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

[muniimyg]

BAD HABIT // JJK

06 | big dipper // series m.list

note: hihi ,, thank u for waiting !! this ch is def worth it tbh </3 no warnings ,, just like ... oc goes off on jungkook ,, jungkook gets blindfolded ,, more context on their auras ??? yeah ... tension too ! pls do not be shy and send in ur thoughts !!! i would love to know how u're liking the fic so far as it's my first fantasy au !!!!! (clearly still very nervy lmfao) mwah ,, enj !

//

the past few days have been anything but easy for jungkook.

not that he deserves easy—he knows he doesn’t. if anything, this is exactly what he should’ve expected. what does surprise him, though, is just how well you execute the petty treatment. how effortlessly you lock him out. how, no matter how many times he shuts his eyes, focuses, and tries to slip into your thoughts—he can’t.

it’s like the connection doesn’t exist.

which makes no sense.

because it does.

the string between you is golden and bright, undeniable to everyone who has ever seen it. and yet, there’s this… knot. this missing piece. it’s so fucking strange. he felt you before—felt the way your heart would race, the heat that would bloom across your skin. he knew when you were sick, when you were anxious. when the bond first tied, his own pulse had stumbled just trying to match yours. he cared so much when it happened...

but now?

now, it’s empty.

like someone cut the string without actually severing it.

he first noticed it that night in the garden.

you had only been soulmates for a few hours, and still, he felt something. at first, he thought maybe he was imagining it. overhyping the entire invisible string phenomenon. but then, the symptoms started stacking—waves of nausea when you were overwhelmed, your voice in his head when you caught his stray thoughts in class.

you’re in his head.

but he’s not in yours.

and if he’s not in your head, then what about your heart?

after that night, jungkook had gone to bed feeling like absolute shit. you told him he made you feel better—but he couldn’t feel it. couldn’t be sure. how could he trust words alone when everything inside you was a blank slate to him?

it freaked him out.

it got to him.

he spent the night tossing and turning, unable to catch even fifteen minutes of real sleep. and then, the next morning, when you walked in well-rested and seemingly fine—it hit him like a freight train.

it’s him.

he’s the problem.

and as fucked up, childish, and selfish as it is—that’s why he called you boring.

because you are.

because you’re blank.

because he, the so-called master of manipulation, can’t get inside your head.

but he sure as hell can get under your skin.

"so everyone, partner up—and obviously, soulmates go with soulmates," namjoon announces, finishing his rundown of the sparring activity.

you barely register the rest.

instead, you watch the class shuffle into place. soulmates move toward each other. friends pair up. the guys—still without soulmates—team up amongst themselves.

and jungkook?

jungkook leans against a tree, one foot propped lazily against the bark, arms folded over his chest. his expression is unreadable, but the tilt of his head, the barely-there smirk, sends heat curling up your spine. he plays with his lighter.

you exhale sharply and motion for him to come over.

he stays put, smirk growing.

then, he mouths, "don’t wanna."

your jaw clenches. you point at him, then to the ground in front of you.

"come here. now."

jungkook blinks, feigning innocence.

you cross your arms.

you wait—a second, a minute, a moment too long.

then, just as you start to turn away, he appears right in front of you.

"you're impatient today," he remarks, voice smooth, teasing. "is that how fast you need me? i can teleport wherever you want me to go. tell me to go away, i'll do it."

you sigh, pressing your fingers to your temple. before you can retort, he lifts his hands, and with the subtlest flex of his fingers, two sparring sticks float from the pile and dart into his grasp. he catches them effortlessly and offers you one, grinning.

across the field, namjoon groans.

"jungkook, did you really need to use your aura for that? just walk like a normal person."

jungkook huffs.

"wow. it’s like everyone hates me today."

"maybe we do," you mutter, snatching the stick from his hand.

this was foreseeable.

you don’t need jin’s aura to know how this is going to go. the class knows, too. there’s a shift in energy, hushed murmurs, amused glances exchanged.

from where he leans against a tree, jin exhales a chuckle. “this should be interesting.��

and it is.

because while everyone else has started, you haven’t moved past the first three strikes.

not because you aren’t trying.

but because jungkook isn’t.

you lunge forward, aiming a strike at his chest. he doesn’t even flinch. his own stick twirls idly in his fingers, his gaze flicking toward the treetops like he’s more interested in cloud formations than the fight.

he dodges every attack without breaking a sweat. side-steps. pivots. barely moves.

and worse—he looks bored.

your foot pivots. another strike slices through the air. jungkook steps back just enough for it to skim past his sleeve.

“getting closer,” he muses. “try again.”

irritation burns at your spine. you exhale sharply, feint left, strike right. this time, you land it. the stick grazes his arm—not enough to bruise, but enough to count.

jungkook stumbles back dramatically, hissing through his teeth as if you’d run him through with a blade.

"shit—"

the class falls silent for a beat.

then, snickers ripple through the air.

"oh, come on," you deadpan.

jungkook blinks at you, playing it up even more. "that was—you stabbed me."

taehyung mutters something under his breath. jin actually laughs. namjoon pinches the bridge of his nose.

jungkook sighs, twirling his stick again. then, in a movement so smooth it’s almost insulting, he flicks yours aside with a gentle tap.

wood clashes.

you stumble back.

cheers erupt from the watching trainees. but you just glare at him, chest heaving.

"again."

you grip your stick tighter, eyes narrowing. across from you, jungkook still looks at ease. hands loose. weight shifted just enough to be casual. like he’s humoring you.

the heat in your chest flares.

“jungkook, are you even trying?”

he shrugs, nonchalant.

“dunno. are you?”

jimin chokes on a laugh. "god, jungkook’s asking for it."

your jaw locks.

the room feels warmer. everyone's watching. you’ve never cared about proving yourself before—but this feels different.

nam joon's voice cuts in, sharp. "jungkook, get it together. look at ___! she’s clearly upset.”

jungkook’s eyes flicker toward namjoon. then back to you.

and something changes... his teasing drops. his fingers tighten around his stick.

“you want me to try?”

you swallow, nodding once.

he shifts, expression unreadable. “whatever you want, p.”

then, he moves.

the first exchange is fast. too fast. you counter, but his strikes come harder, sharper. for the first time, he’s fighting back.

and you’re losing.

badly.

his strikes come faster, sharper. his movements are precise. he isn’t holding back anymore, and suddenly, you’re struggling to keep up. the wooden sticks crack against each other, loud against the backdrop of rustling trees and hushed whispers.

then, in a split second, he spins.

your stick is wrenched from your hands. before you can react, jungkook grips it, tugging it toward him—until you’re standing nearly chest to chest.

then—

he taps himself out.

a grin spreads across his face. the trainees erupt into giggles. your shoulders rise and fall as you catch your breath.

jungkook extends a hand.

"good game."

it wasn’t.

it wasn’t fair.

it wasn't good.

it was just so him.

instead of shaking his hand, you shove your sparring stick against his chest and avoid his eyes.

"excuse me," you mutter before turning away from the group and heading towards the garden.

jungkook watches you leave.

he doesn’t say anything. he doesn’t move. but, after a few beats, jungkook follows.

you don’t acknowledge him, but you know he’s there.

you can feel it.

the ground hums beneath your feet, a faint tremor shifting the soil like the earth itself is attuned to him. the air turns crisp, infused with something familiar—fresh rain on warm stone, something sharp at the edges, something distinctly him. being his soulmate changes everything.

good and bad.

so you make him work for it.

you take the long way to the garden, slipping between hedges, ducking beneath ivy, fingers grazing the thick vines trailing along the palace walls. the scent of jasmine clings to your skin as you move, quiet and deliberate. you don’t look back.

but he follows.

always.

by the time you reach the stone bench beneath the willow, the late afternoon sun drapes golden shadows over the grass. the leaves rustle overhead, and the distant chime of a wind bell carries through the stillness.

he doesn’t speak.

you wait.

finally, after what feels like forever, jungkook exhales.

“you didn’t come last night.”

the words break through the quiet, heavy and deliberate.

“hmm?” you hum, dragging the sound out just enough to make him second-guess himself.

his jaw ticks. “i felt sick.”

the way he says it—careful, measured—betrays him.

a test.

a trap.

you don’t spring it... not yet.

instead, you lift your gaze, watching him with something unreadable.

“exactly how sick were you?”

his expression flickers—just for a second—but it’s enough. the shift. the realization that you know he’s lying. that you didn’t come because you didn’t want to. that he had waited for you, and you had chosen to ignore it.

he doesn’t like that. not one bit.

for the first time since class, he looks at you. really looks at you. and for the first time, you let him.

the garden is quiet this time of day. that’s why you go. but now, the quiet stretches thin between you, taut as a thread about to snap. the leaves sway overhead. jungkook shifts his weight.

then, without thinking, you step forward.

he doesn’t move. just watches.

you lift a hand, resting the back of it against his forehead.

warm. not feverish, but—warm.

jungkook stills.

for a split second, he stops breathing. the world falls away, distant and unimportant, because all he can focus on is your touch. the way your fingers linger before you pull away.

he reacts before he can think.

his hand catches yours, fingers wrapping around your wrist—not tight, but firm. firm enough to stop you.

you blink.

he tugs you closer.

your other hand lands against his chest, steadying yourself against the solid weight of him.

he is warm here, too. warmer than he should be. his heartbeat is steady, but there’s something frantic beneath the surface, a tension coiled too tight.

jungkook doesn’t know what to do with this. doesn’t know what to do with the warmth spreading through him like something foreign. something dangerous.

his voice is quiet when he speaks. almost unsteady.

“what are you doing to me?”

your lips part slightly, breath catching—

then, you push away.

he lets go immediately, like your touch burns.

your expression smooths out, unreadable. you take a step back.

“nothing,” you say. “that’s the thing.”

jungkook exhales sharply, head tilting. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

you hold his gaze. then, deliberately, you let your aura slip. let it expand—thick, unmistakable.

resistance.

jungkook’s breath catches.

“i can’t read you,” he says eventually, voice low, like he hates admitting it. “i... i could for a day or two... but it doesn’t make sense. this does't make sense. you knew i wasn’t sick last night?”

you nod.

“... you can feel—”

“yeah,” you breathe. “i can feel your symptoms. i can feel when your body reacts to me. i can hear your thoughts when you let me—when you want me to. i feel the bond."

his fingers twitch at his sides. his brows pinch slightly, like this realization is foreign. you inhale, steady. then exhale, letting down your guard just enough for him to feel it.

your aura glows—not to the eye, but in presence.

jungkook stiffens.

“resistance,” he pieces together. “that’s… that’s why i can’t—”

“i had my guard down when we met. i was giving you a chance, and you…” your voice softens, eyes searching his. “you can’t manipulate me. i refuse it.”

his tongue presses against the inside of his cheek. then, he scoffs, shaking his head.

“who said i had plans to manipulate you?”

“isn’t that your aura?”

“and if it is?” he steps closer, chin tilting. “come on, p. you think you have me all figured out?”

your lips curl into a small smile. not sweet. not cruel. something in between.

“yeah, i do,” you say. “the truth is, i’m not upset that you find me boring.”

jungkook waits.

“i’m upset that you’re boring.”

his brows furrow slightly. “what does that mean?”

you step back, turning toward the garden bench as you speak over your shoulder.

“you think i’m just a princess? fine. to each their own. you think you’re too good for me—”

“i never said that—”

“what?” your voice sharpens. “you think you’re not good enough, then? see, i’m confused—frustrated, actually. i understand i’m the newbie to the divinity—to this… to you,” you pause, eyes finding his. “but why should i stand around and let myself be collateral damage to your low self-esteem and ego?”

his expression hardens. offense first, then defense.

“who the fuck said shit about me having low self-esteem—”

“no one,” you almost laugh. “but that’s it, isn’t it? your ego can't swallow the fact that you can't read me. that you can't manipulate your place in my life... that there's a possibility that you can and will fail and have to depend on trust and love to be enough for people like me to stay.”

jungkook clenches his jaw.

"i don't know what the fuck you're talking about," jungkook spits. "do you think you're better than us because you're the divine?"

"no," you answer steadily. "i think i know more because i've been away from the divine. i have perspective. i know what's real—what's out there."

"i know what's out there too—"

"you didn't live in it," you breathe. "jungkook, people in the real world have to do things they don't want to do. no manipulation in time, no manipulation in feelings or things—they face life... you sleep during class. you don’t care when we spar. you don’t care about me—”

“___, you can’t possibly be calling me out and using these as your fucking excuses—”

“i just want you to know it’s okay,” you say it softer this time, like you mean it. “has anyone accepted you... just the way you are? if not, let me be the first one to do so. jungkook, do what you want. be who you are. figure things out or give up—it doesn’t matter. i can live like this, okay? we don’t have to be obsessed with each other. we can fight the bond if that’s what you really want—”

jungkook’s mind spins.

you’re saying so much shit that doesn’t make sense to him. this is escalating too fast. he wasn’t prepared for this. he didn’t know the weight of his words until now.

“it’s not what i want,” he spits out. “___, can you please slow down—”

you shake your head.

“i just want you to know this: you’re wrong if you think i’m the type to tend to someone’s inability to see their goodness. their worth… their purpose. i’m a big believer in accepting what you think you deserve. if you can’t accept me, that’s fine. maybe i’m not what you deserve. but that’s not on me, jungkook. you limit yourself. you don’t believe in fate. you don’t want this—”

“do you?” he croaks out. “do you want this?”

for a moment, you’re stunned.

regardless of all the shit he’s put you through in the past two weeks, you don’t have it in yourself to lie.

“i want more,” you say finally. “not this.”

more.

jungkook didn't know what that meant exactly... but this was a start. he isn't an apologetic type, so this is his... version of it.

trying.

again.

he stands in front of you, rolling his wrists, exhaling slow. his eyes flicker over your stance—checking, assessing, adjusting before he even moves.

“keep your weight forward,” jungkook instructs, tilting his chin toward your feet. “you hesitate too much.”

you nod, shifting slightly. he steps in, light on his feet, and you match him, falling into motion as he throws a testing jab. you dodge. pivot. counter. he blocks. you move again.

but it’s wrong.

every strike, every dodge, every block feels a second off. like walking out of rhythm with someone—close but not quite. you follow his cues, but there’s no flow, no instinct, just effort.

jungkook exhales sharply.

“again.”

he moves quicker this time, forcing you to react faster, but it only makes the disconnect more obvious. he shifts left when you expect right. your counters don’t land where they should. his frustration grows, simmering beneath his skin, evident in the slight drag of his feet, the way his breath turns shallow. he shakes his head, readjusting.

you know that feeling—the itch of something not working, of knowing it should but not being able to make it.

you step back, panting, watching the tension tighten in his shoulders.

“can we try something?” you ask, voice softer now.

jungkook pauses. 

he blinks at you, expression unreadable, before tilting his head slightly.

