she was the only girl for him — were they dating? is he in love with her? no, impossible.

sukuna didn’t do love, that's what he always told you.

the only thing left is that he was doing this to spite you — replace you with someone else, and right in front of your eyes too, he was making it painfully obvious.

your heart sinks in your chest as his gaze catches your and there is the tell tale of burning in your eyes as tears begin to well up — why were you crying? for a man like him? he didn’t deserve it.

for a moment, you think you see a flash of pity on his face, but the blonde is up in his lap leaning in for a kiss and — 

you turn away before you could see it.

hot tears stream down your face and you wonder if this is it, if that’s how everything ends — you knew you were getting into a mess once you involved yourself with the infamous drummer, that he wasn’t necessarily a good guy.

but still.

you spend the rest of the day in your dorm room, crying your eyes out for the most of it and eating ice cream — classic, but you didn’t have anything else to do, nothing to take your mind off of things.

it was around eleven pm when you considered going to that dude’s dorm, the one that you slept with two weeks ago — you really needed something to get your mind off of things.

you decide you will, and when you get up to go open the door to get out, lo and behold, it’s nobody but sukuna, and it looks like he was about to knock on your door.

your eyes widen and instantly there is a scowl on your face, “fuck off.” you grit out.

his face is of indifference, staring down at you intimidatingly you could almost shrink down under his gaze — you always do.

“we need to talk,” he says and you scoff, “the fuck we don’t — hey! get your hand off of me —” he’s gripping your arm and leading you back inside the dorm room, maybe manhandling you a little bit, he shuts the door behind him and leans on it, staring you down.

“what do you want?” you ask, and there is a slight wobble in your voice and once more, the burning in your eyes — you didn’t want to cry in front of him.

he doesn’t respond at first, and a moment passes of him just staring at you and you avoiding his gaze, before he is shifting himself off of the door and taking a step closer to you, his hands at your waist.

you try to slap his hands away but his grip is firm, “oh, come on, don’t you have the pretty blonde whore to fuck?” you say bitterly and he cringes.

“she’s nothing to me,” he says and you roll your eyes, “then why was she all over you?”

god, it hurt so much, to have seen him like that with her, and you could only wish to be her in that moment.

he stays silent for a moment and you stare up at him, letting out a noise that was close to a whimper, “you hurt me, ryomen.” you say meekly.

you catch the slight twitch of his lips into a pout, but it’s quickly gone, “you fucked me up, too.” he says, “sleeping with that fuck boy.”

you scoff — does this even make any sense anymore? the two of you agreed it was nothing exclusive so why the hell were you so attached to each other?

“i was drunk that night,” you murmur, and you can’t believe you actually feel bad for sleeping with that guy, “and stupid…”

sukuna huffs, his hands moving up your body and you stare up at him with innocent eyes and god, he can’t resist you like that.

ho he presses his lips to yours in a firm kiss, and pulls you closer to him, letting his hands wander all over your body, “i don’t even like that blonde whore you’re talking about,” he murmurs against your lips before going back to kissing you and your body is on fire.

his hands wander up your shirt and his touch is like electricity to your skin — god, you missed his touch so bad, it’s been almost a month and half since the two of you had done anything.

you moan softly and you feel him smirk against your lips, “that desperate, huh?” he hums and your stomach twists in knots.

he takes your shirt off, leaving you in nothing but your bra and shorts, his hands wander up all the way to your breasts as he trails his kisses from your lips to your jaw and neck.

you shiver under the cold tips of his fingers, your lungs are constricting and there are butterflies in your stomach, and he can tell, he can absolutely tell the way you inevitably melt under his touch.

“bet that fuckboy couldn’t make you feel as good as this,” he murmurs against your skin, before sucking harshly — he’s determined to leave his marks on you tonight.

“ryomen,” you moan softly and oh how the way his name falls from your lips make him so heated, especially when you let out a pretty moan like that.

he fiddles with the clips of your bra as he continues to trail kisses down to your collarbone, and you’re leaning into him, melting under his touch and you forget anything bad he has ever done to you, you don’t care to remember, not when it feels as good as this.

and sukuna is addicted to you too, you were like a drug for him, no matter how much he tried to pull away, he always found his way back to you — he was addicted to the way his name rolls off of your tongue when you were breathless and under him, he was addicted to how soft your skin was compared to his calloused hands, how pretty you sound when he was deep inside and he was addicted to how you completely crumble under his touch.

he unclips your bra and the clothing falls to the floor and he’s smirking against your skin as he can practically hear your heart thumping in your chest.

“let’s go to the bedroom, yeah?”

[avelera]

maybe I'm remembering wrong but I feel like some time ago I saw a post from you theorizing that Mel was Jayce's first for like, everything. I was wondering if you would be willing to expand on why you think that ;0

Yeah it's this post where I talk about how Jayce has the vibe of, "Intimidatingly hot girl that is so hot no one has ever asked her out before so she thinks she's unlovable."

I think Mel thought Jayce was a fuckboi. I mean, look at him! He totally looks like a muscle jock with a 1000 watt smile, who seems to soak up the adoration of the crowd, who seems based on his looks like he must have a vibrant sex life of sleeping with whoever he wants. To my eyes, Mel 100% thought that by sleeping with Jayce she would just be one of many and she could use the influence from that encounter to continue to manipulate him, but it would be a totally casual, sexual encounter.

Her belief he's a fuckboi seems to be confirmed when he's not there in the morning after they sleep together. You can see what's going through her head. She's thinking, "Welp, sleep with a fuckboi and you get a fuckboi. I don't know why I thought a party guy like that would stick around after, but I'm still disappointed." She is pissed and seems personally hurt/offended when he comes "crawling" back to apologize, and then he reveals it's because the single most important person in his life is dying.

Everything changes after that. Mel realizes she misunderstood Jayce. She realizes when he puts his head in her lap and kisses her wrist and is casually physically affectionate with her that she super-duper misread the situation. Jayce isn't a fuckboi. They slept together once and he thinks they're dating now! Mel actually looks like she's panicking there at how seriously he's taking this "relationship" AND she's realizing that she's taking him away from the actual love of his life, Viktor, so she fucked up big time. She literally reads the situation and immediately clocks, in my opinion, that Jayce is with the wrong person right now and possibly hasn't been aware of his love for Viktor and vice versa and as the one emotionally intelligent person in that trio says, "You lunatic, go back to your man right now, wtf are you doing here with me??" in so many words. She feels guilty and she realizes she fucked up and this actually very sweet guy is attached to her now. That's when she really begins to have feelings for him too but very much despite herself IMO.

As for Jayce being a virgin, or very near to it, I mean... Jayce doesn't notice people are attracted to him. He just doesn't. He's got random people sighing over him during Progress Day and he doesn't notice. He visibly swallows with nerves when Mel mildly flirts with him. He's not a fuckboi at all, if anything he's oblivious.

Basically, I think it fits that if Mel's not his actual first, she could very well be near his first. Jayce has been busy lately! Hextech is his dream, he's working at all hours, he's a hyperfixating nerd who spends all hours with his lab partner and if he's been hopelessly pining after Viktor then that's even more evidence he might have been "saving himself" for a marriage that didn't seem to be happening. Even when Mel kisses him, IMO Jayce's pause as he calculates whether or not he should reciprocate feels like he's thinking, "Do I have a shot with Viktor? No, sadly. Viktor's made it clear he's not interested so I might as well stop denying myself other relationships, especially with someone who expresses real interest and acts on it in a way my nerd-boy brain can understand." (Jayce is direct, he thinks in straight lines, and Mel flirts in the one way he understands IMO, but that's a meta for another day.)

So err, at the risk of rambling for 10 more pages, I think that addresses your question?

[casuallyanidiot]

Omg your yandere coworker *chef's kiss*

I imagine he's just frustrated and angry because he can't believe he's fallen for a loser like reader. Like they are such a mess all the time. So soft and easy to tire. They look so out of place in this workplace environment.

But over time it starts to click that all he was to do is take them away and keep them at home. Reader shouldn't even be at work! Reader should be sitting pretty at home like the good little spouse he knows they are all that they are good for!

Man he'll have to come up with a plan to make that happen wouldn't he?

Thanks! He's awful! :)

I think the worst part about Yan coworker is that he believes he's actually a good person. Maybe if he just acknowledged how scummy he was, he wouldn't be half as bad.

He he's had enough of you stumbling all over yourself like an idiot. Yandere Coworker pulls you aside one day into a storage closet. He's trying so hard not to snap and fuck you stupid against some half empty shelves, so instead he settles for gripping your arms. Isn't he a gentleman? Anyways, he lays it out for you.

"You need to quit," He says simply. His voice is gruff and firm, and you blink in surprise. "What?" You stammer out. He's tall, intimidatingly so, and you tremble as he holds you. "No, no I'm not- I can't quit! This is my job! I know you don't really like me, but that's out of line," You hiss out and squirm away from him.

Yandere coworker realizes you really are very, very dumb. There's nothing in that stupid little head of yours, is there? You can't even tell how much he's looking out for you. You're crumbling under the weight of this job, and he can't stand seeing you so unhappy.

But he makes enough money for the two of you. He can handle this while you can't. In fact, the more he thinks about it, he can't figure out just what in the world you would be good at. He tries to picture you as successful at anything and comes up blank. Huh... You really are good for nothing. Except,,, you would probably do well if you didn't have to do anything at all.

Yandere coworker starts to think about how much prettier you would be if you got proper sleep. He likes the way you look in corporate attire (That is on the rare occasions where you don't look like a hot mess), but he bets you'd like to be in expensive and revealing loungewear even more. The only thing you would have to do is keep your house tidy, and keep yourself nice and presentable for whoever provided for you. Yeah, you'd be perfect for that. And guess what? He could give you that.

Yandere coworker knows that you're far too stubborn for your own good. He begins to actively sabotage your work. He inserts spelling errors into your reports, changes the numbers of any potential client before you have the chance to make a sale. He allows himself to be more officially promoted, and with the new power he has, he assigns you increasingly difficult tasks.

You try and report him for essentially bullying you, but the complaint is thrown out with little care. He's one of the best employees the company had ever seen, and you were just some bumbling broad who couldn't even spell their own name right on official documents.

Before long, you're fired. Yandere Coworker uses his position in the company and many connections he has to essentially black list you.

You can't get a decent job in your field anymore. Plus you begin to get behind on rent and bills. Your life is going to shit, yet you still refuse to take him up on his many offers. It's infuriating, and he just wants to put you in a place that he knows you'll be safe and happy in.

Yandere Coworker just thinks your too dumb to realize how kind he's being. He hopes that you're smart enough to recognize how nice the trunk of a luxury car is. After all, you're going to be there for a while until he can get you to his home where you'll never have to use that useless brain of yours again.

[mydreamchapter]

the angel of warmth

pairing: yeonjun x gender neutral reader

genre: fluff with comfort!

word count: 3k

age rating: mature - mdni

tags: pet names, implied sex, reader was going through a shitty breakup

The morning air came with a chill bite, but it stood no chance against the pleasant heat radiating from the sleeping angel next to you. Yeonjun was like a mug of hot chocolate; warm and sweet, comforting in the cold, cozy, so delectable you wished you could drink him. So you tried to, in any way possible, turning toward him and wrapping your arms around his waist to spoon him, and gently kissing the spot where his neck met his back. He stirred slightly from the sensation, but was definitely still asleep. You could probably fall back asleep too, if you wanted to, but the mug in your arms was comforting in a way that you felt you had to be awake to fully appreciate. So you nestled your cheek against his back and gently tangled your legs with his, drinking in his warmth with your whole body through his soft blue sweatshirt and sweatpants. 

