#DO YOU GUYS KNOW ABOUT THIS ONE YET (the shit i made up about them in my head)

[a1ecmcdowell]

dean winchester x angel!reader — innocence is a virtue.

or, how on earth is he supposed to corrupt you? you? or, dean's newest passenger princess is killing him slowly and violently.

cw, fluff but with sexual elements. mostly fluffy though. reckless driving DO NOTTT do this!! professionals only!! dirty minded!dean. honestly just horny!dean really. innuendos galore.

word count : 2.9k

notes, guys can i be so honest i have not even gotten to the seasons where angels come into spn. this is all based on the lil bits n pieces i know of the future stuff ok. ik i'm a fraud but BE GENTLE IF IT'S OOC OR ANYTHING < /3

req. by anon & in honor of kas's dean & angel fics bc i LOVEEE them

★ ˚⋆

dean, honestly, had never met someone quite like you. when he'd told cas in passing that he was about the most naive, innocent thing he'd ever met, all he did was give him one of those looks he reserved only for dean. he thought, then, that it was just because he was being a bit of a shithead, and cas was telling him without telling him so.

very quickly, he found out how wrong he was about both of his assessments.

the day you came down to earth and graced everyone, literally, with your presence, dean was smitten. never before had he met someone so sweet. so honestly pure. until you, he thought that purity was nothing but an ideology based on impossible feats. a pipe dream and a half for the faithful. no, the reality was that he just hadn't met you yet.

sam was pouring himself into research, too focused to realize that dean was all but whittling away in his starvation, so when he offered to go grab some cheap shit from the diner a few minutes from the motel, all he got in response was a mumble of agreement and a wave of his hand from him.

but you, who'd been sitting on the motel bed, stiff as if you had something stuck up your ass holding you in place, turned to him and asked to come with. that struck dean off kilter immediately, because he hadn't been asked for anything in a long ass while. sam just usually assumed he'd be writing shotgun wherever they went. john — no, he'd never ask his son anything, usually buried that sentiment in harsh demands and orders. cas asked him lots of questions, but permission was not often one of them.

and when he looked at you, read over your features and saw the genuineness in your wide, expectant eyes... god, how could he say no?

so you sat there in the passenger seat. dean had to buckle you in with a joke that flew right over your head — another joke you would not get, even though he was fucking killing it with them right now — about not wanting to send you flying if they got into a wreck.

you proceeded to unbuckle and buckle and unbuckle again a few times, seemingly fascinated with the click of the mechanism. dean wanted to be annoyed. genuinely. if sam had started pulling this shit, dean would have pulled over and drove a few feet ahead as a warning to cut it the fuck out.

but with you, it was adorable in its own right. god, it was! somehow it surprised you, every time it clicked, even if you'd already done it eight times. like, how did anyone expect him to get pissy at you when you were doing those sharp, surprised gasps every few seconds? a few more times and he'd be pulling over to give you something to gasp at, he thought idly.

and then winced, scrunching up his face, when he realized how deep in the gutter his head was. no, he wouldn't touch you. wouldn't even try to plant that idea in your pretty little head.

dean didn't want to corrupt you. if there was one thing he was certain of, it was that he wanted to keep that pretty little head as clear as his nose was, alright? he wasn't going to be the one to break you into what this world was, its hardships and its cruelties — and its more deviant pleasures.

but fuck, you made it so hard to keep his head straight.

you did this thing, he realized too, on that silent, clicky drive, where you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth when you were in deep thought. thought about what, fuck if he knew, because if you said something to him in the moments that he watched you do it, he'd never know. he was watching your mouth but not to listen.

dean was about to start reprimanding himself in his head, for what must have been the third time already, when you said something, nearly making him slam on the brakes in his surprise.

"how are you doing this?" you asked, as if that wasn't the vaguest question he'd heard in his entire life.

dean blinked a couple of times as he waited for elaboration that never came. he switched hands on the steering wheel, resting his right loosely over the gearstick. "doing..." he trailed off, shaking his head slowly in a gesture to make you keep talking, "what, exactly?"

you did not catch the hint, and he was probably a fool for expecting you to. it took a few more seconds of you staring very intently at his thighs for you to speak up, and by then, he was fucking squirming in his leather seat, trying to not let it get to either of his heads that you were so blatantly staring at his dick.

"this," you answered, twinges of frustration evident in your tone. he couldn't blame you. he was getting frustrated in this car ride, too. "making it move."

christ. he was going to hell. he was going to hell again, this time because of his own drifting thoughts.

"you're gonna have to be a little more clear, dove," he managed through his teeth, voice strained, "'cause i don't think we are on the same train of thought right now."

another blink, and another few seconds pass. your hand shot up in his direction and he flinched, honestly flinched, convinced from the filthy thoughts circling in his head that you were about to grab him by the—

"this," you repeated, and he almost bristled at the attitude, almost told you off about virtues or whatever, when he finally got it. your arm stuck out in gesture to his legs, which pushed the gas pedal and rested against the doorframe, as he drove.

dean closed his eyes briefly, metaphorically swapping his metaphorical wrist for his headspace. he was not, was not, the person that should be introducing you to this world.

dean shifted again, bringing his left leg closer to the leather seat as he readjusted into more of a comfortable position. he hadn't even realized how tense he'd gotten on this short car ride until now. he was as straight backed as you were, and breathing just as slow. "driving?" he asked anyways, like an idiot.

"driving..." you repeated, like the word was as fascinating to you as the process was. "how?"

the diner sign was right there. it was teal and glowed, retro in style, announcing benny's bistro as open.

he drove past it.

dean knew that you did not sign up for a driver's ed course with him with your question, knew even more that he was risking his baby for a pathetic attempt at flirting with someone who did not even know the definition of the word, but to hell with it. you'd asked to come along with him, and therefore placed yourself in his hands for his guidance. the least he could do was make some sort of effort, couldn't he?

"c'mere," he grumbled once he'd pulled baby off into an unassuming back road, parking it dead in the center. you'd need all the open space. he patted his spread thighs a couple of times.

your stupidly pretty pink lips sucked into your stupidly straight teeth. fuck. "why?"

"just—" he cut himself off when he realized he was about to get snippy. you didn't deserve snippy. he was just hungry and horny and you were pretty and he was...

he was pathetic. looking for reasons to get you into his lap. he'd already been to hell, what are they gonna do, drag him back by his ear?

"just do it," dean finished on a sigh, his hand dropping to the front of his leather seat, grabbing the handle and shoving the seat back as far as it could go. there you were, staring at his dick again, making him feel hotter and more bothered.

he felt his heart stop solidly in his chest when you started to climb over the middle console, so oblivious to the faceful of ass he was getting. dean was practically praying to god at that point. he knew he'd been a shit until then, and definitely a sinner by every means, but if he could grant him a little fucking strength—

you plopped your happy little ass right between his muscular, jean-clad thighs. you were warm, was his first thought. he was screwed, was his second.

"what now?" you asked him, that innocent lilt to your voice as you did, and he felt like a dirty little freak for wanting to bend you over the steering wheel moments before ( who was he kidding? for still wanting to bend you over the steering wheel ).

dean took both of your hands and placed them on the steering wheel. once he'd closed your fingers around the wheel, he dropped his hands to your thighs.

"this one," he patted the left one, and nearly went molten behind you, when you lifted that thigh and placed it on his palm. "nuh uh," he tried to lightly correct, "this one you don't use. jus' keep it out of the way." dean's voice was strained in his ears, in his throat.

you slipped your thigh out of his grasp, pressing it up against the inner of his own thigh, your foot tucked around his ankle. you were so trusting and compliant. he was so, so screwed, and so, so awful for thinking about breaking that sweet naivety.

"this one," he said, patting your right thigh, and when you didn't move it this time, he smiled, just a little, to himself. "you use to make it move."

the flush on your cheeks that followed his tease was so damn pretty it took his breath away.

he lifted his leg, not able to reach the pedals with you sat between them and his seat all the way back. he pointed his boot at the left pedal, knowing you were watching each of his movements intently. "that's the stop pedal. push it down to stop." he repeated the process he'd done with your legs, boot pointing at the right pedal as he explained it. "that's the ignition."

pause.

"that's the go," he corrected, sparing you any momentary confusion and any more questions, he hoped. dean could not keep sitting here idle with you between his legs. "makes the car drive. harder you push, faster it goes."

hell, hell, hell. he wasn't going to hell, because he was already in it, strung up and burning.

"i'll handle the gears," he added quickly, when he caught your head turning downward to the shift stick. "don't wanna overwhelm that pretty little head of yours, dove, with too much at once."

dean rested his right hand on the gear stick, his left hand gripping the handle on the driver's door for dear life. he needed the support; you were driving him up a wall with his claws out, and you were about to be driving him. driving his baby. it took a lot of coaxing from sam for dean to let sam behind the wheel. all you did was ask how do you make it move? and he was letting you drive.

you. who did not even know what a car was. who was learning how to drive literally that moment.

god help him. he'd prayed more in this fifteen minute drive than he had in years.

you pressed down on the gas pedal, and the car revved all pretty and loud. dean watched with bated breath as the response to your efforts registered in your head, the way your eyes lit up in that curious glimmer, the fucking teeth biting on your lip.

once you let up, he pushed on the gear stick's release, and tugged it down from park to drive. the car slowly began to move down the dirt path.

you slammed the brakes so hard that his head knocked into the back of your shoulders. "fuck, dove, gentle."

and you were, when you shifted your foot over to the gas pedal again. you pushed it down on it tentatively, the car starting to glide down the dirt road, the sound of pebbles grinding beneath the tires.

"better," he mumbled in your ear, leant forward to keep his eyes on the windshield. it's not that he didn't trust you, he just... yeah, he didn't trust you. "just like that, dove."

the praise, though, goes in one ear and out the other, because the gentle ease of baby's tires along the road is interrupted by you slamming the gas. the tires squeal. clouds of dirt and dust puff out from behind the car as it takes off.

dean's heart went from in his ass to in his throat in a manner of a second. "whoa, whoa, whoa!" he exclaimed, a nervous laughter bubbling out of his throat. "slower, slower, will ya? crashin' in the middle of nowhere is the last—"

you hit the brakes again, still hard but less this time. just enough to send his head knocking into your shoulder again as the car slowed.

slowed, but still headed toward the ditch. "right, see your hands?" he asked, chin nuzzling into the plush spot between your neck and your shoulder so he could see better. "twist 'em. nice n' gentle for me, to your left, yeah, good girl. makes the whole car move, yeah? jus' keep it on the dirt, not off "

you follow his instructions, and dean feels a swell of pride at this. maybe he should have gone into driver's ed or some shit. he was a good ass teacher.

"like this?" you asked, drawing him out of his self glazing. your voice, soft and hesitant, breathless with your excitement, has his chest heaving.

"yeah, dove, jus' like that," he rasped, his left hand moving from the doorframe to rest where your thigh met your hips. the car kept its slow pace down the long dirt road, and for the first time since you'd gotten your hands on the wheel, his heart doesn't feel like it's pounding in his throat. "no, no, don't stop. keep goin', you're doing so good for me."

his phone starts to buzz in his pocket, and like that, his self indulgent driver's ed lesson comes to a screeching halt. "you jus' keep on going like this, alright?" he asked you, patting your hip with his hand before he reluctantly let go.

he definitely answered the phone with more attitude than necessary. couldn't help it. he was having a great time. "what, sam?"

"everything alright?" sam asked, and then dean felt like a prickhead for giving him shit at all. "s'been thirty minutes."

dean sighed, his eyes lifting again to look out the front windshield. a stop sign was quickly approaching, and you didn't even need his guidance for that. you were slowing to a stop all on your own. he was so fucking proud, it was sick. "all good. long line at the burger place."

it was dead empty, four miles back.

"we'll be back in a few, alright? chew on one of your books or somethin' while you wait, make 'em useful."

"dean—"

he hung up before he could hear sam's sighed response.

his hand fell to your waist again, squeezing lightly to stop you from lifting your foot off of the brake just yet. "play time's over. calvary's callin' us back."

dean pushed the gear stick into park again before he moved both of his hands to your hips, helping guide you back into the passenger seat.

he adjusted the seat again, his hands finding their typical place on the wheel. he did a very illegal u-turn at the four-way intersection and headed back down the road that you'd driven him down.

"have fun?" he asked after a beat, eyes flicking over to see you. you looked so pretty in the orange glow of the sunset, your face lit up in deep gold.

you turned to meet his eyes, and he had to look away quickly, the bright glimmer of adrenaline in them knocking all the wind out of him. "yes."

"good." dean meant it. there were so few things he'd risk everything for, but that toothy smile of yours jumped to the top of that list.

"dean?" your voice rung out again, earning him another glance your way in acknowledgement. "what part of the car was in my back the whole time?"

dean faltered, eyes blinking in a bout of surprise and lips parting, searching for a response he did not have. his eyes dropped down to his lap for a second, dread and embarrassment pooling like ice water in his stomach at what he hoped wasn't— yeah. yeah, it was.

"i dunno, dove," he mumbled through his teeth, staring straight ahead, fingers tapping on the steering wheel, doing basically anything to not meet that curious look of yours. especially knowing you'd have your lip in your teeth all over again. "might have t'take it to the shop, while we're in town... get it checked out or somethin'..."

he was so damn screwed.

tags, @figthoughts @jasvtsc @titsout4nicholas @deanswidow @deansbite

[sacrednova]

Drive me home | Simon "Ghost" Riley | 7

fem!reader | In this story, a young woman mistakenly texts Simon "Ghost" Riley, thinking he's her Uber driver after a wild night out. Despite his gruff, reserved nature, Simon shows up. Contains fake screenshots with texts messages and calls!!!! Start reading from the beginning: Part 1

It wasn’t hard to talk to Simon—it was just… hard. But not in a bad way. It was the kind of hard that made her pause, choose her words, and really think about what she wanted to say. And honestly? That was kind of terrifying.