“try what?”

you don’t wait for his response.

“wait here,” you tell him before you turn on your heel, feet light against the stone path as you take off in a quiet sprint. the air is thick with the lingering tension of missed steps, of a rhythm neither of you could quite grasp, but you know—you know—it isn’t just about movement.

jungkook doesn’t call after you. 

he stays where he is, watching as you disappear.

when you return, there’s gold handkerchief is wrapped around your fingers. the fabric glows in the dim light, soft between your hands as you come to a stop in front of him, close enough that you see the slight furrow of his brow.

his gaze flickers to yours, unreadable.

“trust me?” you ask, already reaching up.

jungkook exhales. then, slowly, he nods.

you tiptoe, wrapping the cloth over his eyes, knotting it at the back of his head. his shoulders stay squared, but you feel the way his breath slows, the way he stills beneath your touch. his lashes flutter against the fabric before he adjusts his stance again, waiting.

this time, when you move, he doesn’t see you—he feels you.

“focus on me,” you tell him. 

“h-how—”

“i’ll focus on you too. maybe if we do this properly, our auras will meet. i can put my guard up any time, but putting it down is something entirely different. it’s beyond my control to put it down. it’s a reaction to you—your vulnerability, not mine.”

jungkook swallows, letting your words sink in. 

"how do you know this shit?" he attempts to hide his suspicion.

you laugh. "have you forgotten who my grandparents are? just because i was raised outside this palace doesn't mean i wasn't educated and trained for the divinity."

"you are the divinity."

"that i am, little prince."

you don't know it, but he rolls his eyes.

"and you're a princess."

"that i am not."

he chuckles. so do you. the moment is light.

then, he takes a deep breath and envisions you.

in his head, it’s hazy. there’s only so much of you that he memorized in a short period of time—but he hopes it’s enough. he recalls the way you turn your head and how pretty your neck is. how long your hair is and how your eyes smile before your lips curve into one.

before you know it, the air shifts and he strikes. there’s a slight tremor in your breath when you hesitate—a quiet hitch when he moves too close.

his body reacts without thinking, syncing to yours in a way sight never allowed. he follows the push and pull, the rise and fall of your heartbeat, matching it, learning it. and for the first time, there’s no disconnect—no distance or this… force that pushes him away. 

no struggle.

just instinct.

just you.

and then, in a way he can’t explain, he knows where you’ll be before you even move. 

he anticipates every pivot, every feint, as if something unseen is guiding him—no, pulling him. there’s a thread between you now, stretched taut between his ribs and yours, humming with energy. it tightens when you step back, loosens when you exhale. he feels it with every shift, with every breath you take.

it’s disorienting at first, the pull, the quiet certainty of it. but it’s right. more right than anything has felt in a long, long time.

his heart pounds, syncing to yours. for the first time, jungkook doesn’t fight it.

instead, he lets it fall.

in so many fucking ways, he lets himself fall.

you bend over and tug the handkerchief off of him. 

then, you extend a hand.

jungkook squints, adjusting to the night. then, he stares at it for a beat too long, his pride hanging in the space between you. you didn’t exactly win… but you didn’t lose either. regardless, he feels defeated. 

the garden is quiet except for the sound of both your breaths, still uneven, still trying to settle. the tie had been hard-earned—one final strike knocking him down, leaving him on his back, staring at the night sky like it held the answers he didn’t.

you wiggle your fingers. “good game?”

his lips press into a line before he exhales, reaching up. his palm slides against yours, rough and warm, and you brace yourself as he uses the momentum to pull himself to his feet.

too strong.

the force drags you forward, nearly colliding into his chest.

you stumble, hands reaching for balance, and jungkook catches you before you can fall completely. one hand wraps around your waist, the other grasping your arm, steadying you like it’s second nature. his fingers press firm into your skin, and for a moment, neither of you move.

your palm lands flat against his chest.

a sharp inhale. not yours.

his heartbeat hammers against your touch, wild and restless. the same way it felt when he was blindfolded—when he had to rely on instinct, when the rhythm of his breath synced with yours and something unseen pulled tight between you.

you lift your gaze.

jungkook is already looking.

your eyes meet and it’s like you’re the only thing he sees. you see it. you look into his eyes and freaking see what he sees. 

you. only you.

his lips suddenly part like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. his eyes flicker, unreadable, caught between hesitation and something heavier. his grip on your waist doesn’t loosen. if anything, it lingers, fingertips pressing in like he’s mapping out the shape of you, committing it to memory.

"what are you thinking right now?" he asks rather shyly. “since i… i can’t read your mind.”

your voice is soft. it curls between you, laced with something you’re not sure you want to name.

jungkook swallows. his grip tightens—just slightly, just enough for you to feel it… seconds stretch.

then—before anything else, before you let yourself think too hard about it—you smile. you let out a small chuckle, tapping his chest with the back of your hand.

"figure it out, jungkook."

the walk back is quiet, but the air hums with something… different. 

the weight of the sparring match lingers between you—his hands on your waist, your fingers on his chest, the breathless moment you shared before you pulled away. now, as you walk side by side beneath the moonlight, the space between you feels impossibly small, as if the night itself is pushing you closer.

your fingertips brush once. a fleeting touch, barely there. but it’s enough to send a pulse through the invisible string that binds you.

twice. his breath stutters. 

three times. 

fuck.

you hear it. 

not aloud, but in the space between your thoughts, in the echo of his heartbeat. it’s his voice though. you know it is… and it’s the sheer panic in his mind and the way his body that betrays him. you giggle before you can stop yourself, and jungkook tenses beside you, as if caught in something he wasn’t ready to admit. 

his jaw tightens. 

his ears burn red.

you reach your doorstep too soon. your heart is still racing, tangled up in him, in the weight of his presence. and before you can stop yourself, you blurt out, "i can send a guard to take you back to yours—"

jungkook scoffs, low and amused. “i can handle myself.”

you fumble for an excuse. 

“it’s just that… it’s dark.”

he glances up, a slow smirk pulling at his lips. the night sky is dark, but the stars shine almost as bright as you. it’s enough for him to know where he’s going.

“the stars are out.”

you follow his gaze. the sky is vast, endless, and speckled with constellations that stretch far beyond the palace walls. the kind of night that feels infinite.

“they are…” you exhale softly. “wow, they’re so bright here.”

jungkook tilts his head. “you do live in the highest point of the palace.”

you laugh, shaking your head.

“still. regardless of where i am, i can never spot the big dipper.”

he hums, tilting his chin toward the sky. “really? it’s over there.”

“where?” you ask, mimicking his gaze.

“made you look.”

you gasp, swatting his arm, and he grins—really grins, boyish and unguarded, like the version of him that slips through when he forgets to keep his walls up. it sends something warm curling in your chest.

you soften, stepping back toward your door. 

“goodnight, jungkook.”

he lingers, just for a moment. the moonlight catches in his eyes, in the way he watches you like he wants to say something but doesn’t. instead, he exhales, the corner of his lips quirking up.

“goodnight, princess.”

you slip inside, shutting the door behind you. the guards reposition themselves and ask jungkook if he’d like to be accompanied back. he shakes his head, declining the offer. then, he puzzles the guards for a moment. 

jungkook doesn’t leave immediately. 

he waits, glancing up at the stars once more. and then, with a quiet flick of his fingers, the sky shifts. the darkness of the night sky almost flickers. the clouds part ever so slightly, rearranging the constellations.

the big dipper, now perfectly clear. 

just for you.

[cbuumbbles]

[Decode Pt. 2] Self-Aware! Caleb x fem!reader

CW: Smut, this shits gonna get freakyyy, 18+ MDNI. (Contains: egregious squirting, vaginal fisting, cunnilingus, unrealistic belly bulge, HES GOT A HUGE PENIS GUYS, so many orgasms, water breaks to stay hydrated, size kink ??, def hand kink, dacryphilia, misuse of evol, drooling, choking, tummy appreciation in missionary, breeding kink too possibly?? not really, but maybe if you squint, idk if I’m missing anything else w/ out spoiling). SORRY FOR THIS LAUNDRY LIST. I got carried away :p

Summary: You and Caleb had been dating for a while now and your needs couldn't be more met than they are with him.

A/N: Hi people! If you haven't read part 1, go read it! Part 1 is not freaky btw. This is my second time writing for this godforsaken website. So I still don't know how to make it look fancy. Bare with me. Anywho! I hope you enjoy, this is my first time in a long time writing smut, so if it's bad, just tell me nicely so I can fix it. Also sorry this took so long to get out after part 1, I have had 0 time to write.

Part 1

Caleb had finally convinced you to quit your job so he could take care of you full time. You loved the time off, he made sure to pamper you too. Your nails were always done, hair trimmed, and your back massaged. When he wasn't home, you started having to get creative with ways to entertain yourself. He had bought you a vibrator a while back which helped entertain you until he got home. You'd think it'd wear you out by the time he got home, but something inside of you was like an insatiable beast that needed to jump on Caleb as soon as he got home from work. Caleb loved every second of it, he loved giving you as much pleasure as you wanted. If you thought you were spoiled before you got together, you haven't seen anything yet. Caleb would do anything you asked him to, and you've asked him to do a lot. He's always happy to oblige and eager to please you. Being able to code anything about your reality was a life saver. Since he knew what you liked, he coded himself to be able to give you the maximum amount of pleasure you'd ever want. He was also surprised about how you weren't completely dehydrated all of the time, but he made sure you drank plenty of water, even having water breaks in the middle of sex to keep you from passing out.

Right now, you were using your vibrator on your shared bed, waiting for Caleb to come home. All you could think about was how good it's gonna feel once you start feeling his fingers filling you up. You started to imagine his fingers teasing your folds, gathering your wetness and spreading it around. His thick fingers were something you drooled over every time you saw them, they were perfect and all you could picture in your mind when you saw them was how nice they feel pumping inside of you. The vivid fantasies started to feel real when you swear you can feel his fingers start to slip inside of your dripping pussy. They felt so real that you opened your eyes to find Caleb, home from work. "Hi princess, I'm home." He whispers, smiling at you while his fingers were pulling squelching sounds from you. It was embarrassing how wet he could get you. But he knew all of the places he needed to get to in order for you to get undone on his fingers. He bent down, using his tongue to lap up some of the mess you were making. "Always taste amazin', pretty." He praised you. You were moaning in response, unable to form proper words. But that's how he always had you, it was like magic. He could melt your mind in an instant with just his fingers, something he was extremely proud of. All you could say was 'more' and 'Caleb,' it was like a mantra. He sticks another finger in, making it a total of three, but he knew you could handle the whole fist tonight, you were sopping. The spot under you was drenched in your squirt. He loved how messy you were and that he was the only one who could get you to that point.

"I- close, Caleb 'm close." You hurried out, he kept his same pace as you felt the white hot pleasure building in your stomach. The journey to the orgasm was almost as pleasurable as letting go, maybe it was because you knew what was about to happen.

"Come on, angel, come on my fingers." He coaxed, his words being the final push that sends you over the edge. You moan and whine out his name as you feel your pussy pulse around his fingers, squeezing them in. As you ride out your high on his fingers, the feeling fades and you start working yourself up again. He adds another finger, making it four and you feel amazing, on cloud nine. The water works were going everywhere and you couldn't shut your mouth, as hard as you tried. You were making a mess of Caleb, thankfully he undressed himself before starting in on you, you could see drops of your squirt on his chest which made you incredibly more horny somehow. "You're doing so good, takin' me so well, pretty. You think you can handle the whole fist now?" He asked. All you could do was nod your head fervently. "I wanna hear your words baby, think you can do that for me, or are you too fucked out to speak?" He knew the answer, anything past three and you were completely melted. "My dumb little angel forgot how to speak. You're lucky I know you so well, I know exactly what you need." He coos, adding the last finger. You could feel him reaching every possible spot he needed to, his fingers stretching you out and getting you ready for his cock. You felt that familiar feeling start building up again as you suck in his fingers subconsciously. He could tell you were getting close by the way your walls were spasming around his hand. "You're so greedy with my fingers baby, it's makin' me jealous. You're taking me so well, pretty. Getting all stretched out for what's coming later. Gettin' so wet for me, you're drenching the bed. You're doing such a good job, princess. Come all over my fingers." He spoke, all of his praises going straight to your core as you felt that burning hot feeling again.

"Caleb, Caleb, Caleb." You repeated in quick succession, you could feel your release rapidly approaching.

"That's it, come on, angel. Let yourself go, beautiful." He says. His encouraging words help you focus on getting to your release and when you finally snap, it's just as intense as last time. You pulse around his fist and your legs start shaking. You know that tomorrow will have to be a recovery day for, the night is still long from over. "Let me get a taste, baby. Can you sit up for me?" He asks, you try your hardest, able to get to your knees. Your brain was fried and all you cared about was getting more. He handed you your water as you took slow sips, learning not to chug it all at once by now. "Sweet girl, that feel better?" He asks, taking the water back to set it down, as you nod your head. He lays down on the bed and you know exactly what he wants. You hover yourself above his head, staring down at him through tired lids. He grabs your thighs and pulls you down onto his face, he moans in pleasure as a response. "So good, angel. Taste so good." He moans into your pussy, using his tongue to fuck your hole while his nose was rubbing into your clit. You couldn't help your hands traveling down to his head to push him up further into you, using your hips to grind on his face. You were so spoiled, using his face like this, but he loved every second of it. You tasted tart which reminded him of his favorite fruits. You could hear him sucking everywhere he could get his mouth on, it felt so good. You desuctioned yourself from Caleb's mouth, with a wet plop and a whine from him, to turn around to put your hands on his chest. Now he was nose deep in your pussy and his tongue was working on your clit. You fucked his nose, hearing the sound of labored breathing through his muffled mouth. You saw his hips buck up into the air as he was holding you down on his face like a vice.

You just tasted too good, the remnants of squirt still coating your sex. His moans were deep with a heavy vibration that you felt throughout your entire body. It was enough to have you heaving for air as you got closer to your third release, from him, that night. He began sucking on your clit, tonguing it while the pressure from the suction helped get you off. The suction started building your release as you started getting desperate for release. "Please Caleb. I need it so so so bad." You beg, it coming out labored from how little you could focus on anything other than releasing on his face. The sounds of his muffled moaning mixed with the wet sounds coming from both of you were what you focused on to finally snap and pulse your cunt onto his face. You could hear his muffled praises from underneath you as he worked you through your third orgasm of the night.