“Honey,” he said, and you could feel the depth of his morning voice in your cheek. He found your hand and slotted his fingers between yours, his palm against the back of your hand. “Honey, you’re so comfy.”

“You’re so comfy, angel,” you said.

“But it’s not fair,” he said, and you could hear the pout in his voice. “You could keep me in bed forever.”

“Lucky you, we both have the day off.” 

“Thank god,” he said with a sigh, and pressed his back against you more. He hummed happily. 

Yeonjun wasn’t always there in the mornings, but he always happened to be there when you needed him the most. You’d been scared about the one-year anniversary since the terrible breakup you went through last winter — you’d never felt colder and more alone when it happened. Things had fallen apart with so little warning that you always worried everything was always capable of falling apart so suddenly the same way, again and again, no matter how good things seemed to be going. 

But right then and there, you were just happy to have someone this wonderful in your arms. 

“How are you feeling, honey?” He asked knowingly. 

—

Yeonjun was the first person you called after the breakup. You had been so distraught that you left your shared apartment with your now-ex into the heavy chill of an early winter evening in just the sweatshirt and pants you’d already been wearing to wander in the night and try to clear your head, your now-ex’s car now off-limits, and called the first person you could think of. 

Yeonjun was your closest friend in this city; you met at a painting club when you thought you should take it up as a new hobby. Of course, you weren’t very good, because you’d never been much of an artist, but it seemed like the intimidatingly gorgeous man next to you already had a background in art and was picking it up really quickly. You quickly discovered that he wasn’t actually intimidating — when you struggled and got discouraged, he would give you little tips and encouragement, and brighten your mood with his smile and the faint scent of whatever soap or perfume he had that smelled like sweet cinnamon. Things had blossomed into friendship after you kept coming back to the painting club week after week, always sitting next to the handsome face you knew would encourage you. You thought maybe that was just his personality, maybe he was always this nice to everyone, but he didn’t interact with the other people in the club nearly as much as he talked to you. You exchanged numbers one day when you knew you’d be gone on a trip with your partner the following week, so that he could send you a picture of his own painting of the week when he finished it. 

So when your life started falling apart before your eyes with your ex in the center of it, it was instinctual to call him first. He’d known you were dating someone happily, and he knew a few base level details about your life, but nothing vulnerable that would have warranted him driving out into the city to pick you up so you could stay at his apartment for the time being — which is what he did. 

“You don’t have to show me your pity,” you’d said when you sat down in the passenger seat, “you didn’t have to do this.” But when you arrived at his apartment, he gave you a blanket, a warm sweatshirt fresh from the dryer, and he washed a bowl of blueberries for you to eat with honey while he made you hot chocolate. 

Of course, all you could do that night was cry; on and off, on and off, while Yeonjun stayed by your side. “You don’t have to do this, it’s not necessary,” you kept repeating, but you put on the sweatshirt, you clung to the blanket wrapped around your shoulders, you ate the blueberries and honey, and you sipped the thermos of hot chocolate. 

If you’d known him better at the time, you would have spilled your guts, and vomited out all the hurt you were feeling and all of the terrible things your ex had just spewed at you before shutting you out completely. But you were scared to talk and look at all of it, scared to acknowledge what had happened even though the consequences of it were following you at every moment, and you didn’t even know where to start; so you sat on his couch and cried for hours, and he never left your side except to make you another hot chocolate once you had finished the thermos. 

He offered to hug you that night, once. But you weren’t really keen on people touching you other than romantic partners, especially when you felt as vulnerable as you did in that moment. Even someone as beautiful as him. You explained this to him, minus the beautiful part, and he made sure to keep a line drawn between you that wouldn’t be crossed except for you reaching for the tissue box in his hands.

When you moved to this city to live with your partner, you didn’t know anyone else. You were ready to start a fresh new life, away from your toxic past and the ghosts of terrible people haunting you, so you could meet new people and find a happier life with your partner. But you always struggled making friends, and Yeonjun was the only person you’d managed to befriend in the full year since you’d moved here, aside from your ex’s friends that probably wouldn’t want to talk to you anymore. Yeonjun was the only person you had now in this city. Sure, there was your boss at work and your coworkers who knew you, but they weren’t the type of people you’d prefer to spend your free time around. 

The day after the breakup, your ex made it clear you were no longer welcome in the apartment, and gave you one day to move out. With nowhere else to go, Yeonjun cleared up a corner in his apartment for you to put the few things you decided to take with you, and told you his couch was yours to sleep in for as long as you needed it. You reiterated that he didn’t need to pity you, didn’t need to sacrifice space in his own home or take time out of his day to make sure you were okay, but he just shook his head and did it anyway. 

The morning of day three at his apartment and day three of you calling out of work, you finally asked before he left for work for the day. “You barely know me. Why are you doing all this for me?”

He clicked his tongue. “It’s not like we’re strangers; you’re my friend, of course I would want to help you during a tough time. And who else would? You said you don’t really have other friends in the city,” he said, and you frowned. “You have a good soul. It shines through your paintings, it’s clear in your attitude. You deserve good things.” You wanted to argue, but you knew it wouldn’t be fair. If he wanted to help you, that was his choice. It’s not like you had begged him for help or anything, either; all you had asked was for him to be a listening ear about your breakup. 

He stuck some bread in the toaster oven, left blueberry jam, butter, and honey on the table, and left for work. “I’ll make you another hot chocolate tonight,” he said.

That night, when he put down the thermos of hot chocolate on the coffee table in front of you, you said quietly, “can I ask for a hug now?” The temperature outside was dropping day by day, and every moment you spent alone you could feel yourself dropping, too.

“Of course,” he said, and he sat down on the couch next to you to hug you; this is when you discovered how it wasn’t just his soul that was warm. You buried your face in his chest, trying not to cry again, feeling frail and weak, clinging to the warm body in front of you that was holding you tight in his arms. 

“They were sick of me,” you finally admitted, still hiding your face in his chest. “They had all these problems with me and never brought them up even once. Never gave me the chance to fix them. Just got fed up and gave up, no second chances. And now they’re gone. I keep thinking that maybe if I give them time, it’ll click and they’ll realize how unfair they’re being to me, that maybe they’ll learn to communicate their frustrations in a healthy way,” you said. Yeonjun rubbed your back slowly. “It hurts. How could they just hide how much they were growing to hate me until it was too late? I thought we were fine and dandy, I thought maybe I’d propose to them next year. But they let their frustrations fester so much that they decided nothing was worth saving.” You were quiet for a moment. “Even if they did realize they’re in the wrong, no matter how long I waited, I don’t think they’d come back to me.” It stung like hell to admit, but you felt it to be true deep in your bones. 

“I think it’s for the best,” Yeonjun said slowly. “You deserve someone who cares enough about your relationship to put effort into keeping it healthy. You deserve to be cherished, not tolerated. And you deserve the opportunity to grow.”

You let him hold you like that for a long time, soaking in his temperature and letting him comfort you. It was the first time you’d let anyone other than a partner hug you in years. He still smelled like cinnamon, too, especially from up close, and you realized it was his perfume scent. You’d spotted the bottle in his bathroom before but hadn’t thought to look closely at it.

“Cinnamon,” you said, without explanation, just trying to ground yourself in the moment. 

“Do you want cinnamon in your hot chocolate? I have cinnamon sugar.”

You pulled away from him to look at his face, the low lighting in the room casting shadows on his face that emphasized his perfect features. Maybe he really was an angel. You drank cinnamon hot chocolate that night, and he made it for you like that from then on. 

On morning number four, Yeonjun accidentally slept in late. Couldn’t sleep from work stress, he’d said. You watched him make himself a coffee and pour it into a travel mug he’d take to work. 

“You always make me hot chocolate, but you make coffee for yourself,” you pointed out. You felt like there should be a question behind the statement, but you couldn’t figure out which question to ask. Did he not like hot chocolate? And if so, why did he always make it for you? He never offered coffee, did he think you didn’t like it? Why was hot chocolate his first instinct to make for you when he picked you up from the middle of the city that night?

“My mom used to make me hot chocolate when I had a bad day as a kid. I hope it’s comforting for you, too,” he said simply. “The coffee in the morning is to help me get through the day. And I’m really going to need the extra boost today.”

So that evening, when you knew Yeonjun would be home soon from work, you decided to make him a hot chocolate. You’d watched him do it enough times that by now you knew where the chocolate and the sugar was, and you knew which mug was his favorite, and you knew how long he warmed up the milk. So when he walked in and put his things down, exhausted and totally beat, you handed him the hot chocolate, and he just looked at you in surprise. 

“Can I hug you?” He asked, and you nodded and took him in your arms.

Yeonjun really was like an angel, one who’d fallen out of the sky to look after you in your hardest moment. You were looking at his face and your hands were on his back, but you swear you could almost see the halo and feel the feathers sprouting out from his back. 

You definitely thought of him as an angel when you were finally able to find a new apartment and he helped you move in, find new furniture, and get settled. 

You still thought of him as an angel every time you met at the painting club again and he offered his gentle words of advice and encouragement. 

You still thought of him as an angel a few months after the breakup when he spent the day after Valentine’s, what he called “St. Single’s Day,” driving you around the city and showing you his favorite spots, something your ex had never even done since they never seemed to have the energy to show you anything other than the bare minimum.

You still thought of him as an angel the third evening in a row you spent at his apartment that March, not even needing to ask what he wanted from the takeout place a few blocks away or if he was hungry in the first place, because of course he was hungry, the man had a black hole for a stomach; but this time when you came through the door with hands full of styrofoam containers of cheap Chinese food and he cracked a joke about you being a perfect partner, you felt your face flush. You caught yourself staring at the pout of his lips while he scrolled on his phone after all the food had been eaten during commercials in the middle of Wheel of Fortune.

You still thought of him as an angel that May when you kissed those lips for the first time on an evening walk by the river downtown, and he sighed happily into your mouth, his lips soft and eager and heavenly on yours, his hands gentle but wanting against your skin.

You still thought of him as an angel that August the first time you let his warm hands wander up your legs while you sat sideways in his lap watching a cheesy romcom on the couch, his fingers traveling slowly between your thighs, and then up to your waistband and down again inside your underwear while you gave him small encouraging kisses, his brown eyes drinking in the way you melted under his heat, clinging to him as you sighed his name into his ear over and over.

—

And you still thought of him as an angel now, on the one year anniversary since your ex broke up with you. 

“I feel warm,” you answered, and noticed the morning light from the window shining a backlight on Yeonjun’s golden hair. He turned to face you. His hair was perfectly tousled from sleep, in a way that you wished you could preserve its perfectness and its soft backlit shine in your memory like a picture. But you also wanted to touch it, so you reached behind his ear and tangled your fingers in his hair to pet him. This made him smile, his soft cheeks plumping up in the most kissable way. So you did; you leaned in and kissed his cheek, and he turned his face until he caught your lips with his own, and pulled you close. You kissed him eagerly, wrapping your legs around his, and he tugged your hair gently in response.

It still hurt, though. Being abandoned the way you were abandoned last year doesn’t just heal in an instant, or even a full year. You still felt hesitant to call Yeonjun your boyfriend; even just saying the word still made you feel terrified. 

Yeonjun could sense your thoughts start to wander through your kisses. “Hey,” he said softly, breaking away, and ran his thumb over your cheek. “Hot chocolate?” He offered. He hadn’t made it for you in several months.

“With cinnamon, please,” you said, and he got up.

“All I ask from you in return is to not let the bed get cold,” he said. 

“Aye, aye,” you said, and sprawled your body across the soft sheets. 