She had figured out one crucial detail, though: Simon Riley was a really good listener.

Not the kind of listening where someone just nodded along and threw in a polite “oh, really?” No, Simon listened like every word she said mattered. Like he was gathering pieces of her story, stitching them together in that quiet, focused way of his.

His brow would furrow when something didn’t quite click for him, and she’d catch herself explaining things in more detail just to smooth out that little wrinkle between his eyes. Other times, he’d give her a small, almost shy smile, lips pressed tight as though he was holding back. And when he did decide to speak—rare as it was—his sense of humor was… well, awful.

Dry, sarcastic, and so poorly timed that it made her laugh harder than it should have.

But the most important thing? His eyes.

They had never left hers.

It wasn’t just polite eye contact. It was deep, unwavering, intentional. Those warm, brown irises seemed to pull her in, like magnets designed to drag her under his surface. Every time she tried to look away—to collect herself, to focus on something less overwhelming—she’d find herself drawn back to him.

And in those moments, the noise of the bar, the clinking of glasses, the hum of conversation… all of it faded. It was just her and Simon, his gaze anchoring her to the spot, making her feel seen in a way she hadn’t realized she needed.

It wasn’t just attraction. It wasn’t just curiosity about the man behind the mask. It was something quieter, something deeper.

It was connection.

It had been a long time since she’d felt like this—so long, in fact, that she didn’t even know how to articulate it to herself.

Was there even a word for it? This warm, jittery, completely maddening sensation in her chest?

She didn’t know, but damn, she was into him.

Into every little thing about him—the way his voice wrapped around words like they were secrets meant only for her ears, the way he moved, so calculated yet effortless, as though every step was planned without trying to be. Even the way he drank his bourbon, the subtle way his lips pressed against the glass.

And that… that was terrifying.

Because the truth was, she didn’t know much about him. Not really.

God knows she’d tried. She had peppered him with questions earlier—little things about his day, what he liked, if he’d always been this serious—and he? He was as cold as a stone wall when anything remotely personal came up. It wasn’t rude, exactly, just… unyielding.

And there was no way in hell she’d push him. No. That wasn’t her. She wouldn’t pry, wouldn’t force him to share.

But it didn’t make it any less frustrating.

Because damn it, she wanted to keep him around.

Not just as the guy who drove me home that one crazy night. She wanted a second date. A third. A fourth. She wanted…

Shit.

She wanted him.

“What you thinkin’ so much?” His low, rumbling voice cut through her spiraling thoughts.

“What—huh? Me? Thinking? No, I mean—yes! I think, like, most people do, but—”

“Careful,” he murmured, his eyes sparking with amusement, “might bite ya tongue.”

The grin tugging at his lips was slight but devastating, sending heat straight to her cheeks.

And just like that, he had her spinning all over again.

She leaned back slightly in her seat, trying to steady the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Her nerves were rattling inside her like a thousand tiny earthquakes, but hell, she wasn’t about to let that show. She needed to feel confident—wanted to feel confident—not this shy, not this flustered. Not this… undone.

"I want a wine," she blurted, scanning the room for a waiter like her life depended on it.

Simon didn’t respond immediately, and the silence was deafening. She shifted in her seat, suddenly hyperaware of his stillness. "Everything's fine?" she asked, hesitantly.

His response came low and even, carrying a strange weight. "Not a big fan."

"Of wine?"

"…Can’t handle it well."

Her lips parted in a silent gasp, her mind racing. Oh. My. God. Was it bad that her immediate thought—her absolutely terrible thought—was to see him a little tipsy? Just a little? She could practically feel the wicked urge tugging at her. It was irresponsible. Immature.

And, apparently, irresistible.

"Maybe a cup won't hurt you, Simon," she said, trying to keep her tone light, teasing.

His eyes—those unrelenting, burning brown eyes—locked onto hers, and her heart stuttered. He didn’t move, didn’t shift. Just looked. And in that moment, she was sure of two things:

1: He knew exactly what she was doing. 2: He was going to make her pay for it.

"Hm. Really?"

The words were a challenge, laced with that unmistakable edge of his.

She swallowed, feeling her resolve waver. "…We can share a cup."

"Can we?"

"Yes?"

His head tilted slightly, assessing her like a predator deciding whether the hunt was worth it. Then he leaned back in his seat, the tiniest smirk pulling at his lips.

"Fine."

Fuck.

Her pulse raced, and she could already feel her cheeks burning again. What had she just done?

Simon wasn’t an impulsive man. He never let his feelings dictate his actions. Discipline was his armor; control was his weapon.

Until now.

Until her.

Her laugh still echoed faintly in his head, soft and teasing, like it had been etched there. And now this—this moment, this glass of wine—was tipping him over some edge he hadn’t realized he was standing on.

What the hell are you thinking, Riley?

The question circled his mind as he took another sip, the rich red liquid burning less than he remembered. Or maybe it was the heat in her gaze that dulled everything else. Her eyes stayed on him, shining like they held secrets he wanted to pry out. And her lips—soft, slightly parted, tinted just right—were driving him mad.

She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, a small, almost absent-minded gesture, and yet, it had him utterly fixated. Every move she made seemed calculated to undo him, and worse, he wasn’t sure if she even knew it.

Fuck, he wanted her.

He wanted her to want him, too.

"What time is it?" she asked, her voice dipping slightly, pulling his attention back to her lips.

"Late," he answered, the word coming out rougher than he intended. He didn’t bother looking at his watch; the time didn’t matter.

Her eyebrow arched, playful, daring him. "…Really, late?"

Sarcasm. Teasing. She was testing him, pulling at the string between them to see how tight it could stretch.

"Really late," he repeated, his voice quieter this time, like it wasn’t meant for anyone else but her.

And then it was just… there. That thick, invisible tension wrapping around them like a cord, pulling tighter with every shared glance, every stolen breath.

The air felt heavy, charged, like it could ignite if one of them moved an inch closer. Their bodies stayed still, a careful distance apart, but their eyes… their eyes refused to let go.

He didn’t blink, didn’t look away.

What’s next?

The question clawed at him, louder than his heartbeat, louder than reason.

His hands twitched, the slightest movement, as if they were ready to reach for her. To break the distance. To shatter the moment.

What do you want from her, Riley?

The thought settled in the pit of his stomach like a weight he wasn’t ready to carry.

Where do you want this to go?

The answer was right there, coiled in his chest, hot and undeniable.

Fuckin’ hell.

Simon had never been in this situation before. Well, not exactly this situation. Sure, he'd had his fair share of nights where things spiraled a little too far out of control, but this? Sitting across from her, her lips flushed from the wine, her laughter soft and too sweet, her hands resting on the table like an invitation? This was new.

He wasn’t in any condition to drive, and he knew it. The wine had gone straight to his head, his pulse pounding louder than reason. He was good at hiding it—so damn good at keeping his composure—but not tonight.

She caught it. Of course, she caught it.

His eyes betrayed him, breaking from her face to linger on her hands, tracing the curve of her knuckles as she fidgeted with her glass. They dipped lower, to her shoulders, her neck, the line of her collarbone disappearing beneath the fabric of her dress.

He cleared his throat, trying to reset, but she was staring back now, wide-eyed and flushed, and that damn tension was snapping tighter by the second.

"So… how are we getting home, huh?" Her voice wavered, but her smile stayed steady, teasing.

He blinked, his brain working slower than usual. Drive? Right. He wasn’t driving. Absolutely not. He wasn’t stupid enough to risk that, but… he also wasn’t ready to let this night end.

He pulled out his phone, fumbling slightly as he swiped at the screen. "Uber," he muttered, voice gravelly.

She laughed, a soft, almost nervous sound. "Oh, a real Uber this time? Not the personal one?"

He glanced up, catching her grin, and something in his chest tightened. "Don’t push it," he muttered, but his lips twitched just enough to betray him.

The Uber arrived quickly, and they stumbled out into the cool night air. Simon opened the door for her—always, always—his hand brushing her lower back as she climbed in.

She didn’t notice, not at first. She was busy pulling out her phone, probably texting Lottie or someone equally amused about the fact she was heading home with him. But then…

The driver’s voice broke the silence. "So, your address is…?"

Simon leaned forward, his voice steady but quieter now. "Hers."

Her head snapped up, her heart lurching so fast it hurt. "Wait, what?"

He didn’t even look at her, just leaned back against the seat, his arms crossed over his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"My house?" Her voice cracked, disbelief flooding her chest.

"You got a problem with tha'?"

Oh, her brain was short-circuiting now. "I—uh, no, it’s just…" Fucking shit, is he STAYING? Is he STAYING at my place?

Her heart hammered harder, racing into the kind of panic that wasn’t fear, but anticipation.

Shit, shit, shit. Did I shave?

Her eyes darted to him again, her cheeks flaming. He looked so calm, but she knew better. She could see the way his hands twitched, the way his gaze dipped to her legs for a fraction too long before darting back to the window.

She felt the warmth rise in her throat, a blend of nerves and something deeper, darker.

And then it hit her.

This wasn’t just about him staying. It wasn’t about whether she shaved, or whether she had fresh sheets, or if she had leftover takeout in the fridge to awkwardly offer him.

This was about the fact that he chose her.

And hell, if she wasn’t ready for it… but maybe that was the point.

Her house.

Her rules.

Her Simon.

She bit her lip, her mind spiraling, her pulse racing, and as the Uber sped down the empty streets, she decided… whatever happened next, she wasn’t holding back.

Her thumbs moved faster than her brain, texting Millie in a frenzy. The Uber wasn’t even halfway to her place, and already her head was spinning.

Her breathing quickened as she stared at her phone, waiting for Millie’s reply. A second felt like an eternity.

She glanced at Simon, who was sitting completely still, staring out the window like the world outside held all the answers. His shoulders were so broad, his jaw set, his hands resting on his thighs.

Oh fuck.

Cool? COOL? She wasn’t sure she knew what “cool” was anymore.

She stared at the screen, Millie’s rare display of actual best-friend-mode sincerity grounding her, if only slightly.

She sucked in a deep breath, clutching the phone like it was a lifeline.

She glanced at Simon again, and her pulse fluttered. He turned his head slightly, catching her in his peripheral. His eyes flicked down to her phone.

“You alright?”

Oh god. His voice. Deep and low, like he knew she was spiraling.

“Y-yeah! Just… texting Millie.”

“About me?”

Her face burned. “No!”

A ghost of a smirk tugged at his lips. He didn’t press further, but she saw the flicker of amusement in his eyes.

And just like that, her nerves flared again, but this time… she kind of liked it.

Tags ♥: @sleep101 @all-by-myself98 @h0ney-mushroom

Omg, next chapter.... next chapter.... (evil laugh)

[alllgator-blood]

Okay I promise my next post will be the angst comic part 4 but FIRST. THE ONE AND ONLY THING I SHIP

LITERALLY THE SECOND PERSON WHO GUESSED THE PAIRING GOT IT CORRECT??? THAT WAS FAST. This is a situation where I have to go "okay hear me out" because it makes 0 sense to anyone but me. This is really long and very dependent on my au comic nobody but me has read, but the TL;DR is:

I feel like they'd be a good pairing because shamura loves to learn but doesn't care about material goods, and mystic seller is used to all gods talking to them only BECAUSE they offer material goods. So when somebody actually wanted to know about *them* personally and what it's like to be a weird angel thing, the two established a bond. Also they're both agender and most likely asexual AND don't seem to be socially aware despite being ancient wise beings that know seemingly everything, so they understood each other like instantly.

I have a lot of sketches of them hanging out but here's a shitpost sketch thing I made AAAAAGES ago

Okay so from an in-game standpoint, mystic seller pops up to tell you how the post-game works with purgatory and all that, and introduces the purged bosses. Really ratau could've done that as the established Tutorial Guy, or even narinder but there IS the chance that you killed both of them (lol) so mystic seller is the unkillable, all-knowing angel that shows up to say "you suck at killing people. The bishops are trapped in purgatory, you know. You should probably do something about that".

But from like a CHARACTER standpoint what do they stand to gain? They're not even from your dimension so why should they care, they're just here for your god tears? From the dialogue about the bishops we can see that they don't really give a shit about any of them, EXCEPT! SHAMURA? Mystic seller doesn't feel emotions like "our kind" does but one of the only times they do, it's to say it's a shame what happened to shamura. They also say they didn't barter with them much, because they "needed little".

SO THAT HAD ME THINKING. My au comic (which is hundreds of sketched panels and the full thing will never see the light of day unless I post it unfinished. Eugh) is about shamura going around chronicling everything they witnessed during the time they were alive, and they notice everyone is like...selfish. Trying to be the last god standing. Really obsessed with trinkets and charms, so some of the gods just go around harvesting relics from the other gods and using their powers to survive a little longer. Shamura has visions of the future of siblings they don't know they have yet, so they try to be friendly with the rest of the pantheon to form a family and it always bites them in the ass, so they have to kill them.

Eventually they end up with all these fuckin god tears and they're thinking "what do I even do with these? Nobody wants them and everyone has them", and BOOM. MYSTIC SELLER JUMPSCARE. They do the whole introduction where they say they have loot in exchange for god tears, shamura just drops off the tears and is like "I don't care about trinkets, bye" and the seller is like. What Thy Fuck. Because every other god is pretty adamant on getting something good in exchange for the tears. So they call them back and ask if there's ANYTHING at all they want. And shamura, being the self-proclaimed wisdom god, just asks the seller to talk about themself for a while, who's just like okkaaayyy?? Nobody else ever asked what it's like to be a bizarre circle headed angelic creature that collects magical bits and pieces, but shamura LOVES to learn, and the two bonded that way. Shamura would bring the mystic seller god tears, the seller would tell them a story, they'd write it down to put in their archives and the conversations eventually got more personal when the stories started to run out. They both realized they don't understand how other people work, but they knew how *each other* worked so they could kinda learn how to function as normal people with each other's observations.