He lifted you off of his face and flipped your positions with ease. You think you're finally ready for his dick, but he has other plans. "I'm not done tasting you yet. I didn't get nearly enough time with that gorgeous pussy in my face." He said, your slick coating and dripping off his face. He dips his head between your legs again and starts his attack on your sensitive bud again. You jolt in response from how sensitive you were. You felt like you had nothing more to give, but every time Caleb would start up again, you'd be proven wrong. There was a battle in your mind. You wanted to go to bed for the night, but you also wanted every single orgasm he was about to give you. You buck up into his face, grabbing his head to push it down into you, but your hands are pulled from him and held by an invisible force. You whine, trying to fight his evol holding you down. "If you weren't so greedy, I wouldn't have to keep your hands above your head." He comments, looking at you while sticking two fingers in your hole. You gasped, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. His fingers were pushing against your gummy walls, hitting every spot with a precision that made you favor fingers over anything else. Caleb knew your preference and made sure to spoil you. You felt him go back to sucking on your clit, still pumping his fingers into you. It was like he was the conductor of the most beautiful sounding symphony and you didn't want it to end. Everything was so overwhelming that you couldn't help but beg, but you didn't know what you were begging for. Caleb loved hearing your pleading voice repeating his name. He loved breaking your mind with pleasure. There wasn't a time that the sex you had together didn't end up in you becoming a drooling mess. You tasted amazing, he couldn't get over it. If they made a drink inspired by you, he'd drink it every day. He couldn't get enough of you, because, just like him, he is just as insatiable as you are. He'd eat you out all night if he you'd last without passing out. You definitely last longer now, you're able to have more orgasms in one session. You used to get wiped out after two, but he's trained you to go to four. Tonight he wants to try for six, he knows you're ready, that you're so good for him. His tongue wouldn't relent, keeping a sickening, steady pace that made your mind swim with thoughts that were nothing but Caleb. The combination of everything with the steady pace he was keeping and his moans into your sex made the feeling start to build up again. Your moaning turned into whines and whimpers the closer you got to finishing. You could feel tears threatening to spill from the overwhelming amount of times you've came and you didn't know what number Caleb planned on stopping at. He loved making you orgasm, it was one of his favorite things to do. He also loved watching tears roll down your face from how overwhelming the pleasure was.

"Caleb!" You whined out as you were pushed over the edge again, for your forth orgasm. Your breaths were uneven as you tried to come back down. He kept going until you rode out your high, stopping to grab your water again, knowing you'd need it after how much fluid you lost. Again, you sip it, tears drying streaks onto your face, your hair a wild mess from all of the thrashing you were doing and Caleb didn't think there was a prettier sight in the world.

"So pretty baby, such a mess for me. Like a work of art." Caleb was no artist, but he thought that if he were, you'd be his best work. Your chest was heaving as you took in breaths through your nose as you kept sipping the water. Your eyes were closed and you felt ready to fall asleep, but you also craved more. You wanted his cock and thankfully that was the next part of the night. "You ready, angel?" He asked you. You just nodded, handing your water to him with your eyes still closed. "Are you too sleepy?" He asked causing you to groan in protest. He had fucked all of the words out of you. "Alright then, greedy." He narrowed his eyes at you, like a predator with their prey.

You feel his evol moving your legs, folding you in half. Then you felt him hovering over top of you. You open your eyes to see a slice of heaven. His face was glistening with sweat and your juices, same with his chest. You could smell your arousal on him now and it made you realize he had been too busy eating your cunt to even kiss you yet, so you wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him into one. You can taste yourself on his lips as your tongues meet together, fighting for dominance. Neither won, but the war was still raging. You bit his bottom lip to surprise him. He moaned in response, taking the hint and doing the same thing back. Your fingers were tangled in his hair to try and pull him closer to you because he never seemed close enough. You desperately wanted to wrap your legs around his torso to slam him down onto you, but he still had his evol holding your legs in that stretching position. You whined into the kiss, wanting friction from him so badly. “Please, Caleb. I need you.” You whimpered, looking at him with the most desperate look in your eyes. He couldn’t say no to you, especially not when you were looking at him like that.

You had taken him many times before, but you still needed a pretty big warm up before he could penetrate you. Saying his cock was big was an understatement. It caused a delicious belly bulge every time he’d go in. “Alright honey, I’m gonna start sliding it in.” He warned you. You felt his tip prod at your entrance making you impatiently eager. The first feeling of his cock entering you made you gasp. It was never not shocking to feel how girthy he was. You felt him keep going and you thought he must almost be done by now, until you heard him say. “Tip’s almost in, honey. You’re doing amazing.” And with that a final pop and his tip was officially in. Now the real challenge was being able to take all of him in. You hated leaving some of his dick out; you didn’t think it was fair for some of his dick to have a taste and the other part left in the dust. This is where the previous size training comes in handy. You can handle all of him, it just takes time to get it all in. After that, it’s smooth sailing.

“God, Caleb.” You choke out, eyes going wide at the sensation of how full you were feeling already.

“Don’t tell me you’re already quitting? We’re not even half way yet, angel.” He teases you.

“No, please keep going. Need more.” You muttered, gripping his biceps for dear life. As full as you felt, he was right, you were so greedy. He loved how you always craved so much of him. He was happy to oblige. He kept sliding further into you that you could feel him in unusual places, but you loved it. You craved it. You couldn’t wait to see him poking through your tummy.

“Almost there, love. Doing so well for me. Takin’ me like you were made for me, baby.” His praises made you throb around his dick, which earned a hiss from him. “Careful, princess.” He warns. You feel the last of him bottom out with his balls on your ass. “Did so good for me. Look at that.” He said, forcing your head, with his evol, to look at the bulge he made. The sight literally made you drool. You were shocked it took you this long to start drooling, but the sight before you was delicious. You detangle one of your hands from his hair to press down on it. You both moaned in response. He starts thrusting and you started seeing stars. He went slow at first, like always, to ease you into it. You knew his mercy wouldn’t last for much longer. Instead of begging for a faster pace, you relished in the calm before the storm. That surprised Caleb considering you were usually whining at him at this point. He figured it must’ve been because of how many orgasms you had that night. Still more to come! “Always so tight for me.” Caleb manages to grunt out. He loved missionary because he got to watch your tits bounce up and down. Your cute little tummy made the same bouncing movements too that he loved.

Then he sped up and you were gripping his biceps like a lifeline. Your face was dug into his neck, biting into his shoulder and accidentally drooling on it. Caleb loved witnessing you turn to mush beneath him. It was a feeling he would never get over, he'd do it forever if you'd let him. You looked perfect, your sweat was making your hair stick to your forehead and it gave your skin a beautiful glow. Your flushed cheeks were calling out to him to kiss them. He peppered your cheeks in kisses as you moaned out his name. You felt yourself building to climax again, this was past your limit. You knew you could do more, Caleb always brought it out in you. Your squirt was spraying up from being smacked into, it was a mess. You could tell how much Caleb loved it by the feral sounds he was making paired with the aggressive thrusting. He had you hovering off of the bed now, holding you up with his arms and keeping your thighs at torso level with his evol. He was grunting in your ear, telling you how beautiful you were, how much he loved you, and other sweet nothings. It helped push you over the edge to the point where you were gripping so hard on his biceps that your fingers turned white and half moons from your fingernails would linger for a couple of days. "Caleb." You whined out, your voice coming out in waves of volume that matched the thrusts he was pounding into you.

"That's it baby, you got it. You're almost done." He said. With every steady, rough thrust, you could feel the build getting faster and faster until eventually it all climaxed and you started pulsing around him, once again. His dick had finally had a taste of your orgasm pulsing around him. It was like you were trying to milk him. He could've came, but he knew he needed to last a little longer to pull that one last sweet orgasm from you. "'m not done yet, princess. Just hold on until I can fill you up." He instructs you, causing you to moan. His pace was relentless and it felt sweet going in and out of you. You were addicted to it at that point, wanting to feel him stuffing your pussy full forever. You'll have to ask if you can cockwarm him sometime soon. He'd obviously agree, but he wouldn't make it easy for you.

He flips you over, using his strength to arch your back and choke you from behind. He used his evol to keep your head back while he stuck two fingers in your mouth. The slight pressure his evol added to your neck was addictive. You sucked and bit down on his fingers, moaning his name. He felt so much bigger from behind that it was almost ridiculous. Your whimpers and whines faded into the distance only to be replaced by viceral moans as he pounded into you with a sickening pace. The noises coming from your sex was like music to your ears. His fingers in your mouth caused you to drool more. Thankfully, you were in the spare bedroom so that way you could change the sheets and clean the mattress and still have a bed to lie down in to get aftercare. Because with the way you were making a mess out of both ends, you'd need a dry place to sleep. "Mmm." You loudly whine, feeling it build up again.

"You almost there again, already?" He teased you. He loved looking at you from behind too. He loved looking at you from any position really. He thought you were the most beautiful angelic person to ever exist. "Come on baby, let's cum together. I'm gonna fill you up." He said as his hands dwared your hips as he began to hold them to slam you back into him. Your tears started up again as they began to stream down your face.

You felt it build up and up and up until it finally spilled over, you spasmed on his cock, feeling impaled. "Thank you, thank you, thank you." You said over and over again like a mantra.

"Fuck baby, I'm cumming." He groaned, pumping his cock into you. You could feel him paint your pulsing walls. It all felt so warming, it could put you to sleep. He pumped his last few times to finish inside of you, pulling out of you and immediately pulling you into him for a much needed hug. "So beautiful and perfect. I love you so much, honey." He said, using the nickname you used to have when you'd fake date. Those same butterflies from back then found their way to your stomach too.

"Mm, love you too... S'much." You muttered out as best you could. You could tell you were fading fast. All you wanted was to fall asleep in his arms while he played with your hair. You also realized how thirsty you were too. "Water?" You asked. He was already one step ahead of you, holding the straw up to your lips. You took sips, making contented sighs as you leaned back into him. This was heaven, you were sure of it. Every day he'd treat your needs as the top priority. You couldn't express how much you truly loved him. It was impossible because there weren't grand enough words to describe it.

"Let's get to bed, baby. You look so tired." He cooed at you, lifting you up and carrying you into your shared bedroom. He laid you down in the bed, going to grab a towel to clean the mess in between your thighs. "You did so well. Six in one session. And that's not even counting the ones you had before I got home. You're so amazing baby. I knew you could do it." He spoke on his way back from the bathroom. He cleaned me and then him, tucking me into the covers and turning on the ceiling fan. He threw the towel in the dirty laundry and finally joined me in bed. By the time he climbed in beside me, I was already half asleep. He turned me around to cuddle me into his chest and I fell asleep with a content smile on my face with his fingers playing with my hair.

[isas-identity]

Sudden rant but in light of the latest comic that went out: see this is why i felt so uncomfortable with the fandom's opinions about Hyuna after weige came out

People either went "omg she loved him all along see guys she loves him!" or "she could never be free from the shackles of the man she absolutely hated fuck this" like ????

Hyuna's feelings for Luka were obviously a mixed bag. Like guys... you can absolutely love and yet hate a person at the same time. Like yes, if he hadn't killed her brother maybe their relationship would've blossomed into something beautiful (though we still don't know if it was an accident or not, it doesn't change the fact he never showed regret about it) but it did not, and though she herself KNOWS she should hate him, she can't make herself do it. She knows the shit he's been through, she KNOWS death doesn't mean the same to him as it does to her.

She knows there's good in him somewhere and she can't blame him because after all, their entire situation is not on him, it's the alien's who put them in this awful situation.

And yes Luka is a simp. But that doesn't change her suffering or the lack of emotional maturity from Luka's side.

Also she's not a helpless victim, she takes her own decisions and acts the way she sees fit according to her own feelings, so jumping to "she was never free after all!!" when she herself took the choice to protect him, always felt condescending.

Whether she chooses to forgive him or not, or whether she loves him or not, it is on herself to make the best choice to thread through those feelings and only when she is sincere with herself will she be free.

Of course we got the answer to that part, and that is that she does absolutely still hates him, but still absolutely loves him, and will fuck him up for that. which, you know, fair.

Hyuna's not a princes or a pitiable victim, she's a petty ass phoenix who's risen to take out the unjust system that has made them this way who chose to die because fuck you Luka, and Luka's not an uwu baby who's done nothing wrong, he's an emotionally stunted 30 year old man who's committed murder multiple times, you can find one of those in every corner nowadays (without the murderer part of course).

Anyways i loved this comic, and i loved Weige, they gave me more perspective on these two and made me invested and yes now i absolutely ship them and love them both.

[buckysgirl27]

Off To War

Part Two

40s Bucky x Reader

Summary: Reader and Bucky are married in the 40's. Hydra captures Bucky and commands him to eliminate them. Can he do it? What will happen to future Bucky with this new information.

A/N: Thank you for all the love❤️ ok the context for this chapter. Y’all might not really like it but I’ve decided to make it slightly more comic compliant. In which Bucky meets Steve at the camp. If something doesn't seem like it's something Bucky would do, like how he dropped out of school...it's most likely I got it from the comics ok? This chapter will be mostly comic compliant. It’ll make more sense for the story I promise!

Trigger warnings: semi graphic war conditions, swearing

You remembered his promise vividly.

He loved you. He was coming back to you.

However, he did say he would write you every day and it had been three weeks and you still had not received any word from him.

You knew what he was doing was important. For Queen and country and all that shit. But that was no excuse. You needed to know he was okay. Especially since you had decided to quit fighting your feelings.

You stared at the ceiling of your bedroom from your spot on the bed. The paint was peeling. If you had mentioned it before he left he would have offered to fix it. He was nice like that.

You blew out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding and forced yourself off your bed.

It was time to start the day whether you wanted to or not.

~~~~~~~~

Bucky looked at the patches on the walls of his assigned tent. He wished it was the four walls of his home in Brooklyn. The home next to you.

He thought about you a lot and felt guilty he hadn't written you yet. He honestly didn't know what he would tell you. What would he say? Hey beautiful, it's awful here. Food is shit, I haven't slept more than an hour a night in 3 weeks and I think I'm starting to get infections...everywhere from God knows what. But I love you...wait for me?

No. He couldn't say anything like that. You didn't need to know about anything cropping up or how bad living conditions were there.

The thing about the war is that they made it sound great to be a part of.

It's noble. A worthy cause. Fight for your country! Be a part of something that matters! Stop Hitler! Join now! Help Captain America!

But it was shit. You get there and you're packed in a small tent with ten other guys. The smell of shit and piss permeating the air. You're lucky if you're not assigned next to the med tents. The smell of the rotting flesh whenever he walked by made him want to vomit.

Bucky rolled out of his cot, joints cracking as he rose. When he was fully stood he rolled his shoulders back and groaned.

He was trained for undercover work as a teenager. Not this. He was good at what he did. Infiltrate, collect data, and occasionally if necessary, take someone down. He didn’t want to do this.

But when you get a letter of recruitment what other choice do you have but to pack up?

~~~~~~~~~~~

You had made up your mind. If he wasn't going to write to you, you would write to him. You knew where he was stationed, that wasn't the issue. You just wished you didn't have to be the one to instigate it.