You wished it was easy to just let the past go. You wished it was easier to just move on from the pain. You weren’t sure where the future would take you, but you hoped it involved blueberries, honey, hot chocolate, cinnamon, and the angel of warmth that fell from heaven.

a/n: thank you for reading my first fic on tumblr! this was totally self indulgent so i hope it was enjoyable in some way to you too :) let me know if you liked it!

[allimocha]

AlliMocha Fancuries FYC Post!

Hi Hello, Pip Pip Cheerio! Fancuries is here once again! And boy do I have something to share this FYC post.

So, I haven’t worked on Bittersweet X Daydream in a hot minute if I'm gonna be honest. A lot of other obligations have been taking time away from my main fanseries sadly. BUT I do have one new thing to show you guys regarding it.

…

Hear me out.

A redesign.

I KNoW I know I said no more redesigns, but after having these characters for so long, it's only natural that I'd want to change how they look. Specifically, there is only one character that I've redesigned so far anyway…

Lei Sandiego / Cure Spice

“𝘔𝘺𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘚𝘮𝘰𝘬𝘺, 𝘎𝘶𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘈𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘓𝘰𝘺𝘢𝘭 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘮𝘢! 𝘊𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘦!”

Age: 16 (Second year/Sophomore)

Birthday: September 18th

Height: 5’6”

Ethnicity: Hispanic American

Cure color: Blue and Scarlet

Essence: Charismatic

Often referred to as “The school beauty”, Lei is admired by almost all of her peers. Her amazing charisma, along with her intimidatingly cool and beautiful looks immediately captures everyone’s attention. But despite this, she’s really just a big fashion geek. She prides herself in her impeccable style savvy-ness and studies the latest trends all the time. Lei is also a very confident person, sometimes to the point that it can be overbearing, but she’s never arrogant and always means well. She’s a hopeless romantic and is constantly trying to look for someone who likes her beneath her looks. Although she’s fashion-centric she’s also very athletic, being the co-captain of the girls' volleyball team, and so devotes time to doing both hobbies.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

That's not all, however, because I also have a new series that I've been working on. A crossover series if you will. Based on one of my favorite Disney movies of all time:

Sugar Rush! Precure

A group of girls go to the arcade after school every day to hangout. They excel at most of the consoles there, notably the racing games. One day, Vanelope finds a weird token like she had never seen before, as it was engraved with intricate patterns and a shiny gold. When she attempts to use it in a racing game, it flashes in the machine and floats out as another trinket (henshin item). At that moment, a mysterious person is creating havoc outside the arcade, clearly looking for something. He spots the trinket in Vanelope’s hand, and we all know what happens from here.

Yep! Cures based on the sugar rush racers from Wreck-It Ralph! So far, I only have 2 of their designs, but I'm still completely in love with where this is going. Speaking of which, lets show those two off!

Vanelope Von Schmitt / Cure Sweets

Age: 16

A very confident girl, Vanelope is definetly the ray of sunshine that brightens anyone’s day. She’s very friendly, but is also not afraid to tell it like she sees it. She also has a habit of being overly sarcastic or jokey, which can come off as annoying to others. Not really good at school and overly clumsy, so sometimes covers her negative emotions with jokes or sarcasm. Adores arcades and always states it’s her home away from home.

Tabitha Mathews / Cure Taffy

Age: 16

Very rich and spoiled and it definetly shows. She can be cocky and overbearing at times, but she’s got a good heart. One of the more popular girls in their school, and accells in all her extracurriculars. Due to her father being principal, people have rumored that all her grades were boosted due to nepotism, but that’s not true. She works hard to get where she is, and while vain and sometimes a little rude, she isn’t afraid to help others in need. Goes to the arcade to get away at times.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

So that’s all I’ve been working on so far! I can’t really say I’ve done much with my fanseries over the years, but hopefully you all like what I do have!

Byieeee~!

[romanoffsbish]

Wrapped up in You

Scarlett Johansson x Fem!Reader

“Natasha” x F!R 😏

Happy Valentines Day angels 🥰

Warnings: None 🥰

Smut: Role-Playing: Daddy (Nat) / Kotenok (R), Choking, Oral/Fingering (R), Thigh-Riding(N), Degradation ; Mommy (SJ) / Baby (R), Double-Sided Strap, Praising, Aftercare 🥰

18+ | Minors DNI

"Scarlett! I'm being serious! Which one?!," the blonde only laughed harder at your whining., "Baby, did you intend to be the disco ball at Evan's Valentine's Day bash?," she rolled her eyes when you tried to intimidatingly glare at her, then she glared right back when looking at the red dress in your hand., "Because if not then you might as well stay here with me since the other dress will leave you nearly naked."

Scarlett smirked when you turned away from her in a huff, as slyly as possible she clambered out of the bed to wrap her arms around you from behind, her lips pressing to your bare shoulder causing her smirk to broaden as your body shivers, her plan slowly falling into place.

———

"Scar, I don't want to embarrass myself, or you so please just help me.," you stomped your feet, turning to face her with the softest pout, she frowned sympathetically., "My love, you could never embarrass me, whatever you choose to wear will be fine; you're beautiful in anything."

"So, if I chose to wear sweats with a messy bun you'd be fine?," she exaggeratedly pursed her pink lips out in a moment of contemplation., "I'd love it, because above all else your comfort is of the utmost importance to me, plus, you know I love your lazy day look; it's really hot.," you rolled your eyes, but then you took notice of her unwavering gaze, it was soft and it was accompanied by a loving smile that made you feel like melting from where you stood., "Oh."

Scarlett watched intently as you eventually figured out how honest she was being., "Yeah.," she breathed out, shaking her head in relative amusement before leaning in to press a kiss to your lips., "You're beautiful Y/N/N, my 'image' only ever flourishes with you by my side.," the care and conviction in her voice brought a few tears to your eyes, and the woman frowned.

"My love.," she coo'd while cupping your face., "Let's just stay in.," she offered with a smile, but you shook your head., "No Scar, I'm fine.," you softly kissed her palm., "Plus it's not everyday that Chris actually has a girlfriend."

The blonde starlet pressed her forehead into your shoulder as she laughed at your tease., "Baby, that's not very nice.," you deadpanned., "The truth doesn't care about Evans feelings.," the both of you held eye contact for a brief moment before both erupting into bellyaching laughter. Your smile was brighter than normal as your chest filled with pride for making her laugh so hard, and Scarlett found the happiness a sight she never wants to go away.

"I'm being serious Y/N, they won't even notice our absence, and I have more pressing matters to attend to.," you quirked a brow., "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah!," she affirmed, nodding her head while smirking at you., "Like what?," she leaned her body into yours, and chuckled as you gasped., "Like you into the mattress baby, until you scream for me to stop, and even after that."

"Scar.," she pressed herself into you even harder, the bulge in her suit pants rubbing against you deliciously, and hopefully curbing your rebuttal., "We can try out your idea..."

Scarlett watched every bit of resistance leave your body as a wide smile overtook your face., "Really?!," she nodded then pecked your lips., "I'll have Edward pick you up in an hour love, wear that little red number and I'll meet you at the bar of the Pierre hotel.," she giggled at your shocked expression., "Scar that's expensive."

Then she rolled her eyes., "You can't place a price on my love for you angel; see you soon."

—

"Thanks Edward.," the man smiled at you kindly., "It's my pleasure Mrs. Johansson.," you returned the gesture then slid him a crisp $100 bill., "Happy Valentine's Day Ed, do tell Lily that I said hello, and that her chicken dumplings were to die for. Goodnight."

After shutting the door you stood there in awe, your dress rippling against you as the wind picked up behind you as the car sped off. Scarlett had exquisite taste, the outside of the tall building alone was worth marveling at. Upon entering you found it only got better, the decor was gorgeous, and made you feel like you were at a prestigious event like the Met Gala.

The alarm on your phone went off, signaling to you that you were only five minutes away from the time you were meant to meet your wife. After speaking with the woman at the front desk you made your way to the bar with the instructions she gave you, and settled down at the luxurious bar., "One dirty martini please."

A grin overtook your face as you realized this was likely how your night was always going to go. Scarlett's probably been planning this for months, and Evans party was her last priority. The moment she brought up your whispered about fantasies you were a total goner, and you know she knew that, the smirk was evidence.

Sipping on the drink in your hand brought your excitable nerves down ever so slightly. Your wife always made you incredibly nervous, she was just so breathtakingly gorgeous, and it didn't matter how much she told you she wanted you you still found it hard to believe. Scarlett was Hollywood's IT girl, and well you were somehow hers, it left you astonished.

Scarlett watched you from afar, the way you were leaning against the bar had your breasts perfectly pushed up, eyes of several patrons took notice too, and suddenly she was on the prowl., "Wow, aren't you a total stunner.," the familiar rasp came from your right, the deep lilt to her tone had your body shivering., "Might I buy you a drink gorgeous?"

"No thanks, I'm married.," you replied in a low tone as you wriggled your ring clad finger before her face without even turning to look at her., "Funny, I don't recall asking if you were."

"What's the harm in sharing a drink with me?," she purred, her hot breath now flowing across your collarbones as she'd leaned in close., "Because drinks hardly ever mean drinks to women like you.," she chuckled hotly., "Women like me, hm?," her fingers wrapped around your chin, forcing you to look at her, you lost your breath at the marvelous sight., "Whatever does that mean, kotenok?"

Scarlett bit her lip as she heard your affected whispered curses, the immediate darkening of your eyes nearly made her resolve crumble., "I'm Natasha, and my eyes are up here.," she teased, her hand however reached down to link with yours, role play or not she wanted you to be at ease., "Might I get your name too?"

"Y/N, um, Johansson.," you swallowed thickly, the sight of your wife standing there in a black, skintight dress left you near to speechless, add in the curled red wig, and the blade holstered to her thigh and you're not even sure you knew how to breathe anymore., "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you as well kotenok.," Scarlett broke character momentarily as she smiled at you in the way only she ever did, because of course you'd remain polite even in role play., "I'm not sure where your wife is dorogoy, but I do believe someone as beautiful as you should be cherished on this very holiday.," she stepped in closer, her body pushing your back into the bar., "Accompany me to dinner, will you?"

Natasha took your hand in hers without even waiting for your answer, escorting you to the incredibly fancy restaurant, Perrine, that was located within the hotel. The redhead ordered their finest bottle of wine, then she scoped out the menu for the both of you. Scarlett knew you well enough to know you’d be too out of it to really order for yourself anyways. Which is why when the waiter returned she ordered shrimp cocktail for the table, a chicken caesar salad for you, and for herself she order the filet mignon.

Dinner was relatively quiet, the both of you were too enamored by the other’s beauty to entertain a trivial conversation. Hunger faded in ways, but it roared in others while you were subject to the intense gaze of the woman sat across from you. Natasha was sipping the last of the wine from her glass, but her eyes never once left your body; drinking you in as well.

“Tell me kotenok.,” her hand slid from her now empty glass to gently lay over yours., “Would you be a dear and let me fuck you senseless?”

Natasha smirked when she felt you shiver under her subtle touch., “Your wife will never have to know.,” she added with a teasing smirk, you smiled softly at your wife shining through, but you were brought back to the situation when the redhead squeezed your hand, her patience was running thin., “I’m waiting…”

Meekly you nodded, and that’s all she needed to call the waiter over, pay the tab, then whisk you right off. The two of you rushed into the elevator, the redhead hurriedly pressed the button for the 28th floor, then with that taken care of she shifted to you., “I can’t wait to taste you.,” her lips slammed to yours, catching your needy whimpers, and you melted into her.