When I say I ship them I mostly mean like a QPP situation because I think they'd be good partners in the most autistic asexual way possible, where they don't make out sloppy style or outright say "I love you", but they have an understanding of one another that doesn't apply to anyone else really. They don't have to rely on conventional relationship stuff to know the other one cares deeply for them in the most nonverbal, oddly specific way possible. I know shamura's the smart one but I really feel like that extends to everything except understanding how people work, hence all the stuff that happened with narinder and the rest of the family. So finding someone else outside the pantheon who is quite literally inhuman, otherworldly, genderless and uninterested in Carnal Desire would definitely make them feel the closest thing to romantic love that they can. Also, since mystic seller lets the gods name them, shamura named them "sunshine" after hearing one of their followers singing that "you are my sunshine" song to the person they loved the most. I always liked how shamura has their little moon crown and the mystic seller is depicted as the sun in some of the art? They go together well is what I'm saying and I'm kinda surprised nobody has done anything of them yet.

I WILL SAY I have angst planned for them once I do the introductory comics, it has to do with how narinder's imprisonment happened literally right in front of where mystic seller sets up shop, so canonically it's safe to assume they watched shamura get lobotomized in real time :')

But for now...I must go back to kallamar angst cause I've been putting off posting this part. It gets very mentally ill very quickly so I needed to balance it out with fluff......

[sixflame438]

Fallen Mistakes

Synopsis - Minji loved to be a pain in your ass so obviously you get back at her too. What happens when it gets taken too far?

Pairing - Minji x Reader

Tags - High school au, enemies? to lovers (guys i tried), Minji kinda sucks, swear words, possible errors, lack of punctuation (rambling)

A/N - Req for my beloved 🐼🗿 @drvirgus Sorry this took so long and is so long 😅 Hope you enjoy reading it and that it fits the req.

Word Count - 8k

School was draining and despite not being the smartest cookie in your class you weren’t the worst either, sitting comfortably in the middle just trying your best. You were content with how things were going for you, having transferred into this new school only 3 months ago.

You had a small group of friends you could call your own and you had adapted well to your new environment. Your only problem?

Kim Minji.

Well she wasn’t a problem per se just an annoying piece of shit bored out of her mind. Her cure to boredom?

You.

Ever since you stepped foot into your homeroom and caught her gaze from across the class you knew something was up. The taunting look and mischievous smile she gave as you sat down at the desk in front of her should’ve raised flags but at the time you were too occupied with the pretty girl smiling at you and making a good impression.

And a good impression you did.

Too good.

Minji thought you were perfect.

Perfect for her…. to toy with.

Minji loved messing with you. Moving your chair out of the way as you sat down causing you to fall flat on the floor, distracting you by throwing scrunched paper balls at the back of your head while you were working on school work, snarky remarks. Literally anything to get a reaction out of you. For a while you paid no mind to it. It was just Minji’s antics, you could ignore them.

But what started small, snowballed into bigger problems. Ripping up your assignment into shreds, stealing and throwing your shit out the second storey window, tripping you up in the dining hall and straight up shoving you into cold, hard metal lockers in the hallways. It was impossible to go anywhere without seeing or worrying about seeing Minji, the fear that she would just poof out of thin air to harass you haunted you like a ghost. You didn’t even share many classes with her yet she always made her presence known, no matter the time or place. You were beginning to think she hated you.

Eventually you decided enough was enough and two could easily play this game. You get what you give and if she was going to treat you like this you were either gonna make her regret it or give her a hard time as well. You never retaliated by doing anything that broke school rules, you just played with the rules in mind. It was less suspicious that way, you wouldn’t have to get into trouble and it was less work for you. Minimum effort, maximum results.

Although in saying that you were probably breaking some student behavioural code of conduct. Maybe one about respect and integrity? You wouldn’t know since you never bothered to read it. Too many words.

As the law abiding student you were, you would never purposefully go out of your way to break these rules. But in your defence Minji started it first. And if to do the right thing is to stick up for one when they are bullied then weren’t you doing the right thing by sticking up for yourself?

Where was the harm in that?

Its no surprise that other students caught onto your back and forth, there were even people betting on who they thought was going to give up first. You were quite surprised to learn that your new favourite pastime had become such a popular topic among students.

You couldn’t blame them though it was quite amusing being the star of the drama, you could only imagine how entertaining it must be for the viewers. Getting back at Minji came easily and whether you’d admit it or not you actively looked forward to the daily tormenting.

There was a kind of thrill that you got from messing with Minji. Maybe it was the triumphant feeling of being able to one up her or maybe it was the competitive determination in her eyes that showed she wasn’t going to back down, the promise of another interaction. There was also that weird feeling you got when she got too close, the split second of contact before you got shoved into lockers, the grip of her fist around your uniform collar.

You didn’t understand it.

Usually you kept to yourself so you didn’t know if this was just what comes with spending so much time with someone else or if it was even normal to be feeling this for someone who actively made you suffer. It was a weird feeling, almost warm and fuzzy but with how much trouble she brought it couldn’t be anything positive. Right? And more importantly if you felt it, did minji feel it too?

==========

One of your favourite “pranks” was when you hid her calculator. You didnt steal it you just….moved it to a place it wasn’t originally. It was still in Minjis possession she just didn’t know that. Now this may seem quite lame but this was a $150 calculator, it wasn’t easy to replace but it was absolutely necessary to have in class due to its additional functions that “basic primitive” calculators did not possess. The lack of calculator caused Minji to be absolutely ridiculed by her teacher, one who was infamous for absolutely grilling students whenever she wanted.

“WHO SHOWS UP TO ADVANCED MATHEMATICS WITHOUT THE PROPER EQUIPMENT? IF YOU CANT SHOW UP TO CLASS WITH SOMETHING LIKE A CALCULATOR HOW ARE YOU GOING TO DO WELL IN LIFE?”

You weren’t there to witness the outburst but according to Hanni the humiliation on Minjis face was priceless. If it was anything like you were imagining then you so would’ve easily paid hundreds to see that pretty face covered in pinks and reds.

Minji even received a detention after school to your absolute joy and pleasure. 3 hours of pure boredom and pain for her just sitting in a large empty room with nothing but another teacher tapping away at her keyboard. She was like an animal in the zoo, trapped with no where to go.

And of course you weren’t going to turn down this amazing opportunity to get back at Minji, walking past multiple times to essentially point and laugh at her. It was petty as fuck but you just couldn’t help yourself, walking off and cackling after you were a fair distance away. Minji could probably hear you.

It was times like these when you could see why Minji had so much fun messing with you, it was fun to get her back. What you did was nothing compared to the relentless mocking and rumours she made up about you anyway, it was rather tame if you think about it. Either way the stunt was just so simple and effective, Minji didnt even show up to class the next day, score! Yn 1 - Minji 0

You liked to do things subtly, your plans hardly ever left evidence that could be traced back to you but you always made it obvious to Minji that you were behind them. You were seriously thinking about changing career paths. Fuck being a doctor or lawyer being a spy would be so much more fun.

You also never did anything that would directly cause harm, mostly harmless little disturbances that would ruin someones day even just for a little bit, never big enough to cause damage, just extremely petty and enough to piss her off or ruin her mood. Thats all you ever strived to do and it seemed that Minji would keep it at that level too.

Or so you thought.

===========

You were walking to your next class when you noticed a small crowd huddled in circle by the lockers and curiosity overtook you as you began to walk towards the group. As you approached closer some of the students noticed your presence and began to move aside creating a direct pathway for you.

For a moment you felt like a famous celebrity strutting down the red carpet with hoards of fans around you wanting your autograph but that was until you heard the whispers and murmurs coming from the onlookers. “Oh my gosh shes here” - “It was so Minji, who else would it be” - “She tried so hard too what a waste”

Damn were you confused but as you got to the centre of the crowd you realised why everyone was gathered here. Someone had graffitied on your locker. Bright red shoddy handwriting that wrote out “attention whore”. It was hard to miss. You were shocked, bewildered, standing in front of your locker with your jaw dropped. The real strike in your chest is realising that they did it directly on your locker too where all your hardworking was now mostly covered up.

The school allowed students to decorate or personalise their own lockers and you were ecstatic when you found that out, spending a solid week coming up with a design you deemed worthy. Paint was your area of expertise and your choice of arsenal but painting took layering and time to dry so you spent the first few weeks spending your breaks by your locker, painting away.

The end result was beautiful, a gorgeous mural that incorporated birds and flowers using colours that blended well together, more pastel than bright and bold but still striking enough to catch attention. But now that hardworking was down the drain. Hours of your time now reduced to a layer of sprayed ink and yes you could just remove it and start again but that didnt stop the pain you felt in the moment.

So much so that you had began crying without even realising. When you did however you could see everyone looking back at you, mixtures of pity and shock that made you feel small and worthless. Not wanting to be there any longer you started pushing your way out of the crowd and towards the bathrooms where you could be away from everyone. Tears now fully flowing, you could hardly see anything ahead of you.

Standing in front of the mirror, hands gripped around the sink, a blurry reflection staring back at you. You faintly heard the creak of a bathroom stall opening and out stood a figure that looked like your supposed perpetrator.

Was Minji really responsible for the graffiti? It would make sense it was “her turn” but you didnt think shed go as far as defacing school property like that, let alone something you worked so hard on.

It couldnt be right? Minjis handwriting was neat and elegant, nothing like you saw on your locker. But a spray can is not the same as a pen. Even just the possibility Minji was behind the crime made your heart break in a way you couldnt explain. If all your past scuffles were small slaps to your ego and pride, then this would be an uppercut. Why were you so hurt though?

There weren’t any “rules” established as neither of you had ever spoken up about the “terms and conditions” of your situation and Minji had every right to do however she pleased, it was an unspoken agreement. So why did it feel so wrong?

“Yn?”

Tiredly wiping away your tears you see that it was indeed Minji who walked out of that stall and she had just watched you cry your eyes out.

“Hey are you okay? Why are you crying?” Simply put she had grown quite fond her competition and seeing your usual confident self in this vulnerable state had Minji feeling concerned.

You regain your composure but look away not wanting to give Minji the satisfaction of seeing your red and puffed up eyes.

“Why would you even bother asking that, you already know since you did it”

“Yn what are you talking about? What did I do this time?”

“My locker”

“What happened to your locker? I didnt do anything I swear I hardly even walk that way.”

“Someone graffitied my locker with spray paint”

Honestly? Minji was a little offended. Did you really think she would stoop so low? She knew how much you adored your locker and how much time and effort you spent painting it. It was one of the small things she loved about you.

Anything you did it was with dedication and commitment, always striving to do the best you could. She could never forget the proud smile you had when you finally finished it either. It wasn’t often she walked past your locker but the scene in her head and the smile on her face were present every time. Whether Minji knew it or not there would always be a smile on her face when she thought about you being happy.

“I know that we keep doing things to fuck with each other and its complicated since you dont have any reason to trust me but I promise that wasnt me. I would never stoop that low to just be petty and id never mess with something as important as your locker in that way.”

Seeing Minji reply back so earnestly had you confused. If Minji wasnt the one who drew all over your locker who was it? And why would they do that to you? What had you ever done to them to deserve this?

As you spiralled into your thoughts once again Minji watched on concerned as fuck.

She had always been quite intrigued by your character.

No one usually stood against her and never had she seen someone with such self assurance and confidence in a person. You weren’t egotistical and rude in the way Minji was though. You were sweet and kind (to those who deserved it), never failing to help someone out.

This duality was something Minji could respect and it was only one of many qualities that she had grown accustomed to. She had seen your acts of rebellion as a challenge and despite feeling the losses of humiliation she wasn’t going to stop. She was going to make you regret ever standing up against her.

Minji loved seeing you mad and loved it even more when you would try to hide that. How your face would puff up into a pout made you look like a child who wasn’t allowed any candy. It was a little adorable she could admit, but never aloud and never to you.

Actually scratch everything Minji just liked seeing you. Everything about you was perfect in her eyes, you were smart, kindhearted and had a great sense of humour meaning you could deal with all of her teasing and attention (affection).

Getting a rise out of you and seeing the varieties of emotions on your face was a delight but now seeing your face display sadness and anguish she wonders if what she did was worth it. All the days and weeks spent messing with you had directly caused this and whether or not she had been the one to graffiti your locker (she wasnt) this was partly her fault.

Minji was going to hurt whoever made you cry.

=========

It wasnt hard to find the actual mastermind behind the scheme. All Minji had to do was threaten kindly ask a few people and boom she had her answer.

“Woah wait youre mad with me? You should be thanking me i helped you” Yeonjun said with raised eyebrows, genuinely confused and severely mistaken.

Incredulously Minji barked back at him “Thanking you? Why on earth would I be thanking you for ruining yns locker? Do you know how much time and effort she spent working on that? Anyone can see the passion and talent radiating of it, who in their right mind would go and ruin that? You better have a good reason or I will hurt you”

“I helped u get back at yn? Now u dont have to do anything and just have to wait to see if she can do any better. Not that she can even come up with anything better that is.” He remarked with condescension. “And i can also win my bet money, its a win win situation for the both of us.”

This pissed Minji off even more. She physically had to hold herself back from lashing out.

“Listen here buddy, I dont care what you wanna do and i dont care about your little bet. This is my thing with yn not yours. If im going to win its on my own terms not thanks to some chump like you. Find someone else to mess with if you need to so badly. Yns mine.”

“Woah hold on chill you sound like a possessive girlfriend, ill do what I want”

“Ill repeat it once more since your puny brain cant seem to understand. Apologise to her and then Leave. Yn. Alone. I dont care if you have classes with her if you so even breathe in her direction i will make you regret ever waking up in the morning.”

Suddenly feeling the extent of Minjis words and knowing how she wasn’t one to be messed with, Yeonjun backs off.