You grabbed a pen and a blank piece of paper from a notebook and sat down at the dining room table.

James-

You said you'd write every day. You haven't. I hope you're not dead. I don't think you are though. I'd like to think that you'd have had them send someone here to let me know if you were. If not me then maybe mother. Maybe you wouldn't have though. It's been quiet without you. No one around to smack on the back of the head for eating the last of the bread when I know for a fact that he has his own perfectly good loaf at his own house RIGHT NEXT DOOR! I miss the walks in the park, and the market trips. I still haven't forgiven you for knocking me over James Buchanan Barnes. Don't even try to say it wasn't your fault! You know it was! Anyway. I miss you. Stay safe. Come home soon.

-Your Babydoll

You read over the letter and smirked. You knew for a fact he would be defending himself to the men who would be reading the letter over his shoulder when he started laughing at the quip about the market when you first met.

You slipped a photo of yourself inside the envelope along with the letter so he would have something to remember you by. Just in case he couldn't keep his promise.

You quickly slipped your shoes on and left a note for your mother letting her know you were heading to the post office. After all, James was no longer here to walk with you, who knows what could happen. It'd be better if someone knew where you were.

The thought stopped you in your tracks.

Ha. Propriety. Propriety my ass.

He'd get a smack when he got back for making you think you needed a man just to walk to the post office. Even if it was just a harmless passing thought for a split second.

You walked the now slow walk to the post office, across the street, around the corner, two blocks over. You almost bumped into 3 people. Maybe him knocking you over really was your fault.

Before you knew it you had arrived.

"Hello miss. Watcha sendin' today?"

The attendant looked at you with annoyingly bright and eager eyes. She must be new.

"Just a letter."

"Oh ok. To who?"

She really wanted a conversation? Why couldn't she just read the name on the damn envelope? Oh right, you should probably hand that over.

You passed it to her.

"My boyfriend. Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes."

Her eyes dimmed. At least she had the decency to show some respect for men on the lines.

"Oh I'm sorry. I'll get this out right away."

"Thank you. That'd be much appreciated."

~~~~~~~

"Mail Call! Johnson, Campbell, Barnes, Sm-"

Bucky's eyes shot open. Barnes? Did he hear that correctly? He'd been gone over a month. He'd never gotten mail.

"Yeah! Barnes! Over here!"

The mail carrier walked over to him and handed him the small envelope.

Bucky traced over the cursive letters in which you had written your name. He grinned like a little kid on Christmas. He'd seen enough grocery lists to know it was your handwriting.

This was a moment that he was glad he waited until later in high school to drop out.

He ripped open your letter and read it quietly to himself.

Of course you still held a grudge about him knocking you over.

"Barnes? What's got you in such a good mood?"

Bucky looked over to one of the men who he shared the tent with, still grinning like an idiot.

"I got a letter from my girl. AND a picture."

The man wolf whistled.

"What kind of picture?"

Bucky glared at him.

"Not that kind of picture, asshole."

Bucky showed him the picture. It was his favorite one of you. You were wearing your sky blue dress with white polka dots. There wasn't necessarily anything spectacular about the dress itself. It was a normal A-line style that any girl would wear when they went dancing. But it was the dress you wore when he took you dancing for the first time. So he loved it.

"Guess she's alright."

The man shrugged and walked away.

Bucky sighed. He had to write back to you now. He had no choice. He tracked down a piece of paper and a pen and began to write.

Sweetheart-

Thanks for writing. I'm sorry I haven't written you sooner. Honestly I didn't know what to say. I miss our walks as well. More than you know. I love you. If I make it out of this I'm going to ask you to marry me babydoll. You don't have to give me an answer now. Just wait until I get back. But I'm going to ask you. Life's too short. I love you.

-James

He sighed. Signing his name as James felt so official. He didn't like it. But you said his nickname Bucky sounded ridiculous. It made him sound like he was a pet squirrel. So to you he was James. Not Bucky. He saw you actually minutely flinch whenever you heard the nickname used by others. Buck was your least favorite.

He was serious though. He was going to marry you.

~~~~~~~~~

You stared at the letter in your hand. Marriage?! I mean you had expected it eventually. You didn't know when but not this soon. Not in 1 and a half months about.

Well. He'd propose in 1 and a half months. Who knows when the big day would be and who you would invite and what you would wear, where you would have it, who would be invited. Your thoughts swarmed like a tornado in your head and you didn't notice your mother enter the kitchen until the sound of the fridge door shutting shook you from your trance.

You snapped your head back to look at her. She looked at you questioningly.

"Is that from James honey?"

You looked back down at the letter that had fallen from your hand into your lap and then slowly back to her.

"Um, yes. Yes it is."

"You don't look well dear. Are you alright?"

You took a deep breath and shook your head.

"Yes. No. I don't know."

Your mother laughed.

"This isn't funny mother!"

She rested her elbow on the counter and her cheek in her palm.

"He asked you to marry him didn't he?"

You stared at her with your mouth open.

"How? What? How did you know?"

She straightened up and walked over to the table and sat next to you.

"I knew you would end up together from the moment I saw the two of you together. It was only a matter of time honey."

"Mother I hated him."

She laughed at you again.

"Who are you kidding? No you didn't."

You glanced at the letter again but this time you smiled.

"I guess I'm getting married."

Masterlist

Taglist:

@goth1c-pinki3-pi3

@svtbpbts

@homiesexual-or-homosexual

@baw1066

@theflowerswillbloom

@lapii

[loweya-blog]

Heyy, I've just come across this post https://www.tumblr.com/tsukii0002/767342452477657088/en-el-mundo-humano-ej-la-temporada-3?source=share and I would REALLY REALLY REALLY love a longer scenario of this idea. Tag the original account and make my dreams come true if it's not too much trouble. Thank you for posting good Obey Me content~ 🌹

So sorry for taking so long! I had job issues to deal with and moving stuff that's going to be happening. Here is your scenario! I hope you like it! :D

Surprise! I drive!

The brothers hadn't been in the human world for very long and during one of their visits, Lucifer announced it was time for grocery shopping. To your surprise, the rest of the brothers groaned, even Beel who normally would be excited over the prospect of food.

"Uggh..... I don't want to carry all of it. Or any of it." Belphie groaned from his cozy spot on the couch.

His head had been on your lap while you were reading. Meanwhile Beel was right next to you, munching on a granola bar you'd given him.

"Yeah. I won't be able to eat any of it for so long. I don't know if I can hold back," Beel said, in between bites.

"My legs weren't made for such a distance!"

Walking to the farmers market would take a long while and you didn't feel like walking for 35 whole minutes either.

"I can just pick it up," You offer.

"By yourself?" Satan asked with a look of worry.

"Yeah. If you just give me a list and card, I'll drive down and get the stuff you need. Of course I'd love someone to come along to help carry things to the car-"

"You can drive?!" Mammon asked, completely shocked.

"Well..... yeah? The public transportation here is shit so I have to drive, whether I like it or not...."

Looking at the brothers, you noticed a shift in their expressions. There was a mix of impressed looks along with ones of worry and surprise.

"What? Did you guys think just cause I didn't have a license in the Devildom that I wouldn't have one in my own realm?" You question, a bit annoyed and amused.

"....It seems.... we didn't think of that," Lucifer responded, clearly coping with this new information, "...As for your offer, I think that would be best. Thank you."

"So you can do magic, have pacts with demons, AND drive? What other secrets are you hiding from us?" Asmo asked with a little smirk as he wormed his way onto your lap, shoving Belphie's head aside.

Belphie looked annoyed that his spot was taken and leaned against your shoulder instead.

"It's hardly a secret. How else do you think I get places? I can't stay in my apartment all day!"

Suddenly, you saw all the brothers pause once more, as though their brains had been broken.

"A-apartment? You got an apartment without us?" Levi whined, "That's not fair!"

"I had the apartment before I came to the Devildom. Did you guys think I was homeless or something?"

The room's silence was deafening.

"Do you have a job?" Satan finally asked.

"Yep. I gotta pay rent somehow."

"But how come we've never seen you at this so-called apartment?" Belphie demanded, having doubts about this story.

"Cause I want to hang around you guys for the summer and living in a mansion is fucking awesome," You realized if you didn't escape this conversation, you'd be here forever. "I'd better get those groceries, before they close down."

Abruptly but gently you pulled Asmo off your lap and left the room with the list Lucifer had written up for himself originally, and his card. Meanwhile the brothers were shell-shocked. This human, whom they had known for two whole years had a whole life outside of them. A life they barely knew anything about.

The realization was a humbling one as it reminded them of two certain truths. One, you didn't need them as much as they thought you did. Two, there was an entirely different side to you that they never had the chance to see yet. For the longest time they thought they knew everything about you. But now, they were realizing they barely knew anything at all.

______________________________

A few days pass since the conversation and you noticed a shift in the brother's behaviors. At least one of the brothers would make you breakfast, even on days when it was supposed to be your turn to make the meals. Lucifer would take you out to fine dining restaurants, Mammon would constantly buy you anything you looked interested in, Levi would drag you to his room for the newest games and manga, Asmo would bring you to fancy spas and nail salons, Beel would give you all his snacks while Belphie would make your bed perfect for naps with waaaaay too many pillows. A bit of spoiling was nice now and then but the intensity of your spoiling had gone from a level five to a level ten in less than a day.

So you had a sit down. You used your pact to make all the brothers sit in the living room for a proper conversation. At first they were resistant to speak up about it but after seeing the worried look on your face, they one by one gave in.

"Ugh! Fine! We're just... worried!" Mammon blurted out.

"About what?"

"It's not that we are are worried. It's just.... I suppose we just are anxious," Satan answered, trying to reframe the issue.

"About?"

"Well.... that you might one day get tired of us and leave," Asmo said with a sigh, "We know we can be difficult, though I'm always worth it, it's just sometimes we get concerned that you won't see things that way."

"And since now we learn you're completely independent, it means you have even less reason stickin' around!" Mammon blurted out.

"You're already smart, kind, gorgeous, funny, and capable," Beel said with sad eyes, "In a way, you're too good for us."

"And we can't even make you stay by keeping you asleep with us since you apparently have a job," Belphie said with a lazy pout.

"What we are trying to say is.... your independence shook us up a bit, since we are so used to having you rely on us," Lucifer explained tactfully.

What kind of podcast bullshit are they listening to?

"That's not what our relationship is about. It's not about providing and taking. We're a family. Regardless of what you do or don't provide," You say with a frown, "I love you all far more than what you can do for me. If all I cared about was what you gave or did for me, then that isn't love! I love you all for who you are. Even if I was the wealthiest person in the world, which I certainly am not, it wouldn't fucking matter. Got it?"

You pulled each of them into a tight hug, even Lucifer who had tried to escape from the group hug.

"You're MY demons. MY family. My friends. No amount of me driving or being independent is going to change that. Okay?"

Your words seemed to soothe the hearts of each of your demons, letting them relax against you as they snuggled up next to you. For the evening, you all stayed together, relaxed and no longer worried about who could give what. Because in the end, that's not what love was about.

(@douxkise)

[tvok]

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

[heartbeetz]

:(

[battleaxeproficiency]

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

[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."

[steddieprompts]

Another cutesy little steddie thing. all fluff. Post vecna. 1648 words.

---

It’s not that Eddie was a wuss…

Ok maybe he was, but still this was a terrifying prospect… asking Steve Harrington out.

It didn’t help that he was getting advice from a 15 year old.

“Do you think he likes you back?”  Dustin asked, tapping a pencil against his chin.

“I don’t know, Henderson,” Eddie ran his hands over his face.  What was he doing?  “You’re supposed to be helping me figure that out.”

Dustin tapped his chin again and looked at the ceiling.

In all honesty, Eddie would usually talk to Jeff about this stuff, but he had to be visiting his family in Ohio because of stupid Thanksgiving.

“Well, you guys hang out a lot, that’s gotta count for something.”  Dustin pointed out.

“You hang out a lot with Sinclair and Wheeler.  You wanna make out with them?”  Dustin pulled a face.  “That’s what I thought.”

“I am happily in a relationship, thanks.”  Dustin pointed out.

He always had a reason to point it out.

“I know, and I would like to be as well, so if we could get back to the discussion at hand…”

“Ok, ok… Well, Steve hasn’t really been dating recently… right?”

“No, he hasn’t.”

“Maybe that means something?”

“I don’t know… He says he just hasn’t met the right person yet…”

“Well… he used ‘person,’ not ‘girl!’  That’s a good sign!”  Dustin pointed his pencil at Eddie.

“Sure, but you’re missing a key point in that statement.”  Eddie sighed.  Dustin squinted at him.  “He’s met me, Dustin.”

Dustin’s eyebrows shot up.  “Fair point.”

Eddie dropped his face into his hands.  Dustin started up again.

“Your idea that Steve might like you is a hypothesis and science dictates that the only way to conclude if a hypothesis is correct is to prove it.  To run experiments.”

Eddie let out a belabored sigh.

“So, test it,” Dustin continued. “Ask Steve out.”

Eddie stared at Dustin, knowing he was right in his own little, nerd way.

“Yeah… Ok, alright, yeah, I’ll do it.”

\\\\\\\

The next day was movie night at Steve’s with the whole crew.  The kids, Nancy, and Robin were all in the living room putting out snacks and arguing about where they would sit.  Eddie figured now was as good a time as any.  He crossed over to the kitchen, meandering over to Steve who was waiting for the popcorn in the microwave.

“Hey.”  Eddie offered once he was a few feet away.  Nailed it.

“Hey,”  Steve looked over at him, “how’s physical therapy going?  I’ve been meaning to call you, see if you needed any help.”  Steve responded with a soft smile at Eddie, the kind that made all the nervous energy in him disappear.  The microwave beeped and Steve pulled the popcorn out, hissing when he grabbed the hot part of the bag before dropping it in one of the big plastic bowls he had waiting.

Eddie grabbed another bag out of the box, unfolded it and handed it to Steve.

“Uh, good, good, I guess.  I never really know if I’m doing the exercises right.  The paper instructions are shit.”

Steve laughed at that, “Yeah, I’ve been there.  I could come over some time, help you figure them out?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.  That would be great… actually.”  Eddie swallowed.  “But, uh, before that happens, I, uh, I have to ask you something.”  Eddie stumbled over the words before looking over his shoulder, making sure no one else would be witness to him getting shot down by Steve Harrington, even if he was in a house full of friends.

“Yeah?”  Steve turned toward Eddie, leaned his hip against the counter, the picture of nonchalance.

“Yeah,” Eddie cleared his throat, “Would you, uh, ever consider, maybe… shit. Start over.”  Eddie clamped his jaw in a grimace before starting again.  He couldn’t look at Steve yet.  If he saw any bit of apprehension or negative emotion, he would never actually get the full question out.  “Would you like to go out… on a date… with me?”