Natasha pulled your dazed form behind her as she excitedly rushed to get the key card in the door of their Park Suite. She pushed the door open with vigor, and as soon as she had you inside she pressed you into it., “Fuck, I’ve been thinking about your tits all night kotenok, can I please worship them?,” her lips pecked yours before traveling down your jaw, she was marking your skin., “No marks…M-my wife.,” you whimpered and she harshly bit the skin.

“She won’t mind sharing, now shut up.,” she growled, then continued working on marking you up, your mind went extremely fuzzy as her words reverberated around your mind. Scarlett was never one for harshness, but you couldn’t exactly lie, her aggression had an effect on you; if she were to just reach between the apex of your thighs she’d find quite the flow of arousal.

Her hands however traveled to your back instead, soft fingers tugging harshly at the zipper of your dress and pulling it down until it pooled around your hips., “Fucking gorgeous.,” she groaned when met with your bare chest., “You’re the cutest thing I’ve ever encountered kotenok.,” you smiled at her, then a whine left your lips as she sucked your nipple into her mouth., “I can’t wait to fucking destroy you.”

The way she bit down on your nipple while her fingers twisted the other had you burning up, the need for her touch everywhere all at once was at an all time high., “Natasha, please.,” she released your nipples, her stony eyes met yours while her hand moved to your throat., “Don’t call me that.,” there was an edge to her tone you weren’t used to, you could feel your walls throbbing around nothing in response,, and the way she squeezed your throat only increased your arousal., “Call me daddy.”

“Fuck…,” you choked, the idea alone left you even dizzier than the lack of oxygen did., “Please daddy, I need more.,” she met your pleas with a smirk, using her grip on your throat she pulled you in for a sloppy kiss, her other arm wrapped around your waist, and she even managed to stumble the both of your bodies over to the bed without any trouble.

Natasha tossed your panting form onto the mattress., “Oh kotenok, you dirty, dirty girl.,” she had ripped your dress off to find you not only went without underwear, but that your thighs were painted in your dripping arousal., “Daddy’s treat.,” her hands settled over your knees for leverage, but more importantly to keep you wide open., “You ready kotenok?”

“Mhm, yes daddy.,” you hummed, and she placed a kiss to your cheek., “Good, because I don’t think I can hold back on devouring you any longer.,” in direct contrast her lips began a slow pace as they trailed down your body., “I want to feel you pulsing around my tongue kotenok.,” her tongue swirled around your nipples far too fast to be anything short of teasing, then she continued down your body.

Natasha loved the way your body squirmed the closer she got to your cunt, a devilish laugh rumbled from her chest when you whined, she had skipped right passed your glistening lips and instead lowered herself to be able to kiss up your legs, starting from your ankles, and moving up them slowly, oscillating from left to right to keep you perpetually guessing.

However much fun she was having teasing you it was over once she reached your thighs, her own patience went right out the window at the taste of you., “Fuck you taste sweet kotenok., she groaned, and licked a line up your thighs., “I need to taste you straight from the source.”

The redhead dove right in, her pace was brutal and rooted in carnality, your head was absolutely spinning with each thrust of her tongue. The depth she was able to reach when she suddenly pushed your thighs up was breathtaking—you were a literal gasping mess as she brought your trembling form to bliss with the newfound pressure of her thumb on your neglected clit., “Daddy, o-oh fuck!,” your walls held her tongue in a vice grip, her eyes rolled to the back of her head at the feel of you pulsating, her own core now throbbing in sync.

Natasha wasted no time replacing her tongue with her fingers, she was roughly pounding her digits into you while desperately chasing her own release on your thigh, the both of you were moaning languidly in corresponding breaths., “You’re so fucking tight kotenok.,” she panted., “Fuck, your wife must love pounding this sweet pussy of hers.,” your walls fluttered at the mention of your favorite blonde, but in the same turn your heart oddly ached with guilt.

“Just imagine her walking in on us kotenok.,” she chuckled out darkly., “Seeing as I fuck her wife so well, making you a trembling mess for me, I bet she’d be fucking livid.,” there was a faint trace of venom in her tone that had you wondering if Scarlett detested this fantasy of yours., “I know if you were mine I’d kill the person who thought they could touch you.”

This idea that you’d actually upset her makes your heart rate pick up, your body trembled but the blissed out woman fucking into you mistook it as a sign you were nearing your precipice., “Fuck, cum with me kotenok, drench daddy’s fingers!,” the redhead kept a steady rhythm with her fingers that had you flying over the edge of bliss with her, but the panic you were just feeling had you sobbing.

Natasha pulled out of you, a smirk overtook her face as she saw the flowing tears trailing down your temples., “How fucking pathetic.,” she mocked you, but when you whimpered pitifully it struck her heart, this wasn’t from being overstimulated, something happened and now your heart was failing to cope.

“Baby, what’s wrong?,” you heard the concern, the Natasha Romanoff facade had crumbled, and you were more than grateful for that., “Mommy, please… I-I.,” you grasped for her, and she was quick to press her lips to yours., “Shh, baby, mommy’s here.,” her lips were gentle as they continued to meet yours while her hand flew up to remove the clips and wig.

When she pulled away from your lips you whimpered, but as your eyes fluttered open you were able to settle as she smiled down at you., “What do you need my sweet girl?,” you bit your lip at the thought of what you wanted, the blonde above you saw the mischievous glint in your eyes too., “Mommy, wanna feel you deep inside me, want your cock so bad, please!!”

“Shh baby, no need to cry, mommy’s got you.,” she clambered off of you and made her way to find her suitcase she brought for this event. The red dildo elicited a squeal from you once you saw it dangling between her legs, and she chuckled freely at your much happier form., “There’s mommy’s happy girl.,” she gently kissed your lips., “Remember to breathe.,” and with that she was pushing the strap into you.

Scarlett was taking it slow, allowing you time to get used to the stretching of your walls, she was stilled within you while her lips tenderly kissed over the marks from earlier, she began to nip and suck at them, working to deepen them., “Mommy’s precious girl—all fucking mine.,” you whimpered., “Mm, all yours mommy.”

“Can mommy move now baby?”

“Please…”

Scarlett pulled the strap almost completely out of you, the tip was all that remained, and as soon as you began to whine she rutted her hips forward and you screamed at the sensation. Her hips began to continue this tactic at random, usually after she’d give you painfully slow, and deliciously deep thrusts. Every nerve in your body felt like it was burning, that pit settled deep within your abdomen was ready to snap with every thrust the blonde gave you.

“Mommy’s close too baby.,” Scarlett softly said, letting you know she knew—she always did; if your body was a map she’d have it memorized, and be able to reach the destination with ease. She’d spent years learning all your cues, and the adorable scrunch of your face, mixed with your clenched eyes and harsh breaths told her more than the resistance she’s facing below., “Cum with me baby, let mommy hear how good she fucks you, make a mess of these sheets…”

Scarlett catches your lips with hers as your back arches off of the plush mattress, her arm not holding herself up securing your front to hers as her hips continue to fuck the strap deeply into you to ride out both of your highs, she gasps affectedly against your lips when she feels your arousal drenching her thighs. Truth be told she nearly collapsed into you at the concept of making you squirt., “You’re just so hot baby.,” she groans as she’s lowering you back down, she follows you as she does she continues to kiss you tenderly., “So perfect.”

“Are you okay baby?,” you nodded, then you remembered Scarlett’s affinity for the verbal., “I’m fine mommy.,” you whispered., “Are you?”

Scarlett’s heart soared., “I’m perfect baby.,” she reaffirmed that by kissing you, slowly as if to savor the feel of your swollen lips, to kindly let you taste the remnants of your arousal, and to stay close as the both of your bodies recovered.

Your wife helped you walk into the restroom on your shaky legs, she held your nude body close, swaying you soothingly while waiting for the tub to fill up with warm water., “I love you.,” she beamed at the sound of your tender words, “I promise that I love you so much more baby.”

She pecked away your pout and subsequent rebuttals, they forcibly died on your tongue, only to be replaced by your tired giggles as she settled kisses all over your face., “Adorable.”

Once the water was a little over halfway your wife guided your bodies into the water, you sighed happily as the warmth enveloped you, and Scarlett took a moment to just admire you. You were leaned into her body with your eyes closed, exhaustion prevalent as she watched your breaths begin to slow. This time with you was always peaceful, being able to take care of you was her favorite thing to do, and the fact that you trust her this much boggles her mind.

After she finished washing the both of you, and the water began to run tepid she lightly nudged your shoulder., “Baby, it’s time to wake up.,” she ran a soothing hand down your back when you rolled over and nuzzled into her instead., “Room service is coming soon, come on love.”

“What for?,” you tiredly mumbled causing her to giggle at your sheer reluctance., “Well, if my memory serves me correct.,” she hummed, her finger tapping at her chin as she pretends to ponder the reason., “Champagne.,” your attention slightly piqued., “And?,” she rolled her eyes., “Chocolate covered strawberries.”

“I’m in.,” she snorted., “Good, then get out.”

Tender hands lathered your body in lotion that smelled of citrus, she kneaded your muscles, pulling appreciative groans from your lips., “Thanks Scar.,” she surged forward, kissing your lips in a show of ‘you’re welcome,’ then she moved on to applying The Outsets night cream to your pre-cleansed face, following it up with their eye cream and the moisturizing oil.

The process repeated with herself, you tried to help her but she shushed you, and moved your tired head to rest against her shoulder instead., “All done.,” she purred to stir you back to life. You pulled back with a tired smile and she was overwhelmed with her love for you., “Oh my beautiful girl...,” she kissed you tenderly, yet deeply, the need to feel your lips was forever present for her, and if not for the knock on the door she’d stay here awhile., “Arms up love.”

Scarlett had placed her hoodie over your body, then she settled you on the bed, before she walked away she turned the fireplace on and promised you a speedy return., “My precious little valentine, mommy will be right back.”

Scarlett returned to the bed as she promised, the sight of you so peaceful as you sat in her hoodie while watching the fire roar made her heart swell with an abundance of warmth. Love, it was all she felt with you around, she’s never loved anyone like the way she loved you before, and every time that thought scares her all she has to do is find your smiling face, and all the worries dancing within her disappear.

Worry had no place in her heart as she cuddled up next to you, passing over your bubbling flute and settling the tray of fruit in her lap., “Such a perfect, beautiful gift you are.,” she placed a kiss to your temple, then she fed you a strawberry, and followed it up with her mouth on yours, her tongue quick to savor the sweet taste that enveloped your mouth and now hers.

Once the bottle and tray were polished off you both shimmied under the covers., “Scar?,” she hummed, opening her tired eyes to peer into your beautiful set., “Yes my love?,” she could see how nervous you were, so she gripped your hand and cupped your cheek., “I’m ready.”

Tears immediately filled her eyes as she saw the unwavering truth in your watery eyes., “Happy Valentine’s Day. I hope this wasn’t anticlimactic, because I promise I got you something else too, but it just felt right to…”

“Baby.,” she chuckled over your nervous ramblings., “This is enough, you alone are more than enough, but what you’re offering.,” she paused, doing her best to hold back her need to sob., “It’s everything I’ve ever wanted for us. You’re going to be such a good mom.,” her arms tugged your body into hers further., “So are you Scarlett, you’re already perfect.”

Scarlett’s mind ran wild with flashes of the prospective future as you fell asleep in her warm embrace. From taking care of a pregnant you, to the birth of your children, and to even growing old with you. Nothing could compare to planning out a future with your soulmate, and the fact that you were hers made it better.

She doesn’t mind being yours for a lifetime, not at all, because you being wrapped up in her arms like this is the most natural part of life.

———

4,012 Words

💘 Kaitlyn 🥹

[onepiecestarry]

A Different Kind of Pirate - Part 2

Hi all, I recently did a poll to see what most people prefer to read and I will be switching the story to second pov :) hope this doesn’t mess anyone up. Thank you for the support!