But just because he said he would didn’t mean he actually would. Quite the opposite actually as you found yourself being approached by Yeonjun telling you how he was sent on Minjis behalf to apologise. He left as quick as he came, leaving you to think over everything that happened.

Your day was already shit and now Minji was getting other people to apologise for her. Could she not have told u herself in the bathroom when you were there? And if she claimed she wasn’t responsible for the destruction of her locker artwork why was Yeonjun here saying otherwise?

The mixed signals from Minji was getting on your nerves. One minute she shows she’s capable of being a decent human being by comforting and caring for you, the next she’s back to her bitchy self. Why was she like that and doing this to you? It didnt help your own feelings for the girl either.

Maybe it was time to let them go, let all of this go and stop entertaining Minji with her little “pranks”. Could you even call them that anymore? Cause what happened sure as hell wasnt a prank. Just thinking about it had you riled up and you were done. Over it all.

You were going to sort it out once and for all.

===========

“KIM MINJI” you shouted angrily. The volume of your announce loud enough to catch the attention of every student nearby. Minji was currently leaning on the railing of the staircase that lead down to the first floor of your building, engaged in a casual conversation with Kazuha. Poor girl was never a fan of loud things despite literally being best friends with Huh Yunjin and jolted in a fright by your yelling.

Minji however just turned to face you, seemingly disinterested by your arrival. Secretly though she was quite startled by you and was deeply curious about why you felt the need to yell. This may also be the wrong time to say it but she also loved the way her name sounded coming from you, no matter the emotional undertones that came with it. And you saying her full name? Why was that kinda hot?

“Are you that much of a coward that you couldn’t even tell me to my face that you were the one who graffitied over my locker?”

“I literally told you earlier that i wasn’t responsible. Is your hearing that shit you need to be reminded about everything twice? Minji remarks with a snort, keeping up the facade of indifference.

“Why would you get Yeonjun to come and apologise to me then on your behalf?” You argue, the anger slowly rising.

“That little shit” Minji mumbled annoyed, her hands now rubbing her face disappointedly. “Yeonjun was the one who did it not me i sent him to you so he could apologise himself for what he did”

“Really? Or is that you trying to put the blame on someone else so you don’t have to get into trouble? Take some accountability Minji, grow up.”

“I said i didnt do it how many times am i going to have to say that for it to get into that thick headed skull of yours?”

At this point it was t even a conversation anymore, it was a full blown screaming match and neither you or Minji was backing down, determined to prove you were right.

“Wow” You scoff. “Thats pathetic Minji just admit you did it.” You argue taking a step towards the girl, challenging her to fight back or give up.

The close proximity now caused the strange feeling to rise again and it scared her.

“I said. I. Didnt. Do it!!” Minji yelled back with full conviction, her arms raising in your direction.

An unstable “Ahhhhhh” was all you could say in response as you felt your feet lose their balance and your body lose its feeling from shock. Whats up with the incessant buzzing on the side of your head?

You shakily look up to see Minjis head looking down at her hands in what you thought was disbelief. It was hard to tell what was going on and you felt your vision quickly slipping away, not before you met Minjis eyes one last time though.

You made out what seemed like genuine worry and fear in her eyes before you felt the darkness envelope you.

“What the fuck” Was the only thing that was going through Minjis mind as she watched you essentially roll down. The mixture of the panic from the lack of distance fuelled with the energy of the argument caused Minji to do something she knew she would regret, but it was too late.

She had just pushed you tumbling down a flight of stairs.

You were hurt and Minji caused it, for real this time.

===========

Nothing happened. Well obviously stuff had happened but the aftermath? Nothing.

Nothing from the school administration.

Nothing from your parents.

Nothing from you.

Not even a cricket could be heard in the empty life of Minji. Just pure unfiltered silence.

Actually that was a lie Yeonjun got suspended for 2 weeks but Minji? Nothing. Its almost as if the entire school didnt know she pushed you down stairs.

During your time away, Minji had heaps to think about. Too much, to think about. The more she thought the more confused she got. Nothing made sense and it was starting to give Minji a migraine.

What were you? She hated you right? Thats why she loved to mess with you. But then why did she care? Why was she experiencing this flurry of emotions and why did some of them make her nauseous just thinking about them?

It was this lingering feeling of disappointment she felt whenever she did something to you. Shed feel it when you looked back at her with anger but mostly when you adorned that look of genuine sadness. It was small but evident, a mere flash of emotion below all the simmering rage, one that disappeared as quick as it came.

It would be when you heave yourself away to the safety of the bathrooms or just in the way your shoulders would slump in exhaustion. Even the way you carried yourself was different and knowing she was the cause of that made her heart ache.

It was strange too. Usually she took pride in seeing how hopeless and miserable her victims would become but seeing it in you made her heart hurt a little. Why were you so different?

Minji wonders if you even realised that you let it slip sometimes or if it was all just a part of an elaborate scheme to chip away at her heart and for you to win when she had let down her guard. It was petty she knows but her competitive nature wouldn’t let her lose in this unspoken unofficial battle.

Ironic how the expressions she loved to see were the ones she hated the most on you.

During your time away Minji figured out what the weird feeling was.

Guilt.

Maybe you both didnt notice but you had both become such an integral part of each others day that without your rival counterpart you were both feeling….empty. Or maybe you had, but didnt want to do anything. Afraid if you pursued anything, the delicate boundaries between would be crushed. And not in the way you wanted.

You’d become Minjis everything and Minji became your everything.

=========

Brrrrinnggg! Brrrrinnggg!

The blaring bell sound is soon replaced with exuberant chatter as the students around you started packing up their books and pens, all excited to leave for lunch. The same could not be said for you however.

Your head drops defeatedly onto your desk as you let out a long groan. A moment of reprieve before your nerves start kicking in. You had been avoiding Minji as much as possible for the last few days since you’d come back from the hospital. It was tiring to say the least.

After the incident you had gotten a concussion, a broken wrist and bruises literally everywhere. Spots of deep blue and dark violet were seen when you were being examined in the hospital, the smaller ones were starting to fade but most of them were turning yellow now.

It wouldnt be the first time Minjis given you a physical injury before. There was once in gym where the class was playing dodgeball and Minji was purposely going at you the entire time. The best worst part? She wasnt even in that class.

In fact you only had 1 class with Minji so technically only saw her once a day but you had been purposefully skipping those shared classes with her and even going as far as relocating your friend group to have lunch somewhere else, somewhere Minji couldnt find you.

Before the incident she had made it her mission to purposefully hunt you down every chance she got. Just because you had been away for a week it didn’t change her routine, if anything it felt like she was trying harder to find you now that you were back, probably to give you a piece of her mind. Considering you had just gotten out of the hospital a few days ago with a concussion, broken wrist and problems in other places, you werent about to risk anything else.

Hurriedly you pack up your opened textbook, you hadnt looked at it since you got into class, choosing to think about Minji instead. Thinking about ways to avoid her of course, not dreaming about how amazing she is or anything.

Now that you were looking at it, the textbook didnt even match the subject your teacher was teaching. A maths textbook for a historical english course, it couldn’t be any further.

You sigh for the nth time and feel your hair cascade down your shoulders, your ribbon falling loose. Undoing and redoing your hair you tighten the ends together with determination like you were about to run a marathon (or like the ninja headband thingies ifykwim)

This is it you think to yourself bracing for a smooth, silent, sneaky escape as you had done in the days before.

Marching over to the exit you cautiously peek your head out the door.

Look left, no Minji.

Look right, no Minji.

Look left to double check, no Minji.

Look right to double check, Minji.

Look left to trip- wait what?

Look right to trip- oh shit thats Minji.

For a moment you forget you were supposed to be hiding from her. You hadnt properly seen your bully in almost 2 weeks now and you couldn’t help but be mesmerised but the sight. The way she walked with such grace and class was to be envied and the luscious black hair that flowed so elegantly with every step she took was admired by everyone including you.

Every angle of Minjis flawless face could be seen as you watched her look into every classroom she passed by. Minji was wearing light makeup today, the same she had been wearing since the day you joined and it perfectly showed off all of her god given natural features.

Her beautiful round face which would fit perfectly in your hands, the lips you could spend a lifetime kissing. Your favourite part were her eyes. Those stupid dark coloured eyes that you adored so much, god you could stare at those forever.

The look in her eyes when she’s talking to her friends or eating her favourite foods made you feel warm and the frantic worried look she currently had wait- why did she have that expression on her face? Was she looking for something?

As if on queue you lock eyes with your favourite pair. You notice how her shoulders fall a little, almost in relief, how her eyes flicker with recognition and the light upturn of her lips is so small that you wouldnt have noticed it if you hadnt already memorized everything about her.

You also realise that shes quickened her walking, now almost at a jogging pace, coming straight in your direction. Your body kicks into gear as you bolt off away from Minji, running and weaving through the small crowds of students all huddled around in their friend groups or standing around idly.

You can hear Minjis voice calling out your name faintly in the background hidden under the loud chattering of the students around. Despite how nice your name sounds coming out of her mouth, you dont stop, cant stop.

You dont even know where youre running too. In your panicked state you accidentally bump shoulders with Haerin who just stares at you when you pick up her book and call out a rushed apology before scurrying off again.

Eventually you run into a hallway with evidently less people. You cant hide in the crowds and the hallway is blocked off because of a spillage. Some idiot dropped a flask on the ground it seems, evident by the shattered glass in the pool of liquid.

You dont have enough time to discern what the substance is though as you hear your name being called once again, accompanied by hasty footsteps charging closer and closer.

Running low on options you hastily open the nearest door and get inside, wanting to not be in the open for Minji to find you. What you fail to notice however is the sign that says broken lock do not open and how your ribbon gets caught in the door.

Taking in a breath of air that you desperately needed you inspect your surroundings. Youre stuck in an empty but messy science lab, chem maybe? It was a big classroom with multiple benches and tables that lined the room, all covered in an assortment of different things.

Theres also two doors, one at the end and one close to the front but both connected to the same hallway you came from. The classroom becomes the last of your worries as your beating heart is suddenly brought to your attention.

Why was it pounding so fast? Probably the adrenaline from all that running you just did you think to yourself. You werent unfit or anything though, regularly going out for runs or to the gym.

“Yn.”

Before you can dwell any longer you hear a low, out of breath voice calling your name. A very familiar voice. “Minji” you whisper quietly , turning just as slowly as you said her name.

“This is yours” Minji says between huffs of air, approaching holding her hand out with your ribbon.

Taking the ribbon gingerly you look at your bully suspiciously. “Thanks.” An awkward silence fills the space as you both stand there in silence while you return the strip of fabric back to its place.

As youre redoing your hair trying to look at anything thats not the girl in front of you, Minji doesnt do the same. Her eyes are trained onto you and you only, watching with rapt attention as your fingers weave through your silky hair with ease and familiarity.

Shes watched you repeat this action more times than she can count. Such a mundane task yet every time shes still rendered starstruck by your beauty. Minji really thinks that if she didnt have this bit going on between you she wouldve tried asking you out already.

Part of her really did really regret messing with you as it has brought you nothing but pain and misery, but even if her chances had been significantly affected by her actions she was still going to try. Thats why she was here anyway, to try and right her wrongs and hopefully start afresh. Fuelled by determination and hope, she waited for you to be done.

Unbeknownst to her though you were feeling the complete opposite. Being under Minjis gaze and having her unwavering attention had you nervous. You didnt know why she followed you into the room or why she chased you down the hallway. Just being in the same room as her made you uneasy and you wanted out.

Clearly not liking the atmosphere you take steps towards the second door in the room to make your way out but the door wouldnt open no matter how hard you pushed the handle. It was almost like someone was purposely trapping you with Minji for some sick deranged plot device.

“Hey you havent been to class lately.” Her voice quiet and nervous, a contrast from the usual harsh tones and without its sharp edge.

“Yea im aware, now ive got places to be thanks for returning my ribbon” you state plainly, walking back to the other door you entered from. Part of you wanted to stand your ground and hear where Minji was going but leaving and avoiding sounded much more appealing.

“Hey hey wait uh i uhm just wanted to apologize, for you know, everything.”

“Thats sweet im gonna go now”

“No hold up please just let me properly explain and apologize to you.” Minji rushes out as she steps in between you and the door, blocking your exit.

“I know you have no reason to want to be here but please I promise ill leave you alone if thats what you want after this.”

“Youre just here to apologise because youre forced to, just let me go and you dont even have to fake it.”

Ignoring youre attempts to dismiss the situation,

“Why didnt you press charges? Or get me expelled? I got you injured and treated you like you were worthless ever since you came to this school. It would’ve made for the perfect final revenge. You wouldn’t have to do any work just one call to the police n principal and I would be gone. Out of your life never to bother you again. Why wouldnt you take it? Prime opportunity right there what were you thinking? Why keep a jerk like me around?”

She was starting to ramble while pacing back and forth taking steps towards you whether she knew it or not. Every new thought was a step taken in your direction and every step taken forwards was a step you took back. Minji had been going on for so long that you felt the back of your legs hit the smooth edge of a countertop.

Struggling with the lack of distance you try to move away but not all plans work out the way they should. Stumbling backwards you to fall onto the bench with a wince as you’re now using your broken wrist to hold yourself up.

“Minji….”

“No no youre right sorry im really sorry for picking on you its just I dont understand why you basically let me off from all of this Scott free because I know if I were you I would’ve never turned down an offer to get rid of me” Minji replies exasperated, still pacing around tense with her hands on her head, unaware of your state. At least she had taken steps back.

“I didnt want you gone…” you mutter quietly, slapping your unbroken hand over your mouth in alarm when you realise what you just said.

“What?” Minji whispers quietly dumbfounded by what you said. Did she hear you correctly? You wanted her to stay?