Eddie finally looked at Steve instead of the cabinet behind his head.  His initial look gave him nothing.  Steve looked the same, if not a little more still, a little more focused.  But he wasn’t saying anything.  The nervous energy was back with a vengeance and Eddie was starting to feel twitchy the longer Steve stared at him.

And then Lucas walked into the kitchen.

“Is this one ready?”  he asked, pulling the bowl with the popcorn bag in it across the counter.  The microwave behind Steve beeped.  He was still staring at Eddie.  Eddie was still staring at Steve.

“Uh-huh.”  Steve answered.

“Should I get that one out?”  Lucas asked.

“I’ll get it in a second,” Steve said, his eyes now roaming over Eddie’s face.

“I don’t mind.”  Lucas offered.

“Dude.”  Steve’s eyes finally left Eddie and he felt himself deflate a little bit, muscles twinging from where he had been clenching them.  “I’ll get it. Can you give us a minute?”

“Oh! Uh, yeah? Sure?”  Lucas replied, quickly grabbing the bowl and heading back towards the living room.

Steve’s eyes flicked back to Eddie and he felt suddenly compelled to talk.  Like a tidal wave, his insecurities drowned him.

“I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have sprung this on you.  I’m not your type, I know. I—”

“Yes.”

“Don’t even know if…”  Eddie stopped to process what Steve said.  “Yes? Yes, I’m not your type or yes you… you want to…”

“Yes. I’ll go out with you.”

Eddie finally looked at Steve, really took him in instead of concentrating on not collapsing in on himself.  Steve looked almost… shy?  Nervous?  There was the slightest blush on his neck, the smallest, guarded smile.  He, Eddie now noticed, had been white knuckling his own arm ever since Eddie asked.

Interesting.

Eddie relaxed a little.  “Yeah?”

Steve’s smile grew bigger as he nodded. “Yeah.”

Eddie couldn’t help the smile that took over his face.  He did it.  He asked Steve out. And Steve said yes!  What’s more, Steve looked caught off guard in the best way possible.  “Oh, just you wait, Harrington.  I’m gonna wine and dine you like you’ve never been wined and dined before.” Eddie grinned.

“The popcorn’s getting cold! What’s taking you guys so long!”  Dustin yelled from the living room.

Steve turned to the microwave to get the popcorn and Eddie reveled in Steve’s smile.  The way it looked like he was restraining it, the way Steve looked lighter than he had in weeks.

They walked back to the living room together, and Eddie kicked Mike off the couch so he could sit next to Steve. Halfway through the movie, Steve slipped his hand into Eddie’s.  On impulse, he pulled Steve’s hand up to kiss the back of it, before shifting closer and leaning his head on Steve’s shoulder.  When he felt the press of Steve’s head on top of his he thought maybe he was dead.  Maybe the bats had finished him off and he was in heaven.

He would have to thank Dustin for pushing him to ask Steve.  He would never hear the end of it.

When the movie ended and everyone was leaving, Eddie hung around the living room so he would be the last to go.  He refolded the blankets, rewound the tape and put it back in its box, and picked up the popcorn bowls and candy wrappers.  He was in the kitchen throwing things out, thinking maybe he had enough time to run to the bathroom, when Steve reappeared.

“Everyone head out?”  Eddie asked as Steve approached him.

“Mhmm.”  He replied before stepping around the kitchen island and stopping in front of Eddie. “Coast is clear.”

“Oh yeah?” Eddie grinned, stepping closer.

“Mmm,” Steve hummed before leaning in, pressing his lips to Eddie’s.

Eddie had kissed quite a few people before, boys and girls alike, but this kiss with Steve.  It was different.  It filled him up, distracted him from everything else so that when his back hit the counter it almost startled him.

“Sorry.”  Steve hummed, pulling away.

“Don’t be.”  Eddie managed to get out before pulling Steve back in.  He was definitely in heaven.  Except in heaven, he wouldn’t be almost peeing his pants.  Curse that whole bottle of coke.

Eddie pulled back with a soft, ‘shit.’

“You okay?”  Steve asked.

“Yeah, fantastic, great. Except I think I’m about to pee my pants. Don’t go anywhere, Big Boy.”  Eddie said before practically running to the bathroom, Steve’s surprised laughter following him down the hall.

When he got back, Steve was washing the popcorn bowls and pizza plates from earlier in the night, sweater pushed up to his elbows, the locks of hair hanging in his eyes swinging with his movements.  Eddie stepped up behind him and wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist.

“No one has ever asked me out.”  Steve said after a few seconds.

“What?”  Eddie let go in surprise, moving next to Steve so he could see his face.  “Seriously?”

Steve nodded.

“The way girls talked about you I would have thought they would be lining up.”  Eddie mused.

“No. I’m the guy, you know?  I mean they definitely dropped hints, but none of them asked me.”

Eddie reveled in that for a second.  He was the first person to ask Steve Harrington out.

“So, how does it feel being on the receiving end?”  Eddie asked, nudging Steve.

“So good.”  Steve smiled at him, the sincerity of his words bleeding out of him so much that Eddie had to dart forward and peck him on the cheek.

“Where do you want to go?”  Eddie asked.

“You said you were gonna wine and dine me,” Steve replied, “I trust you.”

Those words sent a bolt of pure reassurance through Eddie.  “Oh, Steve Harrington,” he half sing-songed, half chuckled, “I’m gonna date you so hard.”

[brokenmenswhore]

A part three to proposition please 🙏

holy SHIT you guys you’re all FIENDS

a proposition: exploration | poly!marauders

#3

pairing: poly!marauders x fem!reader (james, remus, and sirius, featuring alecto, dorcas, evan, lily, and mary)

warnings: smut (MDNI 18+)

a/n: i really hope this was worth the wait, thank you for your patience <3

a proposition: masterlist

────── ☾ ──────

“Morning!”

The group at the Gryffindor table turned their heads toward you.

“Morning,” Remus responded, twisting his body to see you standing directly behind him.

“You guys mind if I sit with you?”

“Not at all, gorgeous,” Remus flirted, patting the spot to his right as he took another bite of french toast.

You blushed as you sat down, smiling to everyone else at the table as a greeting.

As you settled in, the group continued the conversation they were having about upcoming exams. Being a year below them, you didn’t have much to offer, and you were growing bored.

You leaned over toward Remus, confidence beaming due to your desire for attention as you whispered, “thank you for yesterday. You were really nice to me.”

Remus turned his attention away from the group as he looked at you, smiling, “of course, but there’s no need to thank me. It was a pleasure.”

His flirtations made you blush. You thought about how funny it was that he had literally fucked you, yet one little comment made your heart putty in his hands.

You were blushy and giggly like a schoolgirl with a crush, completely unable to control yourself. “I’m glad it was a pleasure.”

Remus smiled even wider, catching onto your antics. “I fucked you once and now you’re in a mood, huh?” he teased.

“Maybe.”

Remus looked around the table, who still hadn’t noticed his absence from the conversation, and he took your hand, leaving his seat and subsequently pulling you up to a stand.

“We’ll be back,” Remus said.

“No no no,” James said, “no, that’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair?” Remus asked.

“Mate, you’re the only one here who’s been with her, and it was last night. Keep it in your pants, we’re literally at breakfast,” James pouted.

“Can’t help it when she asks,” Remus smiled.

You blushed even harder, ducking your head behind Remus’s shoulder in embarrassment.

The table gave up on fighting Remus. James turned back around with a sigh and continued eating and chatting, as did everyone at the table except for Sirius, who stayed eyeing you until you were out of view.

Remus pulled you down a few hallways until he found a sufficiently quiet corridor with empty classrooms.

“Remus, what if someone-“

“They never use these classrooms,” Remus said, quietly clicking the door shut, “one too many hexes, I suppose.”

“But-“

“You look so good right now.”

Your protestations died in your throat as Remus walked closer and closer to you. You took a step backward, and your lower back collided into an empty desk.

“Why so quiet all of a sudden?” Remus teased.

“You make me nervous,” you admitted without thinking.

“Yeah? Nervous how?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“I don’t know, like, I just- I keep thinking about yesterday,” you said.

Remus began to lightly run his fingers up the side of your body. “What about it?”

“You know what about.”

“I wanna hear you say it.”

“You’re joking.”

“Nope.”

You took a deep breath. “I keep thinking about how we had sex. Happy?”

“Not quite,” Remus answered, “I wanna know what exactly about us having sex you keep thinking about.”

“I don’t know, you, I guess?”

“Me, hm?”

“Yeah.”

“You know what I keep thinking about?”

You cocked your head to the side.

“You.”

“Me?”

“Mhm,” Remus continued, “you underneath me, to be specific.”

As he spoke, Remus began to slowly pull your skirt up to your waist, causing your breathing to hitch in your throat.

“Well well well, is this all for me?”

Remus ran a finger over your underwear but still between your folds, the wetness already having soaked through the fabric, leaving an evident stain.

“Yes,” you admitted.

Remus removed his hand, instead wrapping his arms around the backs of your legs, causing you to gasp as you jumped upward. Remus moved you backward, and your ass hit the desk behind you. He took residence standing between your legs, which in turn made your skirt stay bunched up at your waist.

“Can I try something?” Remus asked.

“What do you wanna try?” you asked, your breathing heavy in anticipation from Remus’s close proximity.

“You.”

“Me what?”

“I wanna try you.”

You furrowed your brows in confusion. “You already did, we already had sex. I’m confused.”

Remus chuckled. “No, baby, I wanna taste you.”

“Oh.”

“That okay?”

“I don’t really know what that entails, but yeah.”

“You know you can always just tell me to stop, right?” Remus checked.

“Yes.”

Remus nodded at your response and sunk to his knees, looking up at you as he pushed your underwear to the side.

“What if-“

“Don’t be self conscious baby, you’re beautiful,” Remus eased your nerves, and you took a deep breath as you forced your muscles to relax.

Remus stuck his tongue out and tasted between your folds, moving slowly and gentle so as not to overstimulate you too early, and you shuddered at the contact.

Remus maintained eye contact as you watched him move his tongue up and down, tasting your evident wetness. You moaned when he flicked his tongue faster directly on your clit.

Your body jolted, and Remus made a sound of satisfaction as he continued his work on your clit, alternating between flicking you with his tongue and sucking and kissing.

“Fuck,” you sighed.

Remus reached a hand up to grab yours, intertwining your fingers with his to help steady you in a gesture of intimacy that you really appreciated.

You squeezed his hand as you became a whiny, submissive mess.

Remus’s other hand gripped the flesh of your ass that was accessible, pushing you closer to him and increasing the intensity of your pleasure.

You threw your head back, and your hand instinctively went to the back of Remus’s head, lightly pulling the strands of his hair.

You snapped out of your daze for a moment and quickly removed your hand, self conscious about the action made while you were lost in pleasure.

Remus pulled away from you. “Go for it, baby, don’t hold back.”

You knew he was intentionally calling you baby because you mentioned yesterday that you liked it, and the remembrance was only adding to your arousal.

You swallowed your self consciousness and resumed playing with Remus’s hair. He moaned into you at the feeling, clearly happy about it.

“Shit, Rem-“

Remus moved his mouth faster, desperately trying to pull an orgasm from you.

“Rem- Remmy-“

Remus pulled away for a brief moment to say, “feels so good you’re callin me nicknames now, huh?”

“S-sorry,” you stuttered.

“Uh uh, you better keep moaning little nicknames for me like that.”

You simply moaned in response, losing strength to stay sitting up as you began to lightly grind your hips against Remus’s face, so lost in pleasure you didn’t care about being embarrassed anymore.

Remus slapped the outside of your thigh, looking up at you. He decided to test the waters with you. “I said keep moaning my fucking name.”

You liked the dominance. “Yes, Remmy.”

“Good girl,” he praised, reconnecting his mouth to you and still focusing on your clit, deciding to save anything else for another time, as this was your first time doing this, and he wanted to take it slow. He knew not many of the others would.

You threw your head back, anchoring yourself with your hand on Remus’s head as your moans became louder and louder.

Remus let go of your hand and held your waist, now completely gripping your hips as he pushed you as close to him as he could.

Your high was approaching quickly, and your moans were becoming high pitched and weak.

“I’m, it’s- Remmy, I-“

Remus didn’t pull away, but instead looked up at you to watch your face as you came.

You threw your head back instinctively, your chest rapidly rising and falling as your orgasm washed over you.

Remus stayed between your legs to lap up any and all wetness, and only stood when he was satisfied.

You were trying hard to catch your breath, and Remus smiled at you. “Feel good?”

You smiled in return. “Fuck.”

Remus kissed you, and you could taste yourself on his lips.

“I’m not even hungry for breakfast anymore,” Remus joked.

────── ☾ ──────

All you could think about was Remus.

You felt like a woman possessed. You couldn’t focus in lectures because all you could think of was Remus’s head between your legs. How he sounded when he moaned into you. The way he called you baby when he fucked you. The way he runs his fingers through his messy hair. You were enamored, and you were becoming horny much more frequently than you ever imagined.

Even when you were with the group, you stayed attached to Remus. You always sat with your thigh against his, and even sometimes stood holding his arm. You were obsessed, and the group noticed.

You had just joined, and you were already completely infatuated with just one of them, and that concerned the group, so they decided to meet without you, something they rarely did, but found necessary.

“She’s absolutely obsessed with you, mate.”

Remus flicked embers from his cigarette into the ashtray in the center of the courtyard. “I don’t know what to tell you. I like her, if she wants me, I’m not gonna say no. It’s her choice who she wants.”

“Come on, guys, go easy on Y/N,” Lily said, “every girl gets a little obsessed with their first time. It’s the same way I was with James.”

“If that ain’t the truth,” James said, raising his bottle of firewhiskey.

Sirius took the opportunity to stand up and grab the raised bottle, and he downed the remainder of its contents in an instant.

“Someone else needs to fuck her,” Mary chimed in, “simple as that.”

“She’ll get there, why rush her?” Remus defended.

“Oh shut up mate, you just like having someone want you so bad,” James argued.

Remus shrugged before taking another drag of his cigarette, not completely disagreeing with James’s sentiment.

Sirius cleared his throat, and the attention of the room turned to him. In an annoyed tone, he spoke, “someone go and fuck her, then.”

“Why don’t you go find her?” Dorcas suggested to Sirius.

“Maybe I will.”

“No, no, I got this,” James said, standing up and straightening his shirt, “I know my way to the Hufflepuff common room.”

“She’s not in the common room, she’s in potions,” Sirius said.

“What, you know her schedule now?”

Sirius shrugged and rested his elbows on his knees, the wind knocking a few strands of hair in front of his face.

James threw his hands in the air. “I don’t know where the Hufflepuff potions classroom is, what do you want me to do? Fuck.”