Zoro X Reader

Masterlist

Part 2: A Routine

You wake up to see no one in the room. Thinking to yourself how odd it is Zoro can stay up so late and yet get up so early. You slip out of bed and go to the bathroom to change back into your regular clothes, leaving Zoro’s shirt folded on the table. 

You begin descending the stairs from the crow’s nest observing everyone doing their own tasks. You then spot the broody man working out in the tangerine grove, away from the rest of the crew. You smile to yourself thinking how silly he is to be so closed off and dark, but someone on the crew must you guessed.

You enter the kitchen to the amazing smell of waffles. Sanji sees you and quickly sets a plate down with fresh fruit and hand-squeezed orange juice. You take your place next to Nami and say, 

“Sanji, you really didn’t need to do all this for me. I’m okay with just a bit of cereal.” You smile. 

“A lady like you? Cereal? God no, over my cold dead body y/n-swan.” He says shocked you even suggested it. 

“Is he always like this?” You whisper to Nami.

“Yeah, unfortunately,” She says flatly back.

You both sit and enjoy your meals, chatting about random things and getting to know each other better. Eventually, Nami points out that Zoro hasn’t eaten yet and that Sanji should fix a plate up for him. He rolls his eyes and remarks,

“Fine, but I’m not bringing it to him.”

“That’s alright, I can. I don’t mind.” You giggle.

Weaving through the tangerine trees looking for the green-haired man, smelling the fresh air. It was almost like a maze with how many trees there were. As you’re about to give up and go out and back in again to start over, you back into something tall, but it isn’t a tree. 

You slowly turn around to the intimidatingly tall man in front of you. Sure, you were intimidated by him, but by no means were you scared. You found him cute and liked the reactions you got from teasing him yesterday.

“I brought you some breakfast!” You say with a big smile. 

“I don’t eat breakfast.” He says with a bite. 

“Well, pretty boys don’t stay pretty if they don’t eat. I’ll leave this here, but you should really eat.” You say moving the plate over to a bench. 

As you walk away you can feel Zoro’s eyes on you the whole time, as if you are a wild animal capable of doing any random movement at any time. 

For the rest of the day, you sit with the other members playing games, telling stories, or reading. You found to quite like Robin’s company specifically. You and her have a very similar sense of humor, and it feels comforting to be around her. 

-----

As the days go on you can’t help but believe Nami truly listened to their captain by setting sail for the farthest island possible. You weren’t complaining though. You had come up with a routine for yourself and quite enjoyed being on the Sunny.

Each morning you wake up and have breakfast with Nami and Robin, you then bring a plate to Zoro. He may say he doesn’t trust you but he always eats what you bring him. After that, you play some card games and such with Chopper and Luffy. You then help Frankie with repairs or his next project. After all that activity, you go back to the bench swing. This happens to be where Zoro naps in the afternoons. As he rests you read and enjoy the sun. Each night you all gather around a fire and enjoy the night. As everyone goes to bed you once again make tea for you and Zoro and ascend to the crow’s nest. 

After the past week and a half of this Zoro hadn’t warmed up to you like the other crew had, but that’s okay, you know he's different and he takes his time to trust people. But he never once rejected your presence, which you count as a win, especially with how much you tease and flirt with him. It was just too easy! You say something as simple as “Hey hot stuff” and he’s a red mess. It's quite cute you think, and it's not as if you're lying, you truly think he's attractive so why not tell him? 

---

You make your and Zoro’s tea, now knowing how he likes it after days of prodding him about it. You bring it up to him and hand him the cup, choosing to this time sit on the crow’s nest balcony with him. 

You both sit in silence watching the waves and stars while sipping your tea. 

“Zoro,” You say. He hums in response. “I forgot my pajamas in the wash.” 

“For god’s sake woman.” He says exasperated.

He moves to his closet once again and throws a shirt at you. He walks to sit back down where he used to be. You laugh at his reaction, and he looks at you a bit puzzled. 

“Why do you always stay up?” You ask curiosity getting the better of you.

“Someone’s gotta make sure no one attacks us while all these idiots are sleeping.” He states with a bit of a smirk on his face. It was faint but you could see the corners of his mouth fighting a smile. You hum in response.

“It must get lonely huh, do you ever get tired?” You ask.

“No not really.” he blandly says.

“Liar.” you say with a smile.

“Excuse me?” He looks at you with bewilderment and a smile on his face.

“I see you in the middle of the night on the balcony asleep, why do you think you always wake up with a blanket in the morning?” You laugh.

“That was you?!” He exclaims. “I thought I was tripping out or forgetting I had gotten a blanket the night before.” He says with surprise. You laugh at his response. 

“How about this, I’ll stay up now and you can get some sleep and then when you wake up, I’ll get some sleep?” You say with a smile now looking away back towards the waves crashing against the boat.

 He hums while thinking. 

“And that way we can both sleep in the bed, and you won’t have back problems.” You try to say while stifling a laugh. 

“I do NOT have back problems!” he says. “But it would be nice to sleep in a bed again. Alright, you’ve got a deal. But if I find you sleeping on the job, I’ll throw you overboard.” he smiles.

“You would never” You feign hurt, “Who would be here to compliment you all the time pretty boy?”

He turns away and walks inside before you can see his reaction, but you know he was trying to stop a smile. He quickly returns with a blanket and says to wake him up if you get tired. 

You stay up for a while, quietly finding constellations or humming to yourself. Eventually, you start to get sleepy but fight it off so Zoro can get some much-needed rest. But alas you couldn’t fight it off forever. 

The next day you wake up in the bed wondering how you got there. You sit up and look at the side table seeing a plate of breakfast and a note. 

The note read: 

Thanks for taking the graveyard shift last night, I’ll think about not throwing you overboard since you helped me out

Z

You smile as you read it and bring the plate to the table. You sit quietly eating, looking out at the beautiful sky.

Later, when you joined the crew, they all asked what caused you to sleep in so late. You told them you started helping Zoro with the night watches so he could get some sleep too. They all nod at your sacrifice. 

Suddenly their faces look serious and you ask what's wrong. 

“We need to go to Dressrosa y/n.” Nami says.

“Oh, why is that?” You question. 

“We just got word from our ally Trafalgar Law to meet up before going there to form an attack on Doflamingo.” Robin states.

“Oh wow, I see, okay. And what do you need me to do? Do you need to drop me off at a nearby island or something?” You say hoping that it won’t come to that. 

“No! We want you to help us!” Luffy yells.

You smile at his request and nod. Frankie leaves to retrieve Zoro before you all start to plan everything. As Zoro walks back you smile at him, receiving the regular small nod. 

The plan was to meet up with the heart pirates and proceed to Dressrosa to plan the attack. We all wanted to take down Doflamingo. You especially, he has always been on your ‘hit’ list but you never thought you could take him alone. You are grateful that you are now with two crews that can. 

You smile to yourself thinking about how different life is now. Hoping not to go back to how it was before. 

-

Part.3

- 

I hope you enjoyed part 2! I am trying to write longer parts because I hate it when stories have short parts, turns out it's hard to do! But the next part should be up tomorrow if I stick to my schedule! Thank you for your support as a new writer! :) 

[missmoonfrost]

A bad date - a wolfstar microfic

@wolfstarmicrofic

June 5 - Gold Words: 730 Warnings: Alcohol, Threats of violence, Threats of sexual abuse

The pub is unusually crowded, as were the two they passed because of lack of room. Remus notices a woman trying to squeeze past and takes a step back to let her through, only to bump into someone behind him.

“Watch it!”

“Sorry, sorry!

How the other man manages to both steady him and avoid spilling the three beers he’s holding is a mystery. He flashes Remus a stunning smile.

“Are you ok?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Are you celebrating the gold?”

“The gold? Off course. Eh… Which sport?”

The man throws his head back laughing. It’s a beautiful carefree sound.

“Actually, I’m on a date.” Remus admits.

“Oh. Whit whom?”

Remus grimaces awkwardly and points to the man drunkenly arguing with the bartender.

“Oh… Wanna come sit with us?” The man points to a table where a sporty guy in glasses smiles at him and a friendly-looking redhead waves.

“Really?” Remus takes one quick look at his poor excuse of a date, that’s now lying half across the counter, and does not feel too bad about ditching him.

“This is Lily and James. I’m Sirius.”

“I’m Remus.“ He makes a half-hearted wave, places his gin and tonic on their table, and slides into the outer corner of the sofa. He doesn’t want to intrude but is thankful for somewhere to sit.

“So, where did you meet this… eh… charming guy?”

Remus chuckles at the disdainful tone. “Grindr,” he admits. His default is to lie to people he doesn’t know. But they have already seen the guy, so what’s the point?

“You can do better.” Sirius takes a big swig of his beer.

“I sure hope so.” The man in question is now singing loudly and Remus hides his face with a hand to further underline how embarrassed he is.

Sirius smiles at him. A small secretive smile that gives Remus butterflies.

The three soon dives into a discussion about the newly won match. Remus is still not sure which sport, but he prefers quietly watching his unexpected savior over getting involved in the conversation anyway.

His shiny black hair is held in a loose bun, that a few strands artfully has escaped. He wears a plain white button-down with the arms loosened just enough to give a glimpse of tattooed forearms. A pentagram around his neck and earrings all the way around the cartilage makes him stand out. As if the sharp features and flawless skin of his face aren’t enough.

The peace is broken when the buffoon unfortunately being Remus' date spots him and promptly staggers over.

“C’mhere. Let’s go!” He demands and pulls briskly at Remus' arm.

To avoid disturbing his tablemates too much Remus stands up and takes a step while apologising. “Look, it’s not working out. I’m sorry.”

“Wadd’you mean?”

“Just… I’m not interested anymore. Have a good night.”

“Well, I’m not done with ya.”

The tone makes Remus shudder despite the hot air in the crowded room. He stumbles backward and grips the table top behind him with both hands.

“Is there a problem?” Sirius’ voice rings crystal clear over the murmur. In the corner of his eye, he sees Sirius exchange a look with James and start rolling up his sleeves in a very deliberate fashion.

“M’not talkin to you, am I? Just want my boy’ere. He's mine.”

He smiles a greedy smile, making Remus' mouth go dry. Remus closes his eyes and shakes his head.

Sirius gets on his feet with James not far behind. “Leave him alone.”

“Just ‘cause you wanna fuck’m!”

“Maybe I do.” Sirius replays calmly as he gathers the front of his shirt in his fist and drags him close to his now intimidatingly cold face. “That’s none of your business. Now leave.”

The arse finally seems to grasp the threat and totters off.

“Thank you,” Remus whispers. He sits back down and tries not to shake too much. Everyone is quiet and Remus anxiously wonders if they are mad at him for ruining their night.

“Bloody hell” Sirius whispers.

One by one, they all start laughing from dispersed tension. James buys them all a round of beers, deaf to Remus' protests. Sirius starts making one joke after the other, intent on making Remus laugh.

And when he two beers later walks home with his new bodyguard Sirius’ arm around his shoulders, he feels like it’s he who won the gold.

[crybaby-bkg]

wanna bug Toji soooo bad while he’s on the phone. his ass doesn’t have a job so it’s not like he’s discussing important business, but he likes to make it look that way. phone tucked between his shoulder and ear as he uses one hand to rub circles on your exposed thigh, the other flipping through the tv channels. he’s speaking in a low tone, his eyebrows mused together in agitation as he calls the guy on the other line a barrage of insulting names.

and you’re just a simple person—the man looks hot as fuck like that and you just have to bother him. so you do, despite the side eye he gives you when you swing your leg over, foot in the air, right in his face. he swats you away gently before going back to his phone call, bites at your toes when you still try to wiggle them in his face.