“But why?” She asks extremely confused and her volume increasing again. “Ive done nothing but treat you like shit why would you want me here? I don’t deserve any sympathy especially not from you and even random students ive never seen are coming up to me telling me that was uncalled for but what could i do I panicked when you got closer and you were yelling at me and i was yelling back and i was just so stressed out because i couldn’t understand why you were yelling at me i still dont by the way i literally havent a clue why it happened i also dont know why im still here why do you want me to stay it doesnt make sense i was the one who pushed you down the stairs not the other way i pushed you not you pushed me why the heck would you want ME to stay? Please say something im really confused and ive been thinking about it and i just don’t understand at all.”

“I-“ The words getting stuck in your throat as you looked away abashedly, finding the clouds out the window more exciting than anything. Were you really about to tell her this? God she’s going to have such a field day exposing you after all of this.

Wait till she finds out the reason you let her mess with you so easily was because you actually liked her this entire time. Before you could say anything though Minji starts rambling again.

“Look I dont even know why I started what I did you were just so perfect and pretty and smart and I really wanted to get to know you better but I didnt know how to talk to you and we didnt have many classes together and youre just so amazing the way you smile to yourself when you think no one is looking is just so adorable and it makes me really want to kiss you and I really am sorry for bothering you so much and having it end up like this it was not my intention to cause you this much pain and I also really didnt mean to fall for you the way i did and i know i sound like im just making this shit up as an excuse but i really do mean it and i apologize for everything cause it just didnt end up how i thought it would and I know this may be too much to ask and I understand if you dont want to but I really need to ask and it would kill me if I never took a chance to but and please dont be pressured to say yes or anything because I know ive been a bitch to you this entire time and I really like you and I think I already said that and-“

“Minji. Breathe.”

She stops her yapping as she stares back at you startled, frozen. Eventually Minji nods and focuses on gaining her breath back, chest rising and falling with how much energy it required to get all that out. Minji finally turns fully towards you and looks you dead in the eyes, genuine sincerity underneath those dark reflective eyes you adored.

“Do…you think we could start over?”

Its quiet. Nothing but muffled chatter from outside the classroom could be heard as you took your time contemplating the question. But that moment felt like hours to Minji. The silence seeming to stretch on endlessly.

“Im sorry that was stupid please forget i said that god im so dumb who in their right mind would even agre-“

“Do you want to go on a date with me?”

“Huh” Minji says wide eyed, clearly taken aback. She couldn’t believe what you were saying

“You said you wanted to get to know me better right? Isn’t that what dates are for?” You say with an innocent head tilt as if you didnt fully understand what you just said, a playful smirk on your face as you watched Minji struggle to come up with a response.

“Wait are you serious?” Minji replies, shock still written all over her face. You, someone who had to go to the hospital because of an injury she created, was asking her, someone who picked on her randomly and never stopped, on a date, the same kind people who like each other go on. Wait did you like her back?

With a light smile you nod in response clearly amused with the outcome of your conversation. Never would you have expected this turn of events. Were you dreaming?

“Why. Why me. I don’t deserve this why are you giving me a second chance this doesnt make sense and a date? Do you know what you just agreed to? A romantic date with me. Oh my god im going on a date with you. I never thought this day would come ive been thinking about it for so long wait are you lying to me youre not playing with me right? Because that would just be cruel, you cant play with a girls heart like that but then again I probably deserve that dont I. That still doesnt stop it from being a shitty thing to do tho-“

You were done with her speaking. Of course like anything about Minji you loved her voice, it wasnt squeaky or high pitched. But this, this was just tiring. So as any rational person would you leaned forward and pulled Minji closer by her uniform collar, placing a chaste kiss straight on her lips.

And just like that she’s speechless, again.

Minjis stunned, jaw dropped, doing nothing but blinking at you. If Minji was short circuiting before, now you had completely fried her into overload. Past you would’ve kissed her ages ago if you had known how effective it was.

Seeing how Minjis stumbled and rambled over every little thing made you realise how much of a loser she was under that tough and stuck up exterior. It was cute youd happily admit and luckily for her pretty losers just so happened to be your type. You cant help but let out a small giggle with all the different reactions Minjis given you.

The adorable noise snaps Minji out of her daze and its when she realizes her heart is pounding so loud she thinks shes gonna go deaf. She cant move cant hear and cant think of anything other than the fact that youd just kissed her. She could however see your lips moving (the same ones shed like to kiss back) and mindlessly nods along to whatever you had just said. Seeing you speak again is like its enticing her, a spell she shamelessly falls for.

“You caught my eye since day one. I thought you were really pretty and you still are. You were also a bitch to me though and since i couldnt stand that i wanted to get you back.

Between the banter, which i enjoyed by the way, i got to see glimpses of you and how much you cared despite trying not to. I think i was starting to fall for you too. And that day in the bathrooms really sealed the deal.

You stayed by my side and even tried comforting me when you were supposed to hate me. What im trying to say is that i also want to leave what happened behind us and id really like to take you on a date, if youd like that.”

Minji was starstruck again, evident by the wide eyes as she processed your confession. Quiet took Minjis place and as the silence stretched on you were feeling more and more nervous by the lack of answer. The urge to do or say something was getting to you. So bad you had to start wiping your hands on your uniform to get rid of the sweat.

Nothing was happening. Minji wasnt reacting and you didnt know what else to say, so you just did kissed her again. You weren’t sure if it was the right thing to do but you did it anyway. Actions speak louder than words after all. This kiss carried more weight than the first, a confirmation that what happened in the room wasnt a mistake and that you had meant to kiss her the first time.

As you pulled away to study her reaction you noticed how Minjis entire face had gone pink, giving you the confirmation you needed. Turns out you didnt have to pay to see it, a simple kiss was enough.

You watch amused as she slaps herself hard across the face, as if to clarify she wasnt in some lucid dream and luckily she wasnt, immediately flinching backwards due to the strength of the slap.

As if on instinct your hand reaches for Minjis cheek, gently caressing it with your thumb. Your soft hands soothing the heat from the pain. Minji definitely enjoyed the touch but it emphasized just how hot and humid the room suddenly became.

This time Minji leaned in first. Your question laid unanswered and forgotten but the outcome did more than enough to answer it.

Youve always wondered what Minjis lips tasted like but this was better than you could ever imagined. The kisses were soft and delicate, heavenly you could say.

If this was a dream Minji didnt ever want to wake up. Too bad all good things have to end at some point.

“Yn! Is that you? There you are!” Shit. Hanni. She had seen you through the hallway window and was now bursting through the classroom door. You and Minji quickly pull away and rush to make yourself a little more presentable, wiping off your now shared lip stick and rearranging your uniform.

“Bro we were looking every where for you and Haerin said you ran in this direction. What are you doing here- WITH MINJI?” The two of you just stand there like deer caught in headlights.

“What did I just walk in on?” Knowing you’ve been caught red handed neither you or Minji attempt to explain your situation, choosing to awkwardly look at anywhere but back at Hanni.

Finally you manage to muster up a nervous “hi Hanni” as you give her an embarrassed smile. Hanni is still looking between the two of you skeptically as she points her finger accusingly.

“You two are going to explain yourselves but not here. Im sure the group would LOVE to hear about it firsthand.”

“Ugh do we have to?” You groan clearly annoyed that she was doing this to you.

A taunting mischievous chuckle is all you get as Hanni spins on her heels and walks out the way she came in, humming noises of delight. Sighing in defeat you follow Hanni like a child waiting to be scolded for something they know they’ve done wrong. You had no choice.

Minji doesnt quite understand whats going on as she trails behind both you and Hanni out into the hallways but whatever the outcome she was going to support you no matter what, now that you both had admitted your feelings. You feel soft fingers interlacing yours and look up to see Minji walking besides you with an even softer smile, the eyes you loved so much staring back at you with nothing but warmth and comfort. Maybe things will be alright. 


==============

“You didnt know the door lock was broken did you?”

“It was? Ugh that explains why i couldnt open it”

“Yea and im glad it did or else i probably wouldnt have been able to talk to you”

“You know what? Im glad it was broken too”

“Also you’re cute when youre angry/annoyed, like a cute little puppy”

“Gasp is that why you were such a bitch to me?”

“Well i had to see that adorable expression somehow”

“You know you couldve just talked to me right?Instead of acting all mean and tough”

“...what if i told you pretty girls scared me…”

“God youre so lame”

“HURRY IT UP IDIOTS”

“Coming Hanni…..”

[lemonisntreal]

TONE DEAF :: Rosita and Norman <3

The first in a [hopefully] series of redesign + headcanon posts where I give you my take on a character for my AU

I'm grouping the two together because a] a lot of fluff headcanons I have, they share [because they're literally husband and wife]. And b] if I made an individual post for every single character, I... would go insane. So yeah. A bunch of characters are gonna get clumped together.

[FULL MASTERPOST HERE [yet to be made <3]]

HEADCANONS // BACKSTORY ⬇️

Me and the bad bitch I pulled by being autistic [also autistic]

Both of them are the same age, mid to late thirties.

In terms of general intelligence: Rosita has gifted IQ, while Norman is at genius level.

I know. I know Norman seems kinda dim in the movies. But guys [LMAO]. "I know it looks like there's nothing happening behind those eyes, but...... he can make entire computers!"

He's so smart yet so stupid. He's that kind of character. Like he can do all of this super impressive shit, and is super talented and can do math like BOOM done, but he's also kinda a "deer-in-the-headlights" when it comes to life [I LOVE HIM 👹]

Both of them worked hard and have their college degrees almost completely paid off at this point because of the scholarships they earned.

Rosita has a degree in engineering, Norman's a computer scientist.

They're both in STEM, it's just that Rosita likes to handle more of the mechanical aspects of things while Norman's better with the technical stuff, which I think is cute af.

Yin and Yang <3

This dynamic is just how they are too. How they act. Like for example, Rosita can be very to-the-point-

She's very much a problem solver and will get right to it once she understands what she's doing. Like yeah, she often takes a very methodical approach to it [see the scene where she's got all the papers laid out to try and learn to dance- very new territory for her], but once she learns, she gos all in. And EATS.

Norman's gotta have a plan before doing anything, meanwhile. He has a morning routine that can't be interrupted or else his whole day and mood will be thrown off. He reads through a recipe twice before even starting. That kind of stuff.

He's a lot more hesitant to even try.

A lot of people find Norman boring. But Rosita is enraptured by every word he says, she LOVES his long spiels about hyper-specific [and often mundane] things.

AAAA--

Norman is also a closeted DORK. He ran a tabletop games club in highschool with a couple other of his geeky ass friends [he's still into D&D to this day and has introduced Rosita to the game too]

[she's fun to play with, but super competitive. This goes for ANY game, actually, not just D&D. She'll kinda accidentally turn everything into a "contest" due to her inability to not do her very best] [it's mostly inspirational, not annoying, if that makes sense?]

I also wanna say Norman was in a weird amount of drama that he didn't want to be in at this time. Like all of his friends had falling-outs, and he was just always caught in the middle of it.

He's afraid of confrontation [UNLESS IT'S FOR HIS WIFE] [HE STANDS UP FOR HER RAHHHH] [this is gonna happen when I get to rewriting Sing 2, he's NOT just gonna take Crystal calling his WIFE "mommy pig"]

They're sooo "excuse me, he asked for no pickles"

Norman and Rosita technically met in high school, in Junior year when Norman first moved to Calatonia.

WHICH, he and his family did this because this was a point in time where laws having to do with the rights of animals were VERY flimsy, and Calatonia was one of the first and only safe places at the time-- for Pigs especially, actually.

The 3 Little Pigs is deadass CANON TO SING. So Pigs were/are actually a marginalized species in this universe.

[[during the warring period that I have yet to really talk about, they were often victims of the anarchy and poaching, so stigmas and insults around them still exist to this day]]

[[[[see Jimmy Crystal]]]]

So anyway, they "met" in high school- Norman totally crushed on Rosita from afar whenever he'd catch her in volleyball matches-

Rosita had a major tomboy phase throughout high school, slowly falling out of it during college [still only saves dresses and skirts for special occasions really]

[[Fun fact, Rosita is also sapiosexual [attracted to intelligence] [Roxanne Ritchi ahh] ]]

[[Norman is bi]]

They actually got introduced to eachother and had a proper arc when they went to the same college [which might've been a college in Redshore actually? But I'm not 100% sure on that headcanon. It would line up since Rosita's "wanted to perform in Redshore since she was a little kid" and Redshore is obviously a massive city with a lot of notoriety. Idk though- and it's not really that important to the story anyways]

Norman and Rosita had plans together- they were gonna make it big and live freely. Things were looking up with the lawmakers, who were finally repealing a bunch of nasty stuff that was put in place during the war times. And the two had hope that their dreams could actually be accomplished.

Rosita, who was originally gonna play it safe and become an engineer, was now thinking about attempting to become a performer [which Norman has supported since the beginning, he LOVES her singing, and often tells her that she's "better than some of the people I've heard on TV!"]

But. Life got in the way...

Present day, Norman works in Redshore at Crystal Enterprises. He's the head of some sort of organizational team- not really working on what he loves at this point.

And this is because of their children, who were a very sudden appearance in their lives [which is why we see so much struggle in the chaos at the beginning of the movie in this AU]

Rosita stopped everything, and Norman grabbed the first high-ish paying job he could, spending all his spare time on clocking in overtime hours.

The kids are all adopted, and there's only 6 now: Oldest Caspar [13], twin boys Mickey and Moe [11], middle child Kelly [9], little bro Freddy[8], and Zoey the sweet baby sister [6].

They became foster parents after the death of Rosita's sister [this hc is kinda subject to change, but this is the story rn. I'll specify on this later ☝️]

So Rosita's kinda put her life on hold for these babies. She's such a great mom to them, and they love her and Norman so much

But some of the older kids [Caspar specifically] are kinda in a rough phase since they feel like she resents them [which she doesn't], or that she isn't their "real mom" [which she IS]

This is like an E plot in the story, but definitely's gonna get at least a little bit of focus.