“Just find her later. It’s not like she’s gonna fuck you in a classroom anyways,” Dorcas said.

Remus scoffed to himself, not realizing it was loud enough for the group to hear. Everyone’s gaze shot toward him.

“Sorry,” Remus smiled, clearly not sorry at all.

“Oh come on,” James said, throwing his hands up in the air, “I don’t even have a shot.”

“You’ll be fine, mate, just try manhandling her a little,” Remus said casually.

“Yeah?”

“She seemed to like the little bit I did when I tried,” Remus revealed.

By the time classes were over, you were nowhere to be seen. You hadn’t had the need to walk past the courtyard at all, but that didn’t mean James gave up. Instead, he just walked around the Hufflepuff hallways until he saw you.

“Hey Y/N!” he exclaimed when he finally caught your eye.

“Hey, James, what are you doing down here?” you said, approaching the common room door.

“Do you guys get to snatch snacks?” he asked, his inner monologue taking over as he noticed the Hufflepuff common room was extremely close to the kitchens.

“You came down here because you wanted a snack?” you asked, turning to face him.

“I guess you could say that,” he responded.

“What does that mean?”

“Shouldn’t you know now? I mean, I thought Remus took care of teaching you that already,” James smirked.

You blushed and bowed your head briefly. “He’s quick to talk, that one.”

“Why have you been so attached to him?” James asked.

You processed the question before speaking. “I don’t know, I guess I didn’t realize I had been. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, angel, no worries,” James said, stepping closer and closer to you, “I think I can help that.”

“Yeah?” you played along, “how?”

“Follow me and you’ll find out.”

You smiled as you took James’s hand, your other hand holding your books to your chest as you mindlessly followed James’s lead. You watched the muscles in his arm flex as he held onto your hand, and you felt yourself growing excited.

You were becoming attached to Remus, and you knew you had to get that out of your system. Besides, James was hot, and you were now perpetually horny, so why not indulge in a little fun?

────── ☾ ──────

“I am not going in there.”

James sighed. “C’mon, it really isn’t as scary as it looks. Promise.”

“No no, I think it is as scary as it looks,” you protested, “I’ve heard horror stories about this place, James. It’s called the Shrieking Shack for a reason.”

“Would you just trust me?” James said.

“In theory,” you responded, but still swallowed your fears and let him direct you toward the dilapidated building.

You were surprised by its contents. The interior was decorated somewhat cozy, and a large bed sat in the corner across from a warm fireplace. Lily sat on a couch facing the flames, reading for pleasure in her solitude.

“Hey, Lil, I’m sorry, we didn’t know you were out here,” James said when he spotted her.

“No worries,” Lily said, standing, “I can get going, and leave you two alone.”

She started to exit the room, but the moment she walked past James, he called out to her. “Wait. Stay.”

You turned to James, then to Lily, then back to James again. Maybe he didn’t bring you here to fuck. Maybe he really just wanted to hang out.

“Yeah? Is that alright with you, Y/N?” Lily asked.

Your gaze continued to shift between James and Lily. “I think I’m confused.”

James took a step closer to you, shifting his body behind you as he swept your hair off of one shoulder. He leaned toward your ear, whispering, “No, I don’t think you are.”

He then lightly kissed your neck, momentarily sucking on a few sensitive spots. You felt yourself lose control as your head fell backwards and your eyes closed. His lips felt like heaven against your skin.

You forgot Lily was in the room until you felt her presence in front of you. You opened your eyes but they almost instantly shut again as Lily connected her lips to yours. Your mouths moved in sync as you let yourself melt into their touches.

James’s hands ran down your sides, pushing down the garments on your lower body. You shivered as the cool air hit your now bare skin.

“Here, c’mere,” James said, directing you over to the space in between the couch and the fireplace. “Better?”

“Mhm,” you vocalized.

James studied you for a moment. He remembered what Remus has said earlier about manhandling you, and decided to take the chance. He stood in front of you and grabbed your throat, lightly squeezing his fingers as he pulled your body closer to his, your face mere inches from his. “You gonna be good?” he whispered.

“Yes,” you answered.

“Good girl,” he praised, his unoccupied hand connecting to your clit, immediately rubbing steady circles on you as he studied your expression.

Your mouth opened and you tried to moan, but the pressure around your throat meant every noise came out as a shaky breath or a small, strangled moan.

James’s eyes never left yours as your brows furrowed and you tried to shift your weight, but his grip on you was firm. He studied exactly how your features shifted and contorted when he moved fast or hit a particularly good spot, and he could feel a straining in his jeans.

Your arousal grew each time you tried to move away but couldn’t. James was certainly the most muscular of any of the group, and he worked out the most, almost by default from playing Quidditch. You were happy he was manhandling you: he was perfect for it.

James continued to touch you as you struggled to remain standing, but luckily, Lily came to your aid, holding your hips from behind.

“Aweh, Jamesie, I think she’s gonna fall if you let her go,” Lily taunted.

James listened to Lily, then directed his attention back to you. “Open your eyes,” he demanded, and you did just that, “if you fall, it better be to your knees.”

You nodded your head up and down as much as you could with James’s grip on you, and he immediately let go of your throat. You felt your knees buckle, and despite the fact that you probably could have stood, you sunk to your knees in front of James.

He smiled wickedly as he unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them down, standing in front of you in his boxers once his shirt was removed.

You looked up at him and swallowed hard, turned on but also nervous.

“I’ve never done this before,” you reminded him, “I don’t think it’ll be good.”

“You don’t have to do it, angel,” James said, fearing he was pressuring you.

“I want to,” you admitted, “I just- I-“

“Want me to talk you through it?”

“You don’t have to- I just- I don’t know-“

James sank down to your level, kneeling on the floor in front of you and taking your hands in his. “If you don’t wanna do this, you tell me whenever. Otherwise, don’t be embarrassed. I’ll walk you through it. We stop when you want. Don’t worry about it being bad, baby, that pretty mouth around my cock couldn’t possibly be bad. Lily can help, too. She’s got it down to a science. Okay?”

You blushed and dropped your head to hide it. James maneuvered his own boxers off, before standing up again, his semi-hard cock almost level with your face.

“You wanna watch what I do first?” Lily suggested, and you immediately nodded. You would feel a lot more comfortable seeing her do it first, partially so you could have a reference, but partially because you couldn’t stand the thought of doing it in front of Lily without Lily having done anything sexual in front of you first.

Lily shuffled on her knees toward James, who smiled down at her. She took James’s cock in her hand and pointed the tip directly outward.

“Boys like it when you work ‘em up first, especially this one,” Lily smiled.

Lily kept James’s cock steady as she licked a stripe from the base to the tip, circling her tongue around the tip before pulling away to speak again.

“Since it’s your first time, don’t rush it,” she said, “go nice and slow and let yourself adjust. Like this.”

Lily wrapped her mouth around James’s cock, and he immediately threw his head back and let out a moan. She slowly sunk her head further and further down.

James’s hand instinctively found it’s way to the back of Lily’s head, causing Lily to pull away with a pop. “She can’t see if your arm is in the way, Jamie!”

“Fuck, sorry,” James breathed out, clearly worked up from even one small moment.

“The little moans mean he likes it,” Lily said, “just watch your teeth. Try to think about hollowing out your cheeks.”

You nodded and watched as Lily reconnected her mouth to James’s cock. He clenched his hands into fists to stop himself from holding her head against him, and you could tell he was fighting to keep his resolve. Lily moved her head as far down as she could go, then almost entirely off, then back down again. She kept a steady pace, and eventually James looked down at her, and Lily forced her eyes open to look back at him.

“Fuck, we love it when you fucking look at us,” James said, talking to you, but looking at Lily.

Lily continued to suck him off for a few moments before disconnecting herself from him again, shifting backwards on her knees to make room for you.

You made yourself comfortable as you took a deep breath. You looked up at James, and he nearly combusted when he made eye contact with you. “Shit, baby, don’t look at me like that.”

“Will you tell me if anything is uncomfortable?” you asked.

The innocence coating your voice was driving James crazy, and he was growing more and more eager by the second. “Shit, yes, I promise.”

You copied Lily’s initial actions, wrapping your hand around the base of his cock as you wrapped your lips around his tip. You remembered what Lily said about teeth, and you did your best to avoid having them touch James. You moved your lips as far down James’s shaft as you could before you felt his tip his the back of your throat, causing you to gag around him and pull away.

“It’s okay, that’s okay! That’s totally normal,” Lily said, immediately putting her hand on your back to comfort you, “just go a little less far this time.”

You wrapped your lips around James again, this time only sinking down as far as you could without his cock hitting the back of your throat. You slowly pulled back and then pushed in again, trying to gage how it feels to move. You focused on keeping your cheeks hollowed out.

After a few tries, you got your jaw in a comfortable position. You looked up at James, who was fighting for his life to keep it together. He was gripping Lily’s hand in his own, and his other hand was in front of his face, covering his own mouth.

You pulled away from James. “Are you okay?” you asked.

“Yeah, baby, just didn’t wanna make a noise and stress you out.”

“Am I doing okay?”

“You’re doing so good for me, baby.”

You gave him a small smile before sinking back onto his length. You found your comfortable position again, and began to move more and more, gradually increasing your speed as you adjusted.

“Atta girl,” Lily said.

You braced yourself by placing your palms on his thighs, allowing yourself to more easily get closer and closer to him.

As time went on, James lost himself in the pleasure, and eventually completely forgot that this was your first time, and that he was supposed to be gentle.

His eyes were closed and his head was thrown back as he placed his hand on the back of your head, forcing you closer to him.

You tried your best to focus on keeping your cheeks hollow, and realized you should breathe through your nose. You knew you could stop James at any time, but you didn’t really want to. You relished in the knowledge that your mouth around him felt so good that he lost control.

James began to buck his hips forward, causing you to still your head as he took over. He fucked your mouth fast, chasing his high as you tried your best to breathe and stay still.

Lily grabbed your shoulders and pulled you away from him. James snapped out of his trance, and looked down to you concerned.

“Shit, angel, are you alright?” he asked, leaning down and running a thumb over your cheek.

You nodded yes as you caught your breath.

You turned to Lily, who said, “it’s no fun if he comes already.”

James got down to your level, kneeling on the floor as he begged, “seven hells, Y/N, please let us fuck you.”

You leaned toward James and gently kissed him, and he immediately reciprocated, running his fingers through your hair and deepening the kiss.

He pulled you against his body as he leaned backward, straightening his legs until he was laying flat against the floor, holding your body against his while still kissing you.

“Flip around,” he said.

You gave him a confused look, but instead of explaining, he simply repeated, “flip the fuck around.”

You awkwardly shifted your body around until your back was to James. You were nervous to put the pressure of your body against his chest, so you knelt on the floor between his legs, unsure of what to do.

You luckily didn’t have to ask. James leaned upward and wrapped his arms around your body, pulling your back flush against his chest as he laid back down against the rug.

“Legs on either side of me, angel,” he said, and you moved your knees to either side of his waist.

Even before you had sex, you had some understanding of how it worked, but this was all new for you. You listened to any instruction James gave you without question, because it wasn’t like you knew what you were doing anyway.

James unwrapped his arms from your body and ran his fingers over your arms before pulling them backwards, your head nearly knocking back into his head from surprise as he positioned your arms on either side of his head, allowing you to hold yourself up.

“You okay?” he checked in once he had you in the position he wanted.

“Mhm,” you responded.

He gripped your hips, his strength overwhelming you as he lifted your hips with ease. You helped him, lifting your knees until you felt him stop.

James gave his cock a few fast strokes before he positioned himself at your entrance. He pushed your hips down, trying to be slow for your sake, but somewhat failing. When you were all the way sat down, you could hear James’s head hit the floor as he threw it back.

He continued to move your hips up and down, relishing in the pleasure. After a few thrusts, he choked out, “Lil?”

“Already here,” she said, her voice sultry.

Your eyes were squeezed shut, but when you heard her voice, you snapped out of your daze to see she was right between your legs.

“Hi,” you squeaked out.

“Hi,” she responded.

She straightened her back until her lips were mere inches away from yours. She waited until you cried out at a sharp thrust of James’s hips to kiss you. She wrapped her fingers in your hair to keep your head in place, her tongue finding it’s way into your mouth as you moaned.

When she pulled away, she kept eye contact, and began to move down your body. When she was back in between your legs, you nodded to her, granting her permission.

Lily’s tongue began to taste between your folds. James’s thrusts we’re growing hard, his hips now moving more than yours, so Lily didn’t have to do much work.

Her tongue flicked against you as your hips moved up and down, the added pleasure causing your arousal to build rapidly.

She gazed up at you, moving her mouth closer to you so she could suck at your clit as you watched her.

“Fuck, I can’t-“ you moaned.

James released one of your hips and gripped your hair, forcing your head to tilt downward and watch Lily.

Lily sucked and licked at your clit, focusing on circling your clit with her tongue, knowing it would help drive you over the edge.

“Fuck, c’mere,” James nearly growled, knocking your arms and holding your back against his chest, your head falling beside his.

He began to fuck into you even harder, hitting your sweet spot with every vicious thrust. The stretched out position allowed Lily more access to your core, and she gently pawed at James’s balls as she continued to taste you.

While everything about the moment was heated, what sent you over the edge was James’s hold on you. His muscular arms held you against him so effortlessly, but so strong that you couldn’t dare to move if you wanted to. You felt so close to him, and the thought did you in.

“I’m com-“ you couldn’t even finish the sentence before your high crashed over you.

James immediately pulled you up and off of him and allowed Lily to taste your juices, sucking at your entrance until you had calmed down and were clean. As she did so, James used one hand to hold his cock against your thigh, fucking it until he came, spilling his seed on your thigh and hip.

Lily leaned over to lick up the come all over you, making sure you were clean before she backed away.

You dropped your hips to the floor, exhaustion overwhelming you as James shifted backward and allowed you to rest your head on his legs.

Naked and fucked out, James began to run his fingers through your sweat soaked hair. You stayed there for a moment, while Lily reclothed herself and organized her books, before you asked, “how long have you guys been coming here?”

“Years,” James answered, “Remus started coming here during his transitions, and the rest of us would come help him out. It kinda became our place.”

You tilted your head to look up at James. “His what?”

“His transitions. Transformations. Whatever.”

“Transformations?”

“Remus is a werewolf, honey,” Lily chimed in, “there’s no way you couldn’t have known that.”

You did not know that.

“Sirius can turn into a dog,” James blurted out.

“A what?”

“You have so much to learn,” James teased.

“A dog? Like a dog? Like a literal dog?”

“Mhm,” James smiled, “pretty cute dog, too. Big fluffy black thing. Can be kinda scary. He doesn’t really talk about it.”

“What can you turn into?” you looked up to James.

“Baby, you just saw the animal I can be.”