"If you think you can lowball me like that, then you're stupider than I thought." Toji grunts to the other man on the phone, distracted once more. a little peeved that his attention isn't on you much anymore, you do what any little conniving imp would do.

you sit on his lap. backwards, facing the TV, looking over your shoulder at him with such an evil little grin that it makes his eyes squint to you in warning. but you've never listened much, especially when you know you'll be rewarded so plentifully in the end.

so you rock your hips, just slightly the first few times. your legs sat on either side of him, hands resting in the space between his legs on the bed, leaning your weight back on his hips that you sit against. instantly, you can feel the swell of him beneath his sweats, feel the thickness that you love to fill you up start to twitch when you circle your hips, grinding them oh so slowly against his covered cock.

when you look over your shoulder again, Toji only stares, the slightest lilt of his lip turning up at the corners. he tries to act unbothered, one arm bent back to rest his head against, the other holding the phone to his ear. but you can see through him, and feel just how bothered he really is.

so you up the ante; start to lift and drop your hips slow, slow, slow at first before the pace begins to build. you lean forward on your elbows, pull your underwear up until the curve of your ass is exposed, gasping from the friction, from the feeling of his cock rubbing so sweetly at your slit through the thin cotton.

you look over your shoulder once more, grinning, biting at your lip as you grind against him, close to completion. he can see it all in your eyes.

"Gonna call you back later. Got some important shit to take care of right now." Toji hangs up without preamble, gaze distant as he focuses on the ever growing spot of your arousal that starts to leak onto his own sweats.

but you're a little minx, with the way you scramble from his grasp before he can catch you, laughing when he snags your ankle to drag you back down. he's suddenly kneeling over you, grin sharp and ferocious, the straining of his cock through his sweats hanging so intimidatingly low, that if you lift your hips just a little, his tip would kiss your clit in the sweetest kiss.

"And where do you think you're going, you little brat?" Toji growls, dropping down to nip at the base of your neck, licking over your pulse point.

"Not letting me off the hook that easy, huh?" you tease, hands splayed beside your head in surrender, just wanting a little bit of the chase before the devouring. and by the look in his eyes, you know you'll only be bones by morning.

"Not in a million years." he promises right before the inevitable pounce.

[chokchokk]

𝐧𝐨 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐞 [𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐬] | choi san x fem!reader

PART ONE of : have your way with words, be my people pleaser 

“San, what else do I have to do? Draw it out? Do I have to beg?”

𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜 : You’ve always been able to read him like a book, but for some reason you still fold for San.

"You've never begged."

𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎 : fluff, smut

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 : 6.9k

𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 : teasing, painful attempts at flirting and joking, vaginal fingering, no usage of y/n (forgive me), vaginal sex, pet-names

𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚜 : considered for revision

𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎 : this was like the first choi san smut i've ever written and i was trying to find my tone and omg i actually don't want to re-read it it's probably SO CRINGY omfg. i'm sorry for any icky moments i did not know any better 2 months ago LMAO this is also the only part that's pure "fluff" just fyi because i hadn’t planned this to be a series yet !!!!

He’s biting his lip, rolling his head to the back, trying his very best to stay focused on the paper he’s working on, all while you look at him in awe from the other side of the table. His glasses have slid dangerously close to his nose tip and the hair clip you’ve put into his hair to hold it together has lost all of its strength already — you really have to pull yourself together to not carefully slide one of the locks away from his eyes. 

Yes, San is a complete mess, and undoubtedly failing at hiding it. He probably doesn’t want to ruin the late library ambience, being the thoughtful Sannie he is, or at least not destroy the study sessions by not focusing on work, but the infuriated tapping with his pen against the wooden table isn’t covering any of his angry grunts. 

But even if you’ve noticed his desperation an eternity ago and have been deeply distracted by it ever since, you can’t bare to tell him that you’ve already given up. You guys have promised each other at least one is going to get this session done, so San be it, you tell yourself. If you have counted correctly, there are just ten minutes left on the clock, he should be able to do that, no matter how stressed he is.

And usually, you’re optimistic he’s able to do it, but you’ve never seen San’s eyes darken like this before. On normal days, he’s all smiley and giggly, squeaking words of helplessness at tasks that overwhelm him, covering up his frustration very well. Of course you can still look through his façade and say things like “San, let’s take a break” or similar things, but that’s only when he’s smiling still. 

Maybe it’s because you’re both studying for finals that there’s a lot of competitiveness or ego involved. Anyhow, you don’t want to get yourself involved in that, no, don’t want to resolve it at all, actually.

Let’s say it like this; San is scaring you, yes, but he is also being incredibly hot and  turning you on so much without knowing it. You can’t help but watch his dissatisfaction being gulped down his freckled, thick neck, and observe his Adam’s apple moving up and down. You draw a trail along his jawline and the loose black T-shirt he’s wearing with your eyes, following his neckline until the rhythm of his heavy breathing is revealed by his moving breast. 

San knows a lot, yes, but what he doesn’t is that he’s a walking sex symbol with his broad shoulders, narrow waist and intimidatingly friendly face. He’s biting his lips with just no idea what his looks are doing to your privates this exact moment and his soft voice is not helping.

He’s at his last task now and you catch yourself be a bit disappointed, when he takes his hand to balance his head and covers his face with it. You could feel guilty now for not interrupting or lending him a helping hand, but being attracted to your designated study buddy for the longest time with a painful amount of allusions to it is way more straining you on an emotional level than the stalker-behaviour you’re showing. How San hasn’t caught up is baffling to you, and the amount of times you’ve tried to make a move only for him to be oblivious is painful. (Let it be known you were never forced to answer Seonghwa’s question of “would you fuck San?” with the honesty that you did, but his little sheepish smile after your nod is enough to confirm that he should know, but just doesn’t. Sure, it’s unclear until this day if he even understood the question or the answer correctly, but it just feels like you have done most of your part.)

“I’m almost done,” San murmurs— breaking the silence between you two in the library— his voice comparing to nothing more but a sigh. He’s tensed up, eyebrows furrowed, and he’s scrunching his nose a little bit to sniff his agitation away.

“Take your time,” you try to say as nicely as possible, attempting to calm him down. It does help, it seems, because San is straightening his back to take a deep breather, his eyes finally wavering away from the paper. You smile at him and get a head nod in return.

Sharing this short moment of just acknowledging each other’s presence, you confirm that San, regardless of how socially (sexually?) stupid he can be, is an intelligent guy after all, not to be shaken up by this little bit of studying. Straight A’s, perfect GPA, teacher’s favourite — you’re lucky professor Kang has put you in so many group assignments together, or else you would have never been able to meet with San like this on a Friday evening, studying for your finals.

“I feel like I ran run five miles or have to commit arson,” San jokes half-heartedly in a breath and you giggle, looking around to not disturb the other students with your laughter. “What’s stopping you?”, you ask playfully, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t know,” San answers and touches the backside of his head with both of his hands. “What’s stopping you, hm?”

You frown, the once raised eyebrow coming right back down, your amusement wearing down.

“What’s supposed to be stopping me?”

San pouts innocently and fetches the clip from his hair, black bangs falling to his face, but he doesn’t set his glasses, making him look at you with squinted eyes. They look even heavier now, eyelids covering most of his irises when he leans forwards to you: “You haven’t touched a single task since an hour now, why didn’t you tell me you were done?”

You don’t know why you pant in panic— it’s an understandable question, San probably noticed you stared at the man during the whole time he was the only one committed to the studying— and you’re afraid there’s this tension again, but not driven to the paper, but you.

“You, lemme think, looked too..”

You know your sentence can’t be finished in any way that would be positive. You would’ve liked to end it with “concentrated” or “in the zone” to give him credibility for his hard work, but San has been way too obvious struggling to hold on, and you’re not a good liar.

“… Handsome.”

It’s not a Freudian slip, if it’s on purpose, yes.

“You looked to good to be true, San. If you weren’t wearing the baggiest shirt from three days ago, you’d coin dark-academia realness.”

You always make jokes like these, it’s your expertise. They usually make San enormously embarrassed, which is the best part of it all: He, who was growling his frustration away, is now giggling, expression softening, as he scrunches his face together with a wide smile. The high-pitched noise awakens your motherly instincts— it’s these moments you could just melt away in adoration.

“You’re lucky you’re not a professor, because that look you gave that paper right there isn’t going to help anybody concentrate on their studies. People-pleaser? Teacher's pet? I wish."

“Ugh!”, San moans quietly, his dimples revealing that he’s deeply touched. He will never get used to your overly specific (and usually sexually connotated) compliments, but it’s better that way. San cracks his fingers to recover, but then covers his mouth to hide his blushing smile once more. Take that for two people-pleasing and validation-seeking students, one more focused on studies, one more trying to fuck than the other. He barely goes to parties, which robs you of the little chances of opportunities to make a move on him.

“Okay, I won’t lie to you, I was done long before you, but someone’s gotta be valedictorian this year.”

“Really nice of you”, San sighs— he’s gathered himself now and has put on his friendly smile again, “But I’m really done now as well.”

“How done?”

“To go home-done.”

“My home, I assume.”

“Of course.”

With his finishing sentence, you hold a staring-match again, which you lose, as San takes his pile of paper and stacks it vertically to organise his stuff. 

From here, the procedure should be simple. He drives you to your place (safe), maybe he’ll eat a midnight-snack with you (very likely), and maybe watch a movie (unlikely today) to then leave, if he doesn’t fall asleep during that. You already have the night schedule written out in front of you, and all you’re left is whether you’ll convince San for another study session tomorrow.

But then, in the car, San grabs the steering wheel but doesn’t start to drive.

You think he must be too tired and decide not to ask him. Honestly, you feel quite dizzy as well, but mostly because San has opened his mouth half-way now, audibly breathing in and out — it sounds like he’s panting. His tongue has also runned along his upper lip, making it glisten reddish pink under the parking lot-lighting. It’s unbearably arousing you. “Give me just a second,” he murmurs.

“Does your head hurt? We can just walk, you know,” you suggest, but San shakes his head: “No, that’d be inefficient and really dumb.”

“You’re the one dozing off, San, not me!”, you scoff and turn yourself around to face him, elbow placed on the radio. San opens one eye — it looks like he’s winking, his tongue pressed against this upper teeth. “And you’re being quite sassy, aren’t you?”, he grins and you swear you’ve never wanted to not shut up more in your entire life.

“If being sassy is what keeps you awake, I don’t see anything wrong with it, San,” you fight back, even more playfully this time, lips pouted to emphasise your mocking tone. There is a clear, lustful intention you’re trying to project, and secretly, you hope San notices it, but there isn’t any indication he isn’t already, which you find strange.

“Oh, you think I must be real tired, huh?”

San begins to grin and all of the sudden, things are happening very fast: His hands aren’t placed on the steering wheel anymore, one of them has moved to your chin, holding (and keeping) it up, after you try to back away out of reflex, the other is placed dangerously near to your hip — he’s propping himself against the seat, you can feel him breathe against your nose tip. His whispers expand like flames on your face. What has ignited this man? 

“San?”, you ask carefully, every bit of playful confidence inside you crumbling down to your guts. It’s not like you aren’t enjoying this still, in fact, you feel like you’re going to go savage and clash your face against his any second, but San’s finger is pressing so delicately, yet so firmly into your skin, it’s messing up your projected image of the cute little — unfortunately sexy — nerd in your head. You don’t want to admit you’re intimidated, but San has been extra scary since he said he wanted to light buildings on fire. At the same time, you’ve been waiting days, no, weeks for this and a tingle between your legs signals you that you’ve been prepared ever since. 