Rosita and Norman's marriage is falling apart just a little bit due to burnout, but it'll get better <3 [I can't do anything tragic to these two they're too sweet]

Norman snuggles up to Rosita in his sleep. Rosita starfishes LMAO

They wake up entangled. This is normal.

"Pig piles" are also a thing- there have been several nights where all six children "had nightmares" and so the family of 8 all slept in the same bed.

Norman has the best bond with the two girls out of all the children. They immediately latched onto him to be their level-headed dad.

Rosita can carry two kids at once easily, and often "relocates" them like this :>

She's probably the strongest out of everyone in the troupe if you don't count the potential Meena has. She solos.

She's constantly taking notes on everyone and everything around her. At the theater, you'll catch her tidying stuff up she spots out of the corner of her vision while you're having a conversation with her [she's still listening]. She knows everyones favorite foods, and allergies, and their preferences in things, etc. She's the most attentive and considerate out of all of them [the mom]

She may have a touch of OCD.

She gives the best hugs.

Rosita is also a FANTASTIC cook [not even a headcanon, I'm pretty sure the entire fandom agrees on this one] and often bakes stuff for her sweet-toothed children [and husband]

This is actually how she initially connected with Caspar, who refused to eat or speak at first when they were all placed with Rosita.

Cinnamon rolls.

Kelly will only eat the frosting off the top, and has ruined an entire pan before by doing this.

Rosita actually isn't the biggest fan of chocolate, small detail.

Idk why she just strikes me as not being an enjoyer.

Loves vanilla though. People are furious when she answers "vanilla" with zero hesitation to the chocolate vs vanilla question.

Norman is kinda a hopeless romantic, or at least really enjoys the aesthetic of it [in a sweet and not shallow way ofc], and goes all out every Valentine's Day: balloons, flowers, the works. He's learned that Rosita prefers strawberries over a box of chocolates, however. Has a tradition of getting a fruit basket for her <3

They also have a tradition from all the way back in college, where they go out to eat at specifically the in-universe equivalent of Olive Garden [which was the fanciest thing they could afford at the time] and eat a shared giant plate of spaghetti.

Norman loves coffee. Insists he likes it black but actually prefers a good 50:50 ratio of creamer and coffee.

Norman is also ☝️ lactose intolerant LMAO

[[or would be, if traditional milk was widely accessible/a thing. I say "lactose intolerant" but what I really mean is he's allergic to most milk substitutes- like nuts and soy [gives him tummy ache, not anaphylaxis] ]]

God, parenthesis are carrying me so hard rn.

Stopping here because I'm tired, but I could go ON about these two omg-

Normita forever rahhhh <3

[mersei47]

I've been thinking about this self indulgent hank x player story for a while now and I really wanna share it because I love player and like the thought of them and hank met each others. This is gonna be long (and possibly broken grammars) but I will do my best at explaining it. the story is below

in one loop player started their own personal investigation to find out who this hank is out of curiousity. When both of them finally met, hank found player to be interesting and curious as to why player is so good at fighting (player didn't tell hank about the loop yet because they think nobody would believe them). Hank then decided to join player's team as a temporary hireling but he told them he didn't want any payment, he only joined them because he bored and wanted some entertainment.

as time go on hank and player started to get close. Hank realized that player is unlike the others and was fun to be around with. When it was time for player to enmesh the mandatus hank just went "you going to kill god? like an actual god? that's my shit count me in too". Player tried to tell hank that he can't go there because they have no idea what will happen to him if he did and this scenario had never happen before but hank was stubborn as fuck so player just let him.

when player and hank met gambler, gambler was confused at hank's presense and said how this event was not supposed to happen (hank found gambler annoying and commented on how he liked to use ambigious and fancy words to make himself looks mystery). Gambler tried to prevent hank from going any further but player told him that it was fine just let him do whatever he wanted because honestly they secretly wondering too what will happen.

After both of them finished taking down the machine, they got warped back to nevada and standing at the edge of the nowhere. player told hank that this is gonna be the last time hank see them but they are happy that in this loop they didn't face the machine alone and glad to see other side of hank that's not only violent part. Hank didn't think too hard about what player said but he really let himself get attached to them and suddenly feel....disappointed? regret? he didn't say it out loud and didn't know what to say so he just watched player walked into the nowhere until he couldn't see them anymore.

After player went vanished everyone at annex building went into chaos for a few days but soon managed back to normal by 2bdamned. Hank already knew that doc must knew about the whole mandatus thing with player so he went up to doc and asked him if player will ever coming back and doc said no. Hank didn't bother asking more from doc because he knew that doc already made up his mind about this but he couldn't help being frustrated himself. He also regret not really say anything to player back then. (he realized his feeling too late)

but after all those events, the machine will view hank as a bug/defective to the system because player is supposed to be the only one witness it but now hank witness it too.

this graph I draw is how I view arena mode event combined with my story. player stuck between points in time. And hank you can view him as like a virus or something like that because since he meant to be contained just like player but he's not and now continue to exist until present time. making him a dangerous being to the system (nevada)

think of it like, hank knows too much behind the curtains and he could use that to his advantage to destroy the machine anytime he wants

that's all I have for now. you can tell I really struggle with the last part of how should I explain it but im glad I get it all out. I hope you guys get the overall context of my rambling

[zxal]

he ain't heavy, he's my brother [dimensionswap au]

[battleaxeproficiency]

you guys are just making shit up about the Veilguard to be mad at

[jasonsbones]

.

[toji-bunny-girl]

You don't go to the library to study. You go there to have your cunt stuffed, by nonother than librarian!Gojo.

He works there 5 days a week, and you made sure to be there by your corner every single one of those days, carefully staring at him through the side of your book. Of course, he's well aware of your interest in him. You're so preoccupied with him you don't even realise you're holding the book upside down.

He doesn't realise it yet but he's slow to share the same amount of attraction to you as you are to him. He'd note the way your eyebrows would adorably scrunch together when you're actually doing your assignment for once, and you'd collapse face down onto the table when the frustration and exhaustion caught up to you. Or how your favourite colour seemed to be pink, your stationery and laptop covered in different shades of the colour.

He's used to your presence by now, having spent the last couple of weeks observing you just as you stalked him through the library. And truth to be told, he actually enjoyed it—he's got a cutie following behind him, too shy to strike up a conversation with him and too dumb to hide your little crush any better.

You quickly became the only part of his job he would look forward to, questioning what kind of crap you were going to pull up to just right before his shift. Until you're gone all of a sudden.

Maybe you were just late, he thought on the first day of your absence. Or maybe you're sick by the second day. Perhaps you're just busy with school…or maybe some another guy—

Why does he even care in the first place? You're just some stalker with a pretty face, nothing special out of the sea of girls in his DMs. Gojo doesn't like how he's fretting over a girl who he hasn't talked to before, your presence doesn't control how his day goes anyway.

Until it does.

It exasperated him by how he allowed himself to be subjugated under you. He can't focus on his seminars when the voices in his head wonder about you louder than the lecturer's, he can't flirt with the chicks on campus without thinking about that fangirl from the library and he can't sleep if his head is filled with the images of you with another guy.

What kind of spell have you managed to put him under?

He was completely and utterly chafed by the next week when he entered his shift, a frown seemingly marked permanently upon his face as he went through his chores, putting away the books back to their categorised shelves. That was until he heard a familiar pit-pats of your shoes, and saw your figure stupidly hiding behind a bookshelf from the side of his eye.

His playful spirit returned when he noted your presence, and he wandered further into the library, where no one could see the two of you. As expected, you shuffled along his steps before slipping yourself into the aisle behind him, pretending to flick through the choices of books on display.

Those were Chinese novels, and you majored in Biochemistry. Idiot, he thought with an internal chuckle.

Unbeknownst to you, he had strolled to your back, waiting for you to turn to face him. Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when you found him standing right in front of you, and you froze then and there like a deer in the headlights.

"I know you've been stalking me around here," he had a shit-eating smirk on his face as his arms rested by your sides to trap you in between them. "Freak," he whispered next to your ears, sending a tingle through your nerves.

"I-I, ah—" you stammered, trying to collect your words to sound coherent. Your face was flushed bloody red with embarrassment, and Gojo was sure he'd burn himself if he were to touch you.

"But that's okay…" he drawled. "I won't spread the word if you listen to me."

Your eyes were wide, gaping at him through your lashes as you nodded.

Fuck, were you adorable.

"You like me, huh?"

"Uhm…I, uh…"

"Hm?"

"Y-Yes," you blurted with your eyes squeezed shut, too embarrassed. Your breath was hot, and they scorched his cheeks red upon your words.

"What do you like about me?" oh god does he love teasing the hell out of you.

"Your f-face…"

"My face?" he feigned dumb. Of course, he's well aware that girls would only come chasing after his looks. But he absolutely enjoyed torturing you with his stupid questions. "Which part of my face?"

"Huh…?" your eyes were spinning, your hands raising to push his frame a little away for your comfort.

"My eyes? My nose?" his bigger hand captured the two of yours into his grasp, his fingers were icy cold against yours, and his face neared yours once again, merely a breath away. "Or my lips?"

You didn't dare to answer, the sound of your throat gulping filled the air as a few stray hairs of his tickled your cheek. His eyes peered towards yours, catching your gaze that fell upon his lips.

"There, huh?" Gojo's smirk widened, his grip on your wrists tightening a fraction. "Wanna try them?"

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words left your trembling lips, except for a silent gasp. He took the shift of your feature as a sign for him to advance onto you, his lips gently sucked on your soft flesh, the tiniest amount of your saliva flowed onto his tongue and they tasted better than the finest honey.

A string of your mixed essence connected his lips to yours, red and swollen as a sign of his kiss, when he pulled away. Your knees weakened in enfeeblement, and Gojo caught you before you could fall to the ground.

"You're done?" his arms are strong, and you could feel his muscles flex under your hand when you gathered your strength to stabilise on your feet. "I'm not."

His touches slowly trailed down from your arm to your hips, and you subconsciously rubbed your thighs together when his gaze fell onto them. In his eyes you could see a growing hunger that lurked beneath his bright blue eyes, it was the darker gradient that hung low in his orbs.

"Do you touch yourself here when you think of me?" your teeth sank into the flesh of your bottom lip and your eyes peered down to between your skirt, where his hand was as you vaguely nodded; hoping that he didn't see the faint motion of your head.

How wouldn't he know when all his attention is on you? His eyes scanned the faint shifts in your features when he pressed against your heat, making sure there wasn't any hint of dissent to his touch—and mostly searching for the muted salacity behind your pretty eyes.

"Sometimes…" your voice was meek, but it was audible enough for his ear to twitch at your words. His chest almost burst to your confession, and the images of your features twisting into lewd faces flashed past his mind, calling out his name with that sweet voice of yours.

A soft moan left your lips when his fingers slipped past your pink panty, drawing slow circles upon your clit. Your hips bucked as he teased, his other hand coming down to palm your ass.

"What about I make you feel good?" he gently asked, and you drunkenly nodded to your pleasure. His thumb grew charge of teasing your hardening bud, his two long fingers dipped into your already-slick cavern, reaching the sensitive parts of your inside.

Your lips tensed into a line to quell the moans that drew from your itching tummy, and your hands rested on Gojo's chest, gripping onto his shirt for support.

His fingers grew greedy for more of your whimpers, stroking past your walls, searching for the velvety spot in you. You threw your head back when he found the part he was looking for, pumping out and into the spongey surface, stimulating your nerves to their limit.

Your eyebrows furrowed and your eyelids flew shut when he expedited the speed of his slick-coated digits, his arm growing slightly sore as he carried you to the height of your orgasm. His cock twitched when you drew out a cry of pleasure, your breath stuck in your throat as your mind went blank from your high.

Your grip on his clothes loosened, and you panted as you rest your weight against the shelves, Gojo's damp fingers evident of the pleasure he delivered to you. He watched as you collected your remaining breath, your cheeks flushed pink in arousal and your eyesight slowly blinked clear.

A bolt flash of surprise ran through his eyes when you carefully pulled his pants down, gripping his hardened girth with your warm hands. Gojo stopped you with a grab of your wrist, your whole body tensing in creeping embarrassment—he doesn't like it when you touch him?

Your thoughts flew out the window when he spat onto your palm, before guiding your hand back to his throbbing cock. Your mind grew blank as you began fisting his length, his breath hitching when you rubbed over his pinkish-red tip.

Your touches were filled with careful inexperience, and Gojo found it absolutely fucking adorable. The soft squelching of his saliva in your hand as you pumped his cock filled the air, and he inched closer to kiss you once again.

His groans flowed into your mouth as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, drinking in the taste of you as you pleased him. You seemed to be a quick learner on your own, pumping his pulsing cock faster, gripping onto him tighter, and rubbing his sensitive tip of all.

His hips stuttered along with the movements of your hand, a sign of his close release and you were clearly relentless to please him. Your pace doesn't falter, but fastened instead and his moans muffled through your sloppy kiss, your mixed drool dripping down your chin and onto your chest.

"Fuck," his voice cracked as his cock twitched, before ejaculating his hot semen onto your clothes, slowly dripping down to your thigh. Your breaths mingled in the sultry air, the smell of your essences filled your nostrils as the both of you cooled from the aftermath of your highs.

You recognised the dirty smirk on his face when you flicked your gaze up at him, and you sank into the bookshelf in preparation for what he had conjured up in his mind.

"The library closes in 30 minutes, we'll get the whole place to ourselves by then."