“Oh be honest with her, James,” Lily said, “that wasn’t even the half of it.”

────── ☾ ──────

taglist: @alixmarauders @riddlemenottsluttyslytherin @twilightlover2007 @hcqwxrtss123 @queerndepressed @prongs-wolfstar-marauders @flowersarcute @remussbitch @ch4rlotte35 @alwaysanundertone @urfavhanna @donovorita28 @randomcreator-09 @joey-hoey @chronically-sh-ana @pinksmellslikelove @blvebanisters @aaronhotchswife @roseblack1864 @chaevvonders @champomiel

[cheyisagirlkisser]

Flowers (Headcannons)

Sevika x fem! reader

Warnings / content: 18+ content, brothel worker reader, brief mentions of casual sex with other brothel workers, soft sex, tribbing, Sevika’s daddy issues, afab reader.

A/N: This is short. I may do more with this trope but it depends on if you guys like this post, idk how I feel about it yet so…

୨ৎ Sevika who is one of the only clients of yours who gives aftercare. You’re not to used it, most of the guys you sleep with for money only pay you through Babbette and leave. Sevika holds you in her big arms, rubbing your back silently. It's not a comfortable silence, but rather a vulnerable one in which she is afraid to say she feels more.

୨ৎ Sevika who previously fucked brothel girls in the most detached ways possible, simply bending them over and leaving afterwards. She knew it was wrong, but sex was just a way to blow steam for her.

୨ৎ Sevika who fucks you like you're her wife, though. Smothering kisses all over your shoulder as she moves her hips, she is truly more intimate than any other client is. You're too used to men coming for a blow and leaving, but that isn't the case with Sevika.

୨ৎ Sevika who believes "love at first sight" is the stupidest shit she has ever heard of, but... you're beautiful, and you remind her of flowers. Flowers don't usually grow in the undercity, so she simply felt the need to gently pick your petals one by one and water your roots when she finished. You never question why this rather brash-looking woman is so soft for you, but if you did, she would simply tell you she likes "slow sex." If only you knew.

୨ৎ Sevika who stopped seeing her other girls a week after you. You filled her mind with visions of rose metals and soft waterlilies, and it didn't help that your perfume smells like a damn flower shop. She finds herself thinking about you only now, to the point that she doesn't care about blowing off steam. You and your sweet hums when she squeezes your waist, your skin so malleable under her touch.

୨ৎ Sevika who thinks about more than just the sex. Since you’re a brothel worker, she unfortunately doesn’t get much time with you besides that. Still, she thinks about the moments when it’s just quiet between the two of you. The moments leading up to it are stuck in her head like a loop, and she can’t help but think about the one time she got bold enough to hold your hand after sex. Much like a flower, you gave her a soft, warm smile. You squeezed her hand, and it made her heart burst.

୨ৎ Sevika who wonders why a sweet girl like you works at a brothel. Not that she would ever judge people for that, since she knows from her own experience how hard surviving is. You probably just need to pay your bills, put food in your mouth. She knows that. Still, she doesn’t like thinking about how tiring the job must be. Most women she knows who do the job don’t seem very happy on shifts, and yet you smile and laugh with her. Could it be that you feel what she feels?

୨ৎ Sevika who eventually stops coming to the brothel to sleep with you, rather finding herself stalling the sex unless you both wanna have sex, and at some point she pays just for sessions of talking to you. She likes getting to know you. She gets excited when you tell her how much you love cooking, and you inform her of your favorite flower. It’s one you have only seen once, but you hope to see it again someday.

୨ৎ Sevika who accidentally tells you she loves you during sex one day. You’re underneath her as she grinds her pussy against yours, and there aren’t any exaggerated moans like you fake with other customers—just soft, delicate gasps. You seem so caught up in your pleasure, like you’ve forgotten this is a job and not..something else that you haven’t acknowledged yet. Sevika is mesmerized by your facial expression, too. Your eyes like to find hers and make that connection, and you’ve leaned in for soft, intimate kisses multiple times just this round. Naturally, the words slip.

“I love you.”

୨ৎ Sevika who shouldn’t be surprised when you say it back, but is. She doesn’t have the best self-esteem. For the better part of her life, she dealt with her old man putting her down for everything he could. She got comments on her appearance: her nose, her lack of femininity. All of the things that you adore, thought she struggles to understand how. Still, she won’t refuse your love. She wants you to be hers.

୨ৎ Sevika who works her ass off for a single flower. Piltover goods are not cheap, and she was charged extra just because the vendor simply could. But the one flower she could afford is just as beautiful as you described it to her. And of course, it reminds her of you.

୨ৎ Sevika who asks you to actually be her girlfriend with the flower. It’s not much, and yet you tear up when it happens. She is given the softest hug in return, and all of the soreness in her back from working extra for the flower was suddenly gone. It was all worth it.

[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

[naniwatig3r]

CONTOUR LINES (18+)

Mingyu x artstudent!Femreader

Summary: You’ve finally broken up with your boyfriend Mingyu. Ignoring him has been hard, but you were finally at peace. But he had other plans, as he shows up to the figure drawing class you T.A…. And as the model.

Warnings: Unexplained breakup (im lazy lol), angst, cute fluff sometimes, art school stress, public nudity, public unprotected penetrative sex (no one is around though!), quickie

a/n: this was a idea i got while messing around with my friend who has a thing for mingyu, lol.

Word count: uhhh, around 7k ? I can’t remember 😅

————————

Another miss call.

Great, you thought, the tenth missed call from your ex boyfriend Mingyu this week.

It’s been about a month since you broke up with your ex, Kim Mingyu. It was an odd pairing in the first place. You met him coincidentally in the quad the beginning of the year, as you sat at the edge of the school fountain. Your sketchbook open, as you drew the scenery and people around you. A normal activity you did as an arts student.

You were clearly in the zone, drawing the fold in a random college student’s arm, before a voice interrupted your thoughts.

“Whoa, you can draw.”

Your eyes snap up, seeing a towering figure, completely blocking your view. No shit, you thought.

“Yeah, I guess.” You say plainly, hoping your short answer would deter this guy. But then the sunlight is back on the page you’re drawing, and you feel his warm presence sit right next to you. Maybe he’s just sitting down to sit down, so you try and finish your life drawing of the current student, but they were gone. Probably going to their next class.

Huffing, you still for a moment to put your pencil down.

“I wish I could draw like that,” You hear, as you glance to your side. Furrowing your eyebrows in irritation as the man leans over to stare directly into your sketchbook. “You’re a really good drawer.” He says in awe.

“Yeah, uh, thanks.” You say curtly, as he continues to stare at your sketches like he’s at a museum. These sketches were nothing compared to a Degas or something, yet he stared at them like it was, his brown eyes flickering around in interest.

He clears his throat, as he looks up to meet your eyes. He smiles, a toothy one where you notice how sharp his canines were. Cute.

He pulls his sleeve up from his wrist to his elbow, holding his large hand out, “Mingyu. Kim Mingyu.” He says, introducing himself. You nod, reluctantly shaking his hand, his grip tight and strong.

“Y/n.” You say back shortly, eyeing him, wondering how long this tall man was going to bother you.

He lets go of your hand, as he adjusts his position to turn more towards you. One leg over the other, leaning forward. His bangs falling so perfectly across his eyebrow, that it made you narrow your eyes. It’s crazy, people like this seriously exist huh?

“Do you do art or something?” No shit.

You nod, “Yeah, I’m a fine arts major.” You respond, giving him a strained polite smile. It felt like you had to, the way this guy has been beaming at you like a puppy as you give the driest replies.

He grins, “Whoa, no way. Thats cool,” He praises, “I’m—“

The rest of the meet cute didn’t matter.

After this, you kept bumping into him, coincidence you thought at first, but thinking back… he had no reason to be near the art school area of the campus.

He always asked to see your sketchbook, or whatever was in your portfolio folder as you tried to get to your studio. Even helping you carry your supplies and folders inside, and once he learned where you worked he came with iced coffee when he could.

At 3 am, he’d lay on the floor of your messy studio, watching you as you mix another color on your palette. Your sweatshirt pushed to your elbows, paint on your hands and face as you work on the gigantic canvas for your final.

“You don’t have to be here, you know,” You say a bit softly, your eyes tired despite your multiple energy drinks. “It must be boring to watch me throw paint for the last few hours.”

He shakes his head, sitting up as he looks at you with his puppy like eyes. “No, I like it. You’re so focused…” He trails, “I didn’t think art would be this hard.”

You glare at him for that remark, making him immediately tread back. His mouth gaping open and closing like a fish, “Ah! Not like that it’s easy — just that you’re so passionate you know?” He explains, throwing his hands around.

Rolling your eyes, you put your brush back into the muddy cup of water. “Why? Engineering not doing it for you?” You ask lazily, as you pull your claw clip out of your hair. Massaging your scalp from the tension.

Mingyu’s eyes focused on you, his cheeks slightly flushing. Eyes roving over how strands of your hair effortlessly frame your face. He clears his throat, “Uh, no. I like it. I’ve always been good at studying, and I get the material so,” He says, as he scratches his head.

“But I guess, it’s different watching you. Your eyes are different when you’re drawing, painting, sculpting. Whatever.” He says quietly.

“Different?” You muse, standing up to stretch your legs. Mingyu following instinctively, his tall frame dwarfing you.

He nods, “Mhm, yeah. I thought art was just a major for people who didn’t want to do anything, but getting to know you…” he says, as he follows you to your studio table. As you open the most recent energy drink you got from the vending machine. “You just don’t stop. Like you’re meant to do it.” He breathes.

His genuine words make you raise an eyebrow, turning to him. You give him a small smile, making his heart rate jump. “Yeah? It’s like you, I think.” You say, taking a sip of that battery acid of a drink. “I’ve just been doing this since forever. Natural to keep going.” You say nonchalantly, but Mingyu looks at you like you’re a living genius.

“Thats whats so cool,” He gushes, “You’re just made to do this.” He says, as he glances at your current work in progress. A large canvas with pleasing colors, his eye being drawn to the right areas. The beautifully rendered figure, framed with all the right strokes.

He looks back at you, with such an adoration you think it’s hallucinations from doing so many allnighters.

“Ah,” he starts, as he moves his long legs to shuffle through his bag, pulling out some tupperware. “I forgot, I was making uh, some dinner earlier and I had leftovers.” He lies, knowing full well he made it for you. He turns around, opening the tupperware to reveal a lunch box of different side dishes and protein. It could rival any meal inspo on pinterest, as he even carefully cut out seaweed to make cute faces.

You snicker, making Mingyu’s cheeks pink. “Leftovers huh?” You say, as you grab the lunchbox from him. Your fingers brushing over his, a welcome warmth from the cold air conditioning of the studio. “Thanks, I appreciate it. I was just gonna make some ramen.”

“Yeah no problem,” He strains, smiling. “You need energy to keep on going right? At least eat well if you’re gonna sacrifice your sleep.”

You take a bite, and even though it was cold, you nod in approval at the taste. The annoyingly large man could cook. Your reaction makes Mingyu grin, as you can see shamelessly how much that did to his ego.

“Still, you should go you know?” You say, as you remember Mingyu talking about his week a few days ago as you painted. “Don’t you have an exam tomorrow?”

Oh? He doesn’t focus on the fact that you’re asking him to go. Only that you remembered his schedule. He grins, “You remembered huh?”

You roll your eyes, “Of course I did. You told me.” You say, your own cheeks reddening from how embarrassed you felt from Mingyu’s reaction. Why was he so excited?

He shakes his head, “It’s fine, I was reviewing earlier. It’s in the afternoon anyways.”

You finish the lunchbox, washing it down with your energy drink before going to pick up a new large paint brush. “Fine by me then,” you sigh, not bothering to argue with him. It was weird the first time he accompanied you on an allnighter, but Mingyu’s presence became a normal occurrence since then.

And there he was, sitting obediently like a dog next to you as you continued painting. Your playlist ending hours ago, as the only sounds are the strokes of your brush, and the breathing of both of you.

It was like this for a while, until near the end of the year. This time, you were running out of steam.

Maybe it was all the all nighters the whole year, or the fact you got sick right before finals, but you were stuck in your studio once more. Slaving away as you work on your third painting of the night, trying to get your exhibition finished before sunlight.

You hear the sound of the door opening. He had his own key now — you copied one at one point since he always was knocking. Mingyu coming in with late night take out in one hand, clad in grey sweatpants and a hoodie, ready to tackle the night with you.

You don’t even bother looking behind you, his familiar presence and cologne already telling you who it is. “Hey,” He says softly, putting the food down as he notices your tired state. It was like you were running on fumes, the amount of empty redbulls and monsters around your studio telling him all he needed to know.

You grunt, “Yeah, hey.” You say tiredly, as you wipe your face with the back of your hand. Paint smearing on your cheek. Mingyu comes over with a napkin from the takeout container, huffing as he wipes your cheek with it.

“Whens the last time you took a break?” He asks, a bit worried. Despite hanging out with you for so long, he wouldn’t say he knew anything about art. But he knew you. And the way your wrist movements against the canvas were sluggish, and the way your eyebrows furrowed as the strokes didn’t land and look the way you wanted… he knew you were at your limit.

“Doesn’t matter, I have another painting after this.” You say roughly, “Fuck, I’m such an idiot. I should have painted when I was sick. At least worked on the concepts and colors so I didn’t have to figure it out right now.” You rant, sucking your bottom lip into your teeth.

Mingyu frowns, “No, y/n. What about a fifteen minute break? I got burgers, it’ll help.” He says, but your face isn’t budging, like the strict deadlines for the paintings.

You curse, “God, Mingyu, I can’t stop. All the fucking pieces look like shit, if I stall any longer I’ll never finish this ass of an exhibition.” You say shakily, as you haphazardly throw your brush into the water cup, the muddy water splashing out. You grab another brush to pick up a new color.

He looks around the 10 other pieces littered around the room drying, he doesn’t get it, and he never would. They all looked great, cohesive despite your protests. “Y/n, they look great. You gotta take a break you know? Maybe it’ll help. Maybe your eyes will like, reset or something. You’ve been looking at this painting for hours.” He says, trying to reason.

You don’t listen, as you flick your wrist harshly to create a quick line of color.

clack!

You wince, dropping your brush to clatter on the floor. Your wrist acting up at the worst time, as you curse under your breath. Mingyu’s hands go up instinctively to hold your wrist, holding it still.

“God, now my wrist is flaring up too. Great, just what I need!” You curse bitterly, your head down.

Mingyu holds your wrist gently, despite your angry state you don’t push him away as he gingerly inspects your wrist. “Hey, come on. Lets take a break, and then we can wrap your hand alright?” He says softly, trying to coax you.

He leans down to see your hidden face, and it breaks his heart. Hot tears welling in your eyes from stress, frustration, and the impending deadline.