“Can’t go home yet, can we?”

His eyes are still dark, when you look at them through his glasses and there’s a bit of shine left on his lips, when you glance at them longingly. San’s breath is shaky, and you’re not sure whether yours is as well. You’re too focused on imagining the next scene. San has finally reached his burning point, it appears, and you’re too stunned to react verbally to his question. Are you seriously going to do it in the car, in the library parking lot?

“Buckle up.”

It is only now that you notice you haven’t put your seat-belt on. The sound of the plug clocking in takes you out of your reverie. 

“San, screw you. Oh my god, screw you so much.”

He laughs a dirty laugh, even more so devilishly, when he returns to his seat and immediately begins to drive out of the parking spot. Has he been acting? Fuck this. Hastily, you have to get into your original position and buckle yourself up as he has told you. This bitch, you think to yourself and stare holes into the car window, this motherfucking bitch.

“Just a little revenge for making me work alone because you wanted to make me valedictorian? Or what, because I’m— what was it? Too handsome?” His voice has turned softer immediately, teasing you with a sweet undertone.

“Okay, we’re even now!”, you laugh sarcastically, trying to not become sulky. You’ve subconsciously crossed your legs and arms already, and your whole body is turned away from the driver’s seat.

“Sure,” San answers and you can hear him press some buttons. “Music?”

You throw him a side-eye and take the AUX. 

“I could violate your ears so good right now,” you snap and search for a fitting playlist for this frightening night.

“You could try.”

When has San become a bully? How has it come to this? San is playing with you, more obviously than ever before — toying with you in the game you started. 

But let it be known you could never be offended by this man.

Because when you play the first song that came to your mind— it’s «Sexbomb» by none other than Tom Jones — it becomes clear that you are more than happy to be his gaming companion, levelling up the tension to the max, though it's not a sensual song per se.

It’s petty, but provocative at the same time. You’ve never gotten what you wanted, have never expected to get it, and the surreality of the scenery just a few seconds ago is enough to keep you stimulated for the whole drive, ignoring San’s big grin on his face, as he safely gets you home.

And of course San joins in for the midnight meal. Without having spoken a word for a quarter hour now, you open the fridge and cram out anything eatable. You should’ve went grocery shopping, there’s barely anything left. 

“Not so prepared, I see?”

“San, if you say one more word, I will—“, you shut the door of the fridge, revealing a San who’s leaned against the wall, crossing his arms, head thrown to the back to squint at you.

“You’ll what?”

He’s the worst and heaven knows he should know that as well. Every attempt to overthrow him fails, because nothing seems to break this man — you can’t animate this man for you own good, even when he’s try-harding to look cool. 

“You’re being a bitch today and I hate it.” Biting your lip, you rethink your sentence and shake your head, eyes not swaying away from the black-haired man. “Actually, scrap that, I hate that I like it way too much,” you hiss, ridiculing yourself and taking of your sweatshirt, leaving you in a sheer top. It’s warm, you’re hot, this situation be very easy to understand. 

He doesn’t know what to do. Or maybe he does, and he’s just being a pain in the ass again: both could be absolutely true, when he moves his head and musters you from bottom to the top, a huff leaving his nose. It seems as if he’s mocking and checking you out at the same time, licking his lips and biting his tongue. 

“San, what else do I have to do? Draw it out? Do I have to beg?”

You whine and you’re not one bit embarrassed about it, though San doesn’t even take it in the desperate way you clearly are.

“You’ve never begged.”

San is scratching his neck, acting like an innocent brat, much to your obvious disapproval.

“Come on, you can’t be that dumb, San, can you?”

“How would I be?”

“San, what the fuck does that mean?”

“It’s simple,” and San is pushing himself from the wall now, taking heavy steps towards you, “I can’t give you an answer to a question you’ve never asked.”

“I,” you begin to think of your next line argument, but noticing how he’s pulling his eyebrows together to throw you an almost belittling look through his lowered glasses, you give up, baffled about the reality. Replacing the next words, you pant.

“I’ll give you an answer, alright?”, San encourages you, taking one last big step. He’s standing in front of you now, in your little kitchen, next to the counter, looking down at you, free and available as he can be. 

“Whatever it is; yes,” he whispers, accepting something you’ve never offered him directly.

Of course San isn’t dumb. How could he have been, when you’ve been so obvious? There’s a shameful heat driving up your stomach and you bite your lip.

“Baby, I’m all yours.”

You could have kept teasing him for the way he was obviously lowering his voice to sound more authoritative or sexy or something , but no, it’s just too much. Being cornered by San, hearing him surrender to you with his words, but still in a way that made him dominant over you — that is just way too much. 

Seriously, all yours?  Where did he get that one from? Wattpad?

“Fuck right off, San.”

It feels like your brain splits in half, your conscience leaving the second you throw yourself at San, hands grabbing every piece of hair you can get to pull him down to your face, whispering insults into his mouth, as your heads meet. He just grins and licks over your teeth, tongue slicking against yours.

“Happily,” he murmurs into the kiss, his hands grabbing you by your hip and waist, pulling you towards his muscular body. He must think he’s being so funny and yes you would have loved to argue with him, but you’re weak in his grip, ruffled by the pure tension that has been brewing all those days. There’s wet noises and sucking to be heard and it’s all sending urgent signals to your privates. You will, no must fuck him, and you're going to fuck him better than whatever he’s expecting from you, just to blow his mind.

You let his hair go and tug at the seam of his shirt, prompting him to raise his arms and have his clothing be slid off his body. Eagerly, you come back to his lips while throwing the shirt to the side and take steps forwards, leading San to your bedroom. Entrusting you with the guidance, he walks backwards and falls onto the bed, breaking the kiss. With a grunt, San props himself with his elbow, but before he can tower over you, you reach your arm over his shoulder, grabbing the bed frame, trying your best to keep his broad silhouette under your eyes.

Your lips already feel numb and you swear you can feel something pulsating inside your pants, when you slowly slide onto his lap and let the warm fabric touch. After a bit of movement, you and San are both shuddering and whimpering, lips meeting again in the snake-like maneuvering. He’s becoming harder with every little suck at his tongue, twitching even, and in addition, you’re becoming too impatient as well to edge yourself like this. 

Your hands move to the zipper of his baggy jeans, and San is trying to take this as a sign he’s allowed to take off his pants, but you give his palm a little slap. He smirks and returns his hand to take a pillow, stuffing it behind his neck. You wanted to take control, but he’s way too comfortable with it, it’s annoying you, yet at the same time, you wouldn’t even know what to tell him at this point.

Opening the zipper and sliding a hand in, you trail the outer side of San’s shaft through his boxer-shorts with your finger to identify with what kind of girth and length you’re working with and comment “bigger than I expected”, as if you have imagined it before, which would be the truth, yes, but not smaller than the absolute unit he is possessing.

“Ah, really?”, San gutters, voice shaking with each little touch of yours, but never letting his guard down completely. You anchor his boxer-shorts and tug it down just until the point when his shaft jumps out. He gulps and opens his mouth to pant again, when you spit into your hand and palm his shaft to give it a nice stroke from the very bottom to the top, admiring the shine of it. You pump his penis, feeling the skin inside your hand slide with every movement, and make it grow to its final length that way. It’s fascinating, really, but you’re too busy to contemplate about reality. You take the initiative and get a taste of the wet mixture that is your own saliva and his pre-cum. You pump the part you can’t reach with your throat and in no time, San’s eyes are rolling to the back.

“That’s good,” he comments, going through your hair, which motivates you to go even deeper. Hitting the back of your throat, his girth makes you tear up, but you sit through it, since San is tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, caressing your head softly. You try your best to suck and slide your tongue over his tip, to which he immediately reacts. “Hmnh~”, he hums and you bathe in his pleasure-lorn breaths, until you kind of get a hunch of what he likes the best and continue to drive him this way. “That’s good… Hnnh- heek!”

Was that a weep? You thought the whines were high enough, but San is definitely hiding his high moans, trying to cough them out. You continue to bop your head and watch his aroused expressions with amusement; his eyebrows are pushed together to form a needy frown, teeth biting down on his lower lip, inflicting pain on himself. From what it looks like, he’s pretty close, his hand weakly lying on top of your head, hesitating to push you back, once you remove it. 

“Don’t cum yet!”, you demand, and San sighs helplessly.

“You’re edging me?”, he manages to choke out with a smirk, and San wipes away your tears from your cheeks. “As if I couldn’t get hard immediately after from just looking at you!”

You scoff, his directness has caught you a little bit of guard. You’re still trying to return to normal breathing after quite literally having been choked by his dick, not be attacked by his sudden strike of confidence.

“Can I undress you?”, he asks and you nod, all the hair he’s put away falling back in front of your face.

Once your shirt and bra is off with quick seconds of his hands at your back, San is taking his view all in, his plump lips parted and never to be closed again. Before you can wipe the grin from his face, he storms at your dekolleté, swinging his arms around you. His sucks are tugging at your nipples, after he pushes himself forward, one arm fully around your back, the other finding his way to your other breast to massage it. Moan after moan leaves your mouth and your head becomes heavy, falling to the back: his hand effortlessly catches it, finding safety in your hair. As you scratch his neck, grabbing it to pull him closer to your upper body, you repeatedly pant his name.

“Hm? What?”, he reacts, circling your skin with his tongue.

It’s so erotic, you think you’re going to cum untouched, pants on and all. San is leaving kisses everywhere on your torso, some wetter than the others. He is leaving a trace of saliva on your neck with his tongue, gliding against your chin with it, ultimately meeting your lips once again. It’s filthy, but just so, so erotic.

He’s still holding your breast in his hand, stimulating your nipples while filling your mouth with a mixture of spit and rhetoric (and very provocative) questions. 

“Feels good?”, San asks with a raspy voice, his nose scrunched amusedly, when he sees how messed up you are. Strands of hair are sticking on the wet spots of your skin, drops of sweat are dripping down to your collarbones. You’re already so disheveled. “Want me to continue?”

“Yes, pl—,” You can’t find the words, as they get lost somewhere in San’s mouth, once you give him confirmation. His tongue is exploring the inner space of your mouth, and his hand has become busy with taking off your pants. You kneel, making space to let your jeans slide off your thighs and you have to raise your legs to finally get rid of it. Your panties are still on, when he lets his hand slide between your legs. His hand feels warmer than the heat that you have become, and when San finds your clitoris through the fine fabric, you spasm to the front. You bury your face into his shoulder and bite a small inch of his skin, when he begins to stroke that spot with two of his fingers and nibbles at your ear and whispers sweet nothings into it.

“So wet.”

Sharp breaths escape your breast, as he begins to play for your swollen clitoris.

“Come on, tell me what to do. There must be some things on your mind, right?”

San is luring you into a false sense of control and you’re stupid enough to obey his command. It’s just like he said; you need him, you need San, and if he doesn’t stop acting like he doesn’t know, you’re going to combust.

“Fuck, San, just make me feel—“, and though you can’t exactly hear yourself whine out from all the licking happening at your ear and his callous finger caressing your most sensitive area through the fabric, you still know you’re sighing, “so good.”

Your eyes lose focus, when you feel your panties disappear from your pussy, the cold air surprising your sensitive spot.

San sneers and finger-guns you, but before you can sneer, he sticks it into your mouth, lubing his digit up with your spit to carefully ease it to your pussy.

He groans and moves around the moisture for a short moment. San has always had quite thick fingers, but it feels even more robust now, when it slides into you. You clench around him and move your hips to the painfully slow pace of his pumps.

“Be patient. We don’t want you to hurt, do we?”