[cherrygirlfriend]

rafe catching innocentvirgin!reader working out

warnings: smut, no actual sex but like graphic descriptions of fantasies so i think it counts? MDNI this is for my pilates princesses, i'm trying to get into it and whew i have so much respect for yall,,, ANYWAY hope u guys are staying healthy and safe!!! mwah

rafe was knocking on your door impatiently, wanting to see you more than anything after the day he had, finding out that the development he had been busting his ass for for months had been delayed, but you weren't answering the door or even his texts telling you to open the door; that didn't stop him, the man knowing where your parents kept the spare key, getting it out of a pot of asterias, opening the door. you'd told him he could only use it 'only in case of emergencies', but to him, this constituted as an emergency.

rafe didn't bother to put the key back as he walked further into the house, hearing the noise of the television coming from your living room. he made his way to the living room, his eyes widening slightly when he saw exactly what had you so busy.

you were splayed on the floor, a pink workout mat underneath you, watching some workout video on your tv while your headphones were on, wearing a pair of pink fitness shorts that made your ass look so good he was almost drooling, along with a white sports bra, turned away from him, one of your hands splayed on the ground while the other one was bent on your head, one of your knees on the mat while your other was reaching up.

"jesus christ." he mumbled as he stared at you, the curve of your ass in those pink shorts causing his dick to stir in his shorts.

only a few seconds later, you moved to sit down on the mat, only to be startled by your boyfriend shamelessly ogling you, letting out a small gasp as you basically fell on your ass on the mat, your eyes widening.

you took off your headphones, throwing them onto the couch behind you, and even though your face was already warm and flushed, it seemed to get worse when you noticed him staring at you. "rafe!" you exclaimed as you stood up, his eyes now locked onto your hardened nipples under the sports bra, your tits almost pressed together, a sheen of sweat running down your cleavage.

"jesus fucking christ." he said, licking his lips slightly as you took your pink zip-up jacket and put it on, yet the way it clung to your body and the small sliver of your sports bra did almost nothing to hide how delicious you looked. "no, no, baby, don't stop on my accord." rafe grinned, his hands on your waist, aware that he was sporting a pretty obvious hard-on as he pulled you closer.

"i don't want you to see me all gross and sweaty." you pouted, and the way you sucked your lip in made nothing to calm down the obvious tent in his shorts.

"you look so fucking sexy right now." he said, pulling you closer to him, and you could feel his hard-on press against your abdomen, the blonde letting out a small groan from only that contact. "literally, i've never... jesus."

"i'm not sexy right now." you roll your eyes, pushing away a stray hair that had stuck to your cheek, trying to look down in embarrassment.

"you're kidding, right?" rafe snorted, his hand going lower and lower, almost going to the curve to your ass. "i think you can feel how sexy you look, huh?" he took hold of your chin with his fingers, and lifted it up, making you look up at him. "if you didn't want to wait longer, do you know the things i'd do to you?"

"w-what?" you asked in a way that was almost a whisper, biting your lower lip as you looked at him through your lashes.

"fuck, i'd just rip that cute little set off and take you right here on the couch. i'd make you ride me, give you a workout that's much better than this crap you're doing, your tits bouncing in my face, my hands gripping those pretty thighs... shit, i might cum just thinking about it."

you softly smacked him in the chest, feeling a warmth in your abdomen only he managed to cause, sure that you'd never blushed so hard in your life. "raafee..."

he brings your face up to his, bringing your lips to his as he bent down slightly, the kiss much more heated than any other kiss that you'd shared, his hand now on the curve of your ass, squeezing it in a way that made you gasp against his lips, his other hand now in your hair.

after a moment, you pulled away breathlessly, his erection had somehow gotten even worse than before, your lips swollen and a doe-eyed look in your eyes. "we should... uh, we should stop, since, you know..."

"yeah, i know baby." he rolled his eyes exasperatedly, before chuckling softly. "god, i'm not gonna forget this little outfit in a while. lemme take a pic of it?"

"noo, i look gross!"

"don't talk about my girl like that." he tsked, taking hold of your jaw. "come on, i need something to get myself off to later."

"alright, fine." you scoffed and rolled your eyes, before letting out a small chuckle as you started unzipping your jacket.

[welovelouisandbucky]

You don't say it back

Summary: you prank your boyfriend by not saying "I love you" back, while he's getting late for quidditch practice.

Warnings: Fluff. Kissing (insert scandalised face) Few suggestive moments? Out of character stuff mayne? Seriously, none on this one, lol. Well, of course my writing, as usual. Not proof read.

S/n: positive criticism is appreciated as always. As well as any form of feedbacks, likes, comments or rebloggs. And be kind you guys, this is a safe place for everyone. Enjoy!!

Masterlist

Mattheo Riddle (with Hufflepuff!reader)

It was stupid and ridiculous.

You were just curious of his reaction, that is all.

You heard your friends' talking about doing this to their boyfriends for shits and giggles. At first, you hated the idea of tormenting your significant other for fun, then curiosity consumed your mind for weeks.

Now it seemed like a fun idea to prank your boyfriend, Mattheo Riddle.

You thought it was a perfect way to get back at your boyfriend for teasing you last week in The Great Hall. In your mind it was the perfect revenge.

So you made up your mind to put it into action as soon as you had the chance. Which was now, at his dorm room while he was about to leave for Quidditch practice with Theo.

You were excited as well as anxious for his reaction. Anticipation has been eating away your brain for days now and you were finally going to do it.

Mattheo came up to you and kissed your forehead as you remained sitted on his bed, with your books all splattered around before you.

"gimme a kiss, will you?" He grinned down at you, ignoring annoyed and impatient Theo by the door, who was urging him to hurry up as they were already late.

Smiling, you complied to his wish and kissed him. Without meaning to, you deepen the kiss, clinging onto him as if he's your life support, suddenly not feeling ready to send him off just yet. He seems to think the same way as he holds onto you tighter, kissing you more intensely, cupping your face with his one hand as the other roams down. You almost moan into his mouth when you hear someone gag.

"oi! Stop snogging her and hurry up!" Theo called, tapping his foot impatiently. Matthew rolled his eyes and winked at you before stepping back.

"'ight, love. We'll finish this later, yeah?" Mattheo smirked when you blushed under his gaze. He loves how's you blush at his every word, one of the reasons why he teases you a lot.

"Love you!" He said as he was about to leave with Theo. You just smiled and waved at the both of them. Physically restraining yourself from saying it back, you almost did, but you are glad you didn't as he stopped abruptly.

He looks back at you, expectedly.

You all but smiled up at him innocently. Your eyes never once betraying the guilt you are feeling inside, you just now realised how bad of a timing this is to do this prank, when he's clearly beyond late for his practice. Though, it's too late to go back now.

He clears his throat.

"uh, love? Aren't ya forgetting something?" He asks, his one brow raised in accusing manner. Mattheo steps inside the room again, completely ignoring the loud groan of his best mate ( who looks ready to hit Mattheo with his broomstick any second now ).

You don't reply, just look in his way with furrowed brows, feigning false confusion, which you can tell Mattheo saw right through.

"don't think so, no," you say. You pretend to think over it for couple of minutes before shrugging your head no. Mattheo huffs and rolls his eyes at you. Almost annoyed with you, as you're purposefully making him even more late to his practice.

"c'mon now, princess. Don't play stupid with me," he says impatiently. Not wanting make his team wait any longer on his account, just wanting to get over with that thing as soon as possible so he can come back and spend time with you again. But he can't do that unless he leaves and he's not leaving until you say "I love you" back, but judging by the look on your face, he knows he's not leaving any time soon.

"oh yeaahhhh, sorry, baby!" You giggle. And he smiles, thinking you finally got what he was saying.

"I forgot to wish you luck! Well, good luck with your practice, and have fun!" You tell him affectionately, your voice sugary sweet. You waved him bye again and blowed him a kiss.

Mattheo's hopeful expression falls, so does your heart.

"Y/n," he says, there's an edge to his voice, as well as a slight hint of hurt. Your heart breaks a little inside, regretting your stupid prank now as you look at him. He's standing in middle of the room, in his quidditch robes with his broomstick clutched tightly, his puppy brown eyes looking alarmingly sad.

You know how hard it was for him to express his feelings openly, it is still a struggle for him to express his emotions sometimes, you help him best as you can. And you're really proud of him, for how far along he had come since when you first met him. You curse at yourself mentally, just realising how stupid of an idea this was to began with.

"oh Mattheo," you softly say and go over to him. Wrapping your arms around him and he instantly holds you closer to him, you kiss him tenderly all over his face. "I'm so, so sorry, baby. I thought—i well, doesn't matter now. It was stupid anyways, I'm sorry. I love you." You say against his skin, feeling him tightening his hold, nudging his face deeper into your hair. You heard him sigh of relief, and relax into him.

"sorry, Mattheo. Please forgive me?" You ask, pulling back just a little to look at his face. He gives you one of his smiles which tells you're forgiven, you almost melt into a puddle at that.

"don't. ever. do that again, yeah?" He mumbles before kissing you. He doesn't have to tell you that anyway, since you're never attempting something like this ever again.

He leaves ghostly kisses against your skin, traveling from your lips to sensitive skin under your ear. His hand sliding down to your back, as you lock your arms around his neck.

"don't think you can get away with this so easily, love. We'll see about that forgiveness once I'm back from practice." He whispers darkly, and with one firm pat to your bum, he begins to leave once Theo clears his throat. Making his presence known, which you seemed to forget about completely.

"love you," he smirks your way before leaving with Theo, who looks as if he wants to dig himself into hole and never comeback, ever again.

You try to reply, but no words come out. Suddenly breathless.

You watch him leave with newfound excitement and anticipation burning through your body.

Maybe you're not forgiven afterall.

(divider credits to the rightful owner @rypnami 🙏🏼)

A/n: annnnnnddddd I'm back!!!!! So sorry for disappearing again😭 I have some ideas that I'm currently working on, so hopefully I'll be able to post more content soon!! Yay!

And don't forget to comment or reblog.

Hope you enjoyed reading. Have a nice day!!!

Requests are open.

[hyunjins-orange-slice-too]

Omg omg, can you please do a daddy!chan oneshot x babygirl!reader (pls make them married) based of when the reader cant take his cock(too big)😩

you can take it. can’t you baby?

pairing: daddy!husband!chan x babygirl!reader

genre: smuuuuuut, no plot. oh you guys.. this is filthy. we are so back.

word count: ~1.5k

warnings: daddy kink, praise kink, unprotected sex, squirting, dirty talk, fluffy silly little bit of aftercare at the end

an: oh my gooooodddd i love requests like this. i love thinking about this. i love the opportunity to write shit like this. inject daddy!chan directly into my bloodstream atp. love love LOVE. need him asap. “big dick chan. big dick chan” we all chant in unison.

masterlist

‼ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⚠︎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ‼ adults only • mdni ‼ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⚠︎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ‼

“it doesn’t fit again, baby?” he teased. “we just did this last night.” he’s slowly inching his cock inside you, but not having much luck. the stretch is too much for you. “baby’s pussy is just soo tight.. huh?”

you’re nodding, doing your best to answer his question, your mouth hanging open, drool pooling on your tongue. he’s already got you fucked out and he hasn’t even fucked you yet. “s’too much daddy..” you whined. “too— too much.”

“i know, baby. daddy knows.” he cooed, pulling out of you, though he was only head deep. “let’s prep you a little better, yeah?” he brings his hand to your face, squeezing your cheeks in between his fingers. your tongue lolls out of your mouth, spit dripping down to your chin. he takes his middle and ring finger and places them on your tongue. you immediately wrap your lips around the digits, swirling your tongue over his skin.

“there you go, baby. good girl. get em nice and wet.” you moaned around his fingers, the praise shooting right to your core, your pussy dripping onto the sheets. he shoves them deeper into your mouth, down your throat until his knuckles are hitting your teeth and you gag around him. his eyes roll slightly at the sound, struggling to keep his composure when you’re so pliant for him.

he pulls his fingers out, a trail of spit connecting them to your lips as he brings them to your pussy. “let’s try and stretch you out a little, yeah?” he rubs soft circles around your clit, teasing, before he travels lower and plays with your drippy hole. “it’s daddy’s fault for not prepping you better. i just get so excited, baby. i get so excited to feel your little cunt wrapped around me.” he slowly slides his fingers inside, pumping them a few times before spreading his fingers apart, doing his best to stretch your little hole.

“it’s hard for daddy to wait sometimes. i just need my baby so bad.” he speeds up his fingers, curving them to hit the spot he knows you like so much. the sounds coming from your sweet mouth make his cock ache. it’s red and leaking onto his tummy where it rests, not so patiently waiting for its turn. he can feel you starting to flutter around his fingers, your legs beginning to shake. he brings his free hand up to your tummy and gently presses down, making sure you feel everything.

“daddy..” you cry. “gonna cum..” your little fists grip at the sheets, then grip onto his firm bicep, your nails digging into the muscle that’s doing most of the work. “b-big one..” you whine.

big one. he knew what that meant and it only made his cock angrier. “big one, baby? fuck. you haven’t done that since our wedding night. mmm. daddy loves it when you do that. you gonna make a mess, sweet girl?”

you held onto him like he was the only thing left anchoring you to this world, rolling your hips up to meet his thrusting fingers. “fuck. that’s it baby. fuck daddy’s hand. such a perfect girl.”

and then it hit you. it comes in waves, the initial orgasm hitting you, the first little gush of liquid around his fingers and he knows that’s when to pull them out. and once they’re out, that’s when you squirt all over his thighs, his arm, his waiting cock. he’s lucky he doesn’t bust right then. he brings his fingers to your clit, quickly rubbing back and forth, coaxing out any little bit of cum that’s left in you.

you collapse on the bed, completely spent, but ready for more. your hole spasms around nothing, practically begging to be filled. chan hovers over you, placing sweet kisses along your jaw and neck. he lines himself up with your entrance, your warm cum coating his tip. he drags it up and down through your folds, slapping it on your clit a few times. you whimper under him, your body still recovering.

“i think you’re ready now, princess.” he says, the head of his cock poking your hole. “wanna see if you can take it now, baby. daddy knows you can. you can take it, can’t you baby?” he’s babbling as he slowly starts to push in. you still feel the stretch but not as much as last time. “that okay, pretty girl? how’re you doing?” he brushes his fingers across your cheek and your lips. “talk to me, baby. come back.”

you whimper as he sinks deeper and deeper, the stretch feeling so good, his words feeling even better. “s’good daddy.” you mumble. “i can do it. i’m— i’m a good girl, daddy. i can do it. promise.”

he bottoms out, his hips coming in contact with the back of your thighs and he stills, giving you time to adjust and drinking in the feeling of you squeezing him. “that’s right baby. you are a good girl. such a good girl taking all of daddy’s cock. fuck. letting me stretch out this little pussy.”

after a moment, he’s unable to wait any longer and he begins to rock back and forth, his cock dragging your walls in all the right ways. you can feel every inch, every vein, as he slowly pumps in and out of you. savoring the feeling. he looks down at where your bodies are connected (heh connected. get it? sorry.) and he groans at the sight of the creamy ring of cum that surrounds the base of his cock. he’s not going to last.

“fuck.. baby girl..” he throws his head back, his eyes closing as he focuses on the way you feel around him. and you’re focusing on the way he looks above you. his toned stomach flexes with every thrust he makes, sweat dripping down his chest, his black curls clinging to his forehead. his nose and his full parted lips are enough to bring you close to your high again. you tried to make a mental note in your foggy mind to ride his face next time, feel his nose bumping against your clit. maybe squirt in his mouth. you bet he would like that. you clenched around him at the thought, at the visual of his tiny trail of hair that runs from below his belly button to the base of his cock. “you’re squeezing me baby. fuck i’m gonna cum.”

he looks back down at you, dark eyes meeting yours as his thrusts become harsher. skin slapping against skin as he pounds into you. he leans down and wraps his arms around your head, protecting your skull from smacking the headboard as he fucks you. “gonna cum in this little pussy baby. gonna fill you up, yeah?”

you nodded, gripping onto his shoulders as you teetered on the edge of your own bliss. “yes daddy. yes please, cum in me.”

“such a sweet baby.” he grunted. “using words like please. begging for daddy.”

“want your cum. please. please can i have it?”

you were so close. you were sure you would cum with the next words out of his mouth. it didn’t matter what he said, as long as he was the one that said it, you were going to cum.

“can you take it all baby? daddy’s gonna cum but don’t- fuck.. don’t you let any of it escape.”

and you came, your release squirting around his cock, but he refused to pull out. he kept fucking into you, the wet noises loud as they echoed off the walls of your shared bedroom.

“gonna pump this pussy full of cum, baby.” he rasped into your ear, his breath warm, but your skin still breaking out in goosebumps. your nails dug into his back, your head empty, unable to beg him anymore. but that’s okay, he was already cumming in you. his twitching cock dumped his huge load into your aching pussy. and it just kept going and going. “so much cum, baby. fuck. fuck.” he whimpered. “such a good girl. fuck. daddy’s perfect girl.”

his thrusts finally rolled to a stop, his body collapsing next to yours, his breathing heavy against your neck. he kissed your flushed skin. “are you okay, baby?” he asked quietly, his lips brushing against the skin of your neck with his words.

your answering contented sigh told him everything he needed to know. he giggled. “you feel good, princess?” his arm was around your middle, holding you closer to him in an awkward post coital embrace. “feeling a little spacey?”

“mhm.”

he kissed your jaw before pushing himself up on weakened arms and slowly pulling out of you. his cum spilled onto the sheets.

“baby!” he playfully scolded. “i said to not let any of this spill.” his fingers tickled your sides, causing you to squirm and giggle. your squirming caused more of his cum to leak out of you. “baby! you’re letting more out!” he teased as he continued his tickle attack. “oh my gosh and here i thought you were my good girl.”

“i am!” you fought back, pushing his tickling hands away. and he let you.

he looked down at you, his eyes sparkling, literal heart eyes as he stared at you. “i love you.” he said.

“i love you.” you answered.

he leaned forward and pecked your lips before retreating to the bathroom for a warm cloth.

ᯓᡣ𐭩

i really didn’t expect so many people to be so stoked about this post. it made me nervous! lol i hope it lived up to everyone’s expectations. pls let me know your thoughts.

♡ pls reblog if you liked it! it truly helps a lot and makes me smile :) ♡

©hyunjins-orange-slice-too i do not give permission for this work or any of my work to be translated, copied, or reposted.

@httpdwaekki @bangchansslut6 <33

[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.

[misstwisted]

I can confidently say Lyle Menendez is one of the bravest men in the entire world, and I am so fucking aggravated with how the show has portrayed him.

Imagine you spent all your life trying to protect your baby brother from the abuse you suffered from, just for it to happen anyways.

And all this time you try so hard to put aside your pain and be strong for him, knowing he looks up to you, and knowing you are the only person in the world who can protect him from the two monsters in your life. Two monsters who happen to be the two people you’re supposed to trust the most.

And you are losing your hair from stress, and losing your brother due to your father, and losing your feelings of safety because your parents are a ticking time bomb that have been ready to go off your whole life.

So you do the one thing you think is the best option, and you and your brother shoot them dead.

And later on, you are put in a court room, having to discuss and relive all the terrible things that have ever happened to you in front of all these strangers and media cameras staring at you.

And your brother is there. Your brother who’ve you tried to hide the pain from for so long is across from you as you have to recount the vile things that have happened to you. And you have to watch him cry while you’re trying to keep yourself together.

Then later on, you guys get sentenced to life for trying to make sure you both get to live another day. And you’re forced to spend your mid 20s, to 30s, to 40s, and now 50s in prison, not getting to see your brother for decades until 2018.

And you know what you get out of it? You know what your payment is for suffering your entire life? For carrying the world on your shoulders for years ever since you were a kid?

You get portrayed as a psychopathic, egotistic, idiotic asshole in a show made by the creator of glee. You are constantly made fun of for your hair loss and the fact you have to wear a toupee, and you’re written as a completely devoid of empathy and unfeeling monster, who treats his brother like shit and only cares about himself. You are also being sexualized to death, and with your own brother as well.

Oh, and not to mention: the show basically says you FAKED your emotions and tears in court. Yeah, that time you were at your most vulnerable and bravely telling your abuse story even when you knew a lot of people wouldn’t understand? Fake! Totally and utterly fake. Apparently you were the actor in your family all along…

Lyle has been treated like shit his entire life. He was a child, a BABY when his parents started violating him. He didn’t even know how to ride a bike yet when it started. He barely had the chance for life yet. Please, media, leave this man and his brother alone. I NEVER wanna see this portrayal of Lyle again.

Unless I talk about how I finished the Netflix show, one last time: Fuck you Ryan Murphy. And stop doing this to victims. Stop disrespecting them.

[immortaljai]

Good Talk.

1.5k Words, Smut, dirty talk, 3some, asshole behavior, porn w plot.

It was a weird family but it was your family. The amount of times the X-men tried to recruit you was sickening, Wade always in your ear about unicorns and his “Golden babys” all that you were used to. You never expected Wade to come home after his disappearance let alone with someone who seems to hate everyone. Logan was snarky, a drunk, and overall an asshole from the moment you met him.

He had this “lone wolf” batman shit going on with him, it confused you seeing Wade and him interact let along him living with you guys. You tried to avoid him as best as you could getting cursed at less then Wade but it irritated you how he hated you when you did nothing primarily to Logan other than have your tomfoolery jokes with Wade.

You really should have noticed the heated gazes, the close proximity and the borderline degrading words, Logan wanted nothing to do with you for a reason. With Wade it was different he was always..touchy always close especially when he was hurt one smaller cut off healing arm waving at Logan and one hand on your waist a bit close to your bottom as you faced him cleaning the blood off his face. If only you looked behind you to see the irritated flustered mess Logan was, truly explains why Wade laughed louder.

You’re a clueless thing indeed, how could you not have noticed Logans brushing up against you as you argue about how onions should be cut “You know what fork hands maybe if you pulled weight around here and cooked your own fucking meals you wouldnt have so much to complain about” the chopping board making loud noises as you slides irritatedly Wade was long gone getting the “Powdered donuts” for Blind Al so he really had no idea what was going down Al decided long before to leave the apartment.

“You have knifes for hands use them” you snarkily said with an eyeroll “You got a fuckin’ smart mouth you better watch it” he growled in your ear still hovering, he snatched the knife out of your hand standing behind you cutting the onions himself “Ya’ see? Maybe if you didnt run your fuckin’ mouth so much you’d learn something” that made your anger flare quickly exhaling through your nose “Maybe if you didnt fuck up what you had, you wouldnt be here and id be asshole babysitting free” the kitchen went silent as the slicing ceased you could hear him breathing lightly behind you. The knife clatted on the cutting board as he leaned down his nose touching your shoulder, his breathing on your lower back “Ya wanna repeat that?” 

You nearly shat yourself as you stuttered out or tried to stutter out an apology, however that was cut short due to Wade coming through the door “MARVEL JESUS IS BACK” you never thought you'd be so happy to hear that name quickly and swiftly moving from Logans trapped arms and running to the door “Heeeey red” you said side smile on your face as you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding “Hi sweet face, where is Whiskey dick” a grunt came from behind you knowing it was logan you paid no mind to him, as Wades eyes widen “Theses my muscle man oh you look angry i think my bone is rising” you rolled your eyes a smirk on your face as you turned to look at logan “M’ not pissed, not in the slightest” he said gruffly a beer in his hands leaning on the doorway his heated gaze on you.

Wade's eyes widened as he raised his non-existent eyebrows “Ohhh what happened while i was gone- clothes are still on” that made you scoff lightly folding your arms as you walked away from the kitchen “Dinners nearly ready” Logan said staring at Wade as you disappeared. Wade smirked walking up to Logan quite closely “So..what happened between you and sweet cheeks” Logan looked at Wade with slight uninterest “She’s got a mouth” “That can be used properly” Wade replied quickly with a smirk “Your disgusting” Logan said pinching his nose “And yet here you are a boner cause of an attitude- you pervert” 

Dinner was as usual loud, friends over as if it was a celebration, Logan in the corner watching keeping a close eye on his self proclaimed daughter a drink in hand as usual, he manspread slightly catching your gaze landing on his lap before away again, his eyes however were already on you, maybe it was the buzz, maybe it was his hormones but you looked..nice..better then nice even. Throughout the night he moved closer to you, from the chair, then next to Laura, then in the end you were in the middle of him and Wade.

Wade's arm around your waist from the moment he closed in, his eyes moving from the cleavage your shirt gave as he talked to you, his eyes taking in you completely licking his lower lip, he noticed Logan moving in and he smirked to himself. “Go get my board game for me sweet cheeks” Wade whispered to you winking to Logan, he gave Wade a blank face before taking a long swig of his drink.

You entered his room, it was cluttered as you huffed looking through his things, tossing things behind you “Where the fu-'' your sentence  was cut short as you were pushed and pinned agaist the bed a heavyweight pushed against your back before a hand came to cover your mouth “Smart mouth..” Logan whispered in your ear you blushed deeply at the bulge pressed against you and the husky voice behind you “M’ gonna need you to listen to me, there's about 6 people in the house..i'm gonna need you to be quiet” you didn't need to be told twice nodding your head slowly.

That was all he needed his hands moving up your pants pulling them down slightly his fingers reading you through your underwear “L-at that, soaked been thinking bout this?” you were pre occupied your face pressed into the sheets whimpers coming from you, that made him chuckle his pants swiftly being pulled down as his tip nudged between your core and your underwear making him sigh deeply before pulling back your slick being pulled with each drag of his hips “This- jus’ gonna have to do for now” he said fucking your thighs, his hand moving to grab your throat to lift your head, the door opened making your eyes widen as you looked back seeing Wade. 

“Fuckin knew it- you guys left me out” he frowned as he started removing his pants quickly “Dumbass- you gave me the hint” Logan groaned into your ear his pace not slowing, his tip brushing your clit perfectly with each drag of his hips, your ass jiggling each time. Wade smirked as he sat in front of you his legs opening “Hi sweet cheeks- im sorry to ask this..given your state but-” he grabbed your hair using your open mouth as a fleshlight as he sighed in content “Yeah..thats better” Wade was bigger then any male you sucked off and it didnt help thst Logan wasnt letting up, you quickly found a rhythm from sucking Wade using your hand to stroke what couldnt fit sucking his tip harshly making his eyes roll back “F-fuck yea- like a lolipop sweet face” his head thrown back as he softly rocked his hips in your mouth, Logan hand reaching up to grab his balls “There you go smart mouth, make the idiot cum” he said whispering in your ear speeding up his precum coating your cunt. Your eyes rolling back as you tried your best to deep throat Wade while stroking his cock “Ohh-Ohhh yea im about to paint the entire room white like marble-” Wades eyes squeezed shut as he held your head down moving it once, twice, three times before blowing his load down your throat and falling back his chest heaving as you swallowed it all licking his tip clean. 

Behind you, you heard a snicker as your face was pushed down into the pillow and a dick was inserted into you Logans pace started off uncaring as he used you as if you were a doll slamming you up and down as his hand rapidly rubbed at your bud “Yea- I don't see you talking now do I?” he chuckled at your muffled moans crudely his chest making contact with your back as he groaned “Fuck..cmon cum doll, cum for your asshole” he whispered in your ear making your mouth fall open as you screamed in the pillow your vision going white as you painted his cock white, triggering his own orgasm as he stuffed you full thrusting a few more times before pulling out pulling your underwear up making sure it all stayed in. Wade’s eyes crinkled into a smile seeing your fucked out face “We gotta get up doll- they gonna start speculating” however you could barely hear let along talk so you nodded dumbly 

That made them chuckle lightly as they stood up Logan stuffing his cock into his pants as Wade put back on his pants “Guess we tell them she fell asleep?” Wade asked “I don’t give a shit” Logan said walking out with a smirk leaving you in your slutted out state 

“Good night sweet cheeks” 

Still feral thanks for cumming.