That he’s staying the nice little Sannie even in this situation makes you want to go insane, but not more than the slight scissoring to confirm your stretched innards.

“Patient enough?”, you hiss and grind against his hand again, to which San only coos, “Patient like the good girl you are.”

By then, his words and movements are almost like magic, when he angles his finger a little bit and finds your g-spot, which sends you into a short moment full of sparks and bliss, but a long, aching eternity, when it’s only repeated in the unbearably long intervals after a little bit of pulsating. You’re feeling every movement in such a detail, as if his one singular finger is becoming one with your body, one with your senses. 

“Is this enough for you?”

You’re whirring and your mind is babbling nonsense from all the possibilities San is presenting you. Mushy and messed up, you move against his finger, which slips with ease through your wetness, while you try to figure out what you want more: San’s dick or San’s face.

“I’m waiting for an answer, you know,” San whispers, softly kissing your forehead, as he continues to finger you.

“Th- then eat me out,” you whine under your breath and something inside you churns, when he giggles and removes his finger. He raises you by your legs, pushing you by the hip at the same time. You’re on your back now, breathing heavily as San is aligning his face in front of your entrance.

“With pleasure,” he hums and spreads your legs with his elbows, putting you on full display. It’s much too late to feel embarrassed now. You’re not shaved, you basically haven’t done anything, but maybe the rawness of it all is what intrigues you as well.

He stretches the skin a bit with both of his hands, making it get used to the position, while he peppers soft kisses on each of your thighs, that tickle each spot of your skin. You relax into his hands and naturally, you exhale the tension out of you.

His tongue feels soft and hot compared to his finger, when he slides it from the very bottom to the top, sending a shiver to your spine. It’s sensual and slow, and it does appear to you that San is savouring the taste, pushing his whole tongue against your labia to get the full picture of it. You shudder, a mixture of your own pulsating muscle and his humming vibrating between your legs.

He sucks on your clit and you notice immediately how pleasured are, already grabbing your sheets and curling your toes, pushing your legs against his hands he’s using to keep you opened. “Fuck,” you whine and move your head to the back, yearning for more stimulation. A slight chuckle leaves San’s mouth, until he plunges his tongue into you whilst continuing to suck all the sex juice that leaks out of you. The breath leaving his nose warms your privates and you quite figuratively melt into his mouth.

This time, he doesn’t need a lot of searching for your g-spot with his fingers and you weren’t prepared to immediately be sent back to pleasure-haven. He slides through the rough walls from the inside of you and doesn’t leave any spot go untouched, while he catches anything leaving out of your pussy with his mouth, creating squelching sounds all around. 

The pleasure at your clitoris and the pitter-pattering inside you is slowly tying the knot, and you shut your eyes with unavoidable whines leaving your lips. It’s all happening way too fast for you to react to each and every motion.

“Fuck, San, don’t stop, I’m— Oh, fuck—!”

The wet sounds of San’s saliva being mixed with your sex fluids, and his fingers moving in- and out of you again, they’re all adding onto the roller-coaster drop of your orgasm, but San thirstily panting “cum, cum for me!” against your vulva —while his tongue is busy pleasuring you—, his hot breath condensing against your own heat, that’s got to be one of the many significant factors that finally sends you over the top.

You moan and drive your lower body against his face, thighs closing down on him to squeeze his head.

San doesn’t even think about stopping there though and keeps you up there: He thunders his finger to push your button continuously and get every remaining squirt into his mouth, his tongue shovelling it all in.

“San, I— fuck! Please, San,” you beg, though it’s not a plead for him to stop, but rather make this moment last forever. You’re shaking, your pelvis is trembling towards his sharp nose that’s dug into your private hair, before you collapse onto your mattress and San eventually stops, grinning pridefully.

His lips are swollen pink, eyes covered with a desirous veil and San has to swipe his bangs away from his face to look at  your exhausted expression that’s still recovering from that hell of a heavenly orgasm. He swallows whatever’s left inside his mouth and leans over to you in order to bathe in your bliss. Out of pure gratitude, you cup his face and kiss him.

“You look all messed up already,” he admits, and enjoyment can be heard in his voice. Returning the kiss, San prompts: “Can you handle a second round? Or want to handle a second round, that is.”

Still panting, you nod eagerly, your lips grazing against his repeatedly.

“With words, lovely.”

You whine at his mendacious, know-it-all smile and give him a slap. "Quit it with the fucking-, ugh!" With an airy voice, you groan: “Yes, San. Please. I can handle, want to handle— want you to handle me, right fucking now."

San pats your head, pressing another kiss on your forehead and crams through the night stand cabinet next to the bed, probably searching for a condom and finding an untouched package full of it.

“Freshly-bought or just unused?”, he asks jokingly, putting the hand on your cheek as if he was pitying you for your minimalistic sex life that he’s assuming. The other hand is occupied opening up the box. “When did you buy these?”, he lisps, holding the condom in his mouth to rip it open, “I hope these aren’t expired.”

“Expire my ass!”

Oh, he better know you were keeping those for a good reason every time he came over. (Though you’ll keep it a secret it took half a year to get them to use.)

“You should say how fortunate that there’s so many, San.” You sniff. “’Cause hell knows this isn’t going to be—“

San slips into the latex layer with ease and doesn’t hesitate to enter your hole with one big, smooth slide. His finger is nothing compared to the thickness you’re experiencing; you just feel full, the stretch inside you making you feel like your body is being turned inside out. Before you can finish your clap-back, a wrecked and whole-hearted moan leaves your mouth.

“Isn’t going to be what?”, San asks, lowering his upper body and ultimately pulling out a little bit, sticking a thumb into your open mouth, “The last time? Is that what it is? You know you’ll want this again? Really, sweetheart?”

You don’t even want to form words anymore and just nod eagerly, sucking at his finger that tastes slightly acidic.

“It’s so dangerous to say that, you know that?”, and he’s pressing his forehead against yours, his dark, deep eyes staring into you with suffocating concentration. His hand is buried deep in your scalp. “Because you don’t know how happy that would make me”, San purrs with a raspy voice, and an airy moan leaves his mouth the second he thrusts right back into you. “So, so, unfathomably happy.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. I’m going to make you my little happy whore.”

It has already occurred to you that San had taken it as a challenge to call you every pet name that exists, but for him to degrade you like that, after every single word of of his sweet-talk has entranced you into numbing euphoria, has now just taken you to another state of pure bliss. With every creak of your bed and tug at your hair, your vision gets more blurry. You can see San and only San, piercing through you with his genitalia and eyes.

“Did you get that?”

“Y- yes!”

"I don't think so."

Your forehead cools down, when San gets his body back up again and installs his hands at your hips to get a good grab and also drive himself even deeper into you.

This has been your wet daydream for the longest of time— and even if you apparently could have been fucking him already during all those hours, which is frustrating, yes, but so, so fucking hot— listening to San’s sounds of pleasure, seeing his vision get all hazed from it and watching his eyes moving to the back of his, makes it all worth it. 

He pulls in and out again, finding a steady pace to really feel your inner space expand and close down on him again.

“Are you going to fuck me stupid?”, you lisp into his finger, your saliva sliding down your lip, cooling your fever down.

You can feel he’s sweating as well, as your fingers search through the cold wetness of his hair. "Do you want me to fuck you stupid?”

“Yes! Yes, please. Fuck me stupid, San!”

And with that appellation, San removes the thumb from your mouth and collars your throat with an almost animalistic growl and thrusts with ridiculous precision and force at the same time, a loud clap echoing through your bedroom. You’re not sure whether you’ve made a mistake, but San is absolutely blinded by pure desire now. With a slight choke, you try to moan, his shaft moving in and out of you mindlessly.

As he pounds into you, you notice once more that San’s breaths are being cut short because he’s still trying to stay as quiet as possible and you stare him down, his fingers collaring your neck.

“I, I want you to—“, you stutter, gasping for air and trying to catch up with your shaken body, “‘want to hear you moan. Moan for me, San, please!”

He laughs a little bit, panting along your plead and places his lips against your earlobe, letting you breathe freely for the short moment he's roaring things into it, his hand tangled in your hair.

“You, hah, feel just as delicious as you taste. You feel so good around my big cock. I bet you’ve never, unnh, had a big cock like mine, haven’t you? Never had someone like me, shit, fuck you out like this. How, ah, fuck, long have you been fantasizing this, huh? Days? Weeks? Months? Stupid little girl, thinks I didn't know, haha."

His breathy moans are absolute angelic, and that’s all you can comprehend, when you slowly feel your mind drift away. He’s hitting the spots just right, pressing your buttons with aligned movements. His thrusts are becoming sloppy, your moaning more strained. You don't even care that San is showing you that everything you knew was a lie, or at least an act he's kept up to mock you, because if your obliviousness has led to this moment— his cock crashing through you with a pace that makes you fear the next morning— then yes, again, it was all really worth it.

"I'm gonna—", you whine, and you're cut off by his hand again. Your eyes can barely perceive his sex-drunk expression, when you feel the knot inside you preparing itself for explosion.

"You're gonna cum?", San asks, his heavy breathing making it sound like he's gasping, "Are you going to cum for me?"

"Yes, I am!", you grunt and the male licks his whole palm to lube it up in order to rub it around your clitoris for maximum pleasure. You shiver, your legs trying to free themselves from the heavy weight that is Choi San, and screams for mercy leave your mouth, your second orgasm sending you to heaven, hell and back to earth, when he pulls out and continues to slide his hand over your clitoris until you spasm away from his touch. In the meanwhile, San has taken the collar off your neck and resumed jacking himself off, moaning your name and other pretty words to himself.

"You're so pretty like this, fuck," he cusses, the squelching sounds in his hands becoming more inaudible. "So fucked-out, because of me— shit .. I'll—"

He grabs you by your head, pulling his own face closer to yours to meet your lips for the last time, quickly removing the condom. Sharing a deep kiss, he ejaculates onto your abdomen, moaning from his own release into your opened lips. You lay there, wordlessly, your brain both foggy and clear as it has never been. You feel your warm sweat dry refreshingly on your skin and San shuffles away from the bed, walking to the bathroom with practiced steps to discard the empty condom and return with a towel to get you clean.

"And?", he asks, as you search for your pillow to clench onto it, feeling the stretched skin inside you. Sure, San has somewhat prepared you for the fucking, but no metronome could replicate the cruel rhythm he made you cum with.

"What, and?", you ask him back, your voice a bit raspy from the loud moaning.

"How was it?" 

San looks completely innocent again and it baffles you that you're falling for it again, even when his hair is forming unholy strands, immoral sweat dropping from his chin as he speaks. It's a cringe-worthy question and you would have dismissed it, if it wasn't for the cuddle you got from him.

"Come on, was it up to your imagination?", San begs you to answer, burying your body between his heated-up arms.

"Yes," you answer weakly. "Sannie, you’ve.. You've done your job. That was S-Level people pleasing, really."

San grins, placing multiple kisses over your temple and forehead. "You have such a way with words," he comments, "good thing that it really brings you far in life, hm?"

Was this the right time to make dad-jokes?

No, but nobody has fucked you out like San, so you'll let it slide. Even the corny "eating you out for breakfast" quip he makes in the morning, when you both notice that the fridge is still very much empty, or the "from study- to fuck-buddies" monologue he holds on your drive back to campus, you'll all let it slide. 

(And maybe you're stating the obvious here, but poor Seonghwa is never going to forgive you for San's laugh after you say something sensational with "letting it slide" used in another context, this time in the narrow space of his residency-bedroom, his roomie having listened to all the sounds coming out of your mouth behind the thin walls.)

part two: “into it, too deep”