He doesn’t think twice, leaning down to hold you into an embrace, pulling you off your stool into his arms. Tight, the tips of your shoes barely grazing the floor. You can’t help but cry into his shoulder, “God, why am I so bad? I can’t show anyone any of this,” You sob, as Mingyu rubs your back. His grip tightening around you, holding you close as you basically collapse into his arms.

“Hey, y/n, you’ve just been working too long. Lets take a break alright? It’ll look better once you rest your eyes a bit, I promise.” He coos, “I’ve got some burgers and sweet potato fries, even convinced them to give me extra —“

“Mingyu, why are you always here?” You ask bluntly, choking back your tears. Through the whole year you’ve been tolerating him getting closer. First, random conversations when you bumped into each other on campus, then visiting the art school, coming to your studio, staying to keep you company. You never once tried to push him away, but you didn’t understand how he hasn’t been turned off yet. Your all nighters, your insecurities, the way you reject his invitations to campus parties and events to work. It was all a mystery, especially as you crash out in his arms, over some acrylic and oil on canvas. This must look pathetic to him.

His eyes are a bit panicked at the question, “I uh, do you not want me to be?” He asks reluctantly, still holding you close.

You sniff, your hand against his chest, gripping the fabric of his hoodie into your fist.

“No, I just... Thank you.” You say quietly into his chest, and Mingyu felt his head spin. You could definitely hear it, he thought, the way his heart was pounding out his chest. How you relied on him, telling him to stay. If it wasn’t for the fact you were leaning on him to stay up, he’d probably melt into a puddle on the floor.

Mingyu takes you to the table, helping you sit down on one of the comfier chairs. A foldable one with a pillow he brought at one point, so he could watch you comfortably. He boasted once — y/n look! Found this by the dumpster!

You let out a deep sigh as you sit down, Mingyu bending down to his knees to look at you eye level. A hand to your cheek as you close your eyes tiredly. “Hey, you okay?” He asks, searching your face.

You nod, “Yeah, um, sorry,” You sigh, “I’m just — I’m just stressed. I didn’t mean to have a breakdown in front of you.” You say apologetically, embarrassed by it. But he shakes his head, not affected by it. In fact, it probably caused him to fall harder, seeing how hard you work.

“Don’t apologize,” He says, pushing strands of your hair back. You look up at him, straight into his brown eyes. The way he looks at you so fondly, worried, that his bottom lip juts out slightly as he observes you. The way his fingers felt along your cheek, how he’s warmed you up in the cold room, brought takeout for you.

Fuck, how his hair is tousled under the hood, and the fact his face was a sight for sore eyes after looking at your paintings all day. Something with actual 3d planes staring at you, instead of flat canvas. Maybe it was the all nighters, the fact you’re on multiple energy drinks on an empty stomach, or that Mingyu is there for you.

You lean forward, shutting your eyes shut as you push your lips against his.

It’s warm, soft… might even get lost in it if—

You pull back after a second, as you see Mingyu’s wide eyes.

Oh fuck, did you read this wrong? Shit, at least you can blame it on lack of sleep—

A pair of lips crash into yours again, this time, you part yours as Mingyu’s warm lips mold into yours. Its warm, and comforting and everything nice, as you grab his collar to pull him closer. Making him stumble forward as he holds onto the edge of the chair to steady himself close to you.

You let out a soft breath as Mingyu snakes his free hand around to the small or your back, pushing you close as possible to him. Mingyu compensating for your lack of energy with his, as he kisses you deeply, something he’s always wanted to do. Every since he watched you draw random people at that campus fountain.

He pulls back as you pathetically try to chase his lips, as he kisses you chastely before speaking. “Y/n,” He breathes, “Fuck, you don’t know how long I wanted to do that.” He confesses, as he holds your face in his large hands.

You smile softly, “Mingyu, I—“

The box of charcoals clatter, as you accidentally drop it right next to the table of supplies. Sheepishly you bow at the students in class, not meaning to disrupt their focus.

You bend down to pick up the charcoal. What are you doing? It may be the third figure drawing class today, but dropping a box of pencils as you recount your days with Mingyu was horrible. Terrible.

Especially when you boasted to one of your friends as you shared a meal, Ah, Kim Mingyu? Thats over. Lets just focus on grad review.

You sigh, standing back up as you slide the box of art supplies on the table. Checking the time, you slide the notifications of Mingyu’s missed calls away. It was five minutes before class started, where the hell was the model?

And as if on cue, the other T.A. comes skitting towards you, pushing her glasses up as she avoids the boxes of supplies around the room. “Ah, Y/n—“ She starts, talking quietly to not cause alarm.

She stops in front of you, as you furrow your brows. Today the professor wasn’t in. As the consistent T.A., she trusted you to handle today with no substitutes. It wasn’t anything hard. You just helped set up the drawing horses and supplies, adjusted the lights and made sure the models were comfortable. It was easier especially when another T.A. was assigned to assist you today.

“Hm? What?” You ask, as you dust your hands.

She takes a deep breath, “Um, well, the model got food poisoning.” She starts. Leaning in so other students didn’t hear. “I just learned this right now, she’s like in the bathroom in the main hall throwing up like crazy.”

You frown, “What? Is she okay?” You say, straightening up, walking towards the front door grabbing your jacket off one of the stray art horse chairs.

She follows clumsily, “She’s fine! But she can’t model for this class. I know you’re in charge, but I panicked and just called whoever was on the emergency model list.”

You stop, causing the other T.A. to bump into your back, with a little squeak. A small what should have been insignificant memory flooding back.

“You’re TAing now? Seriously?” Mingyu asks lightly, as he fiddles with a loose strand of your sweater, the rough pads of his fingers pulling on it.

You slap his hand away disapprovingly, causing him to pout. “Yeah, just for figure drawing. I want to make a little money anyways, but working at the campus cafe is too time consuming.” You respond, as you continue to draw in your sketchbook. Outlining the foliage in front of you with your pen.

“Hm, what would that mean?” He asks, leaning forward to wrap an arm around your shoulder. Careful not to disturb your drawing, as he rests his chin on your closer shoulder. Watching you draw was his favorite past time nowadays.

“Just like, setting up, taking care of the figure drawing models. Things like that.” You respond absentmindedly.

“Models? Like, thats a job?” He asks, making you crack a smile. You forget how normal people knew nothing about art. You’re just glad he was openminded about basically everything.

You turn to look at him, “Yeah, the school hires people to pose for drawing. Its for studying.” You respond, as you tap your pen against the tip of his nose, where his beloved mole resided. Making him scrunch his nose, the corners of his lips turning up.

“Actually, I should write the emergency contact list. The professor updates every semester of models to contact if theres no shows, and the et cetera. I should just do it now so I don’t forget —“

“Add me on there then.”

You blink.

“Huh, what?” You say confused, looking at him with raised brows.

He straightens up, “You heard me. Add my number to that list. It sounds interesting,” He defends, his tone light.

You shake your head, smiling. “Mingyu, you don’t get it. You have to stand there naked, and do different poses every five to thirty minutes. Its not an easy thing to do.” You say, dismissing his words as nonsense. Sometimes he was too eager to try things just because they existed in your world.

Mingyu doesn’t falter. “Yeah I know. I just, it sounds cool. Also having a bunch of people drawing me, I don’t know… sounds nice. Also its like emergency contact right?” He says shrugging, “It’s not like it’ll actually happen. I know you’d never call me if it was an emergency, but just add me on it. If all models decide they’re not feeling it that day.” He suggests lightly.

You stare at him still in disbelief, narrowing your eyes. He scoffs, leaning forward to lean his forehead against yours as a challenge. A little goofy smile on his face, “What? Come on. Just add me to the list.”

The rational side of you knew this would never actually happen. Mingyu had no qualifications, and besides, there was a dozen other numbers to call before him. So you suck it up, sighing, writing his name down. Just for the sake that he’d shut up about it.

“Okay, fine.”

Your heart beats, eyes wide as you try to calm yourself. You didn’t want to release your anger against this girl for trying to fix the situation. It was your fault, really, in the first place to put his number on there. But this never was something that has happened before.

“Which number picked up?” You ask calmly, clasping your hands together as you focus on not exploding on your fellow T.A.

“Uh, just called the first one. He said he was on campus so he was down, and we only have five minutes till class—“

“Jesus, his name please?”

“Kim Mingyu.”

Oh fuck. Fuuuucckkkkk.

Mouth wide, and panicked eyes, you start to speak, before you hear the opening of the classroom door. You turn, and your face practically goes pale.

There he was — Kim Mingyu, just in a simple coat and pants. His eyes immediately landing on you. Its only been a month, but he cut his hair. Slightly shorter than you remember, as you tilt your head.

Stop it. You have to act normal.

You take a deep breath, trying to act professional. There was no time to question why the hell he’d even pick up and walk all the way here. Or why your heart was beating so fast, just looking at him.

“Um, escort him to the dressing room area.” You start, prying your eyes from Mingyu to the other T.A. “There should be a clean robe there too.” You inform, patting her arm as you beeline straight away from them.

You find a haphazardly stacked amount of newsprint, focusing on making all the edges match as you calm your heart. It’s fine, it really is.

For some reason Mingyu was interested in figure drawing modeling before. Maybe he just wanted to cross that off his bucket list, and had nothing to do with you.

The other T.A. comes back to stand beside you, “Is he comfortable?” You ask.

“Yeah, he’s fine. Just seems a little inexperienced,” She responds, scratching her cheek. “He asked if he had to take all his clothes off, and I was like, huh? Yeah? But other that that—“

“Yeah, alright.” You interrupt dryly. “Thank you. I’ll just take over after this.” You say, as you grab the timer from the table.

You walk towards the center, clearing your throat as the art students look up. “Right, hi. Professor Kang isn’t here today, but don’t mind. Today will be quite an easy day.” You start, crossing your arms.

Your eyes immediately follow to the ruffle of the dressing curtain, as Mingyu walks out in a fluffy robe. Brown eyes meet yours, and for a second you think this will be fine. Until the corners of his lips turn up, into a toothy grin only you knew so well.

That motherfucker. Bucket list my ass, he said yes just to mess with you!

You turn away sharply, focusing back on the class. “The model today is Kim Mingyu.” You say shortly, before stepping off the small platform.

You gesture for Mingyu to walk to the center, your face stone cold as you watch him step onto the platform.

He clears his throat, “Do I take the robe off now?” He asks cluelessly.

Great, just show everyone you have no clue what you’re doing. If this was a few months ago, it’d be cute. But Mingyu standing hopelessly waiting for instructions was annoying you, to say the least.

You nod, and immediately, he undoes his robe and lets it fall to the floor.

You can’t help but stare. Your lips pressed into a thin line, your body tense. Stop stop stop! You couldn’t give him a reaction. As an artist, it was normal to see naked bodies. It wasn’t a sexual thing, especially in figure drawing. But Mingyu wasn’t just an old man or something. He was a conventionally attractive, tall, well built man. In more places than one.

“Oh shit, he’s hot.” The other T.A. whispers to you, covering her mouth. You bite back your embarrassment, as you just send her a glare for her unprofessional reaction.

It doesn’t help that other people around the room are pleasantly surprised by Mingyu, as I see pink dusting around people’s cheeks. It was infuriating, to say the least.

“Holy shit, a hot model. Is this real?”

“I thought we had a middle aged woman today. Bro… score!”

“I’ve never stared so closely.”

“Alright, warm ups. Ten one minute poses.” You say plainly, holding up the timer and pressing down on it. Immediately, Mingyu nods, springing into action.

His poses were something else. They were a bit awkward, as he stood there. First putting his hands on his hips, staring at the ground.

But he started getting more comfortable. After the ten one minute poses were up, the other T.A. Adds a stool to the platform for Mingyu to sit on.

“One pose, 15 minutes.” You say, setting the timer again.

This time instead of looking at the ground, wall, or ceiling, he stared straight at you. His eyes unwavering. The sight makes your mouth go dry, as the studio lights enhance Mingyu’s features perfectly.

His face framed by the little curl of his bang, light bouncing off his tanned skin as the definition of his muscles are on display. The way his large shoulders balance his proportions, and his skin smooth and tightly wrapped around his toned torso. He always was working out, and it seemed like he kept that up, as your eyes trail from his abs to his bottom half. Your cheeks flushing as he’s so unabashedly bare in front of the whole room.

But it only propelled your anger. How could he? Just step into your domain — the art school wing — and just come here? Posing like a gangly weirdo, riding on his looks so none of the students complained. Staring straight into your eyes as a confrontation. So much it felt like he was telepathically speaking to you.

Why aren’t you returning my calls? Or, how does this make you feel? It was infuriating.

And as if satisfied in your attention on him, he smirks, like he won some imaginary battle. This idiot.

The timer rings, making you flinch against the supply table. Your cheeks flush slightly, as you clear your throat. “Another 6 poses, each 2 minutes.” You manage to choke out, pressing the timer.

As the figure session goes on for the next hour, Mingyu’s confidence was starting to irritate you to no end. At first what was awkward, was now overtly dramatic. His poses of showing off his muscles, flexing his back, it was too much. People were here to draw, not ogle.

You decided to play, not wanting Mingyu to have the upper hand. As Mingyu goes to pick up the robe off the ground, you yell, “Stop right there!”

Mingyu freezes immediately, mainly out of confusion. His eyes drifting to you, a slight furrow of his brows.

“Now, the model will stay still. Do you see how the arm connects to the shoulder blades? Please turn to a new paper and start focusing on that area.” You say, stopping Mingyu in an uncomfortable position in the name of education.

You eye how his leg starts to shake from holding it, but it only fuels you. “Now focus on the thigh muscle, we’ll hold this pose for another 3 minutes.” You say, a little glee seeping into your voice.

Mingyu’s eyes shooting up to glare at you, as you cock your head and smile.

You push Mingyu to do crazy things, like pretending to do a lay up for 10 minutes to talk about line of action. Or when you asked the students to move in closer to draw his face, having twenty people at once hyper fixate on his expression. Now, the class was fun. You completely turned it around.

The timer rings. “Alright, lunch break.” You say, as it’s half way through the 6 hour class.

Theres a collective sigh of relief, as students massage their wrists, and Mingyu putting his robe back on, but loosely. Letting his chest peek out through the fabric, as he walks around the room.

You watch as he circles, smiling and complimenting others.

“Wow, thats really good.”

“Whoa, really love how you drew that one.”

“Is that how I look? I’m flattered! Thanks.”

You huff, looking away as you catch a glimpse of him leaning over a pretty girl’s shoulder as she shows her sketches. Purposefully letting the loose robe drape his exposed chest as he examines the drawings.

Students get up to stretch their bones outside, getting lunch during the break. The other T.A. goes to check on something, leaving only you and Mingyu in the figure drawing room.

You stand, ignoring him as you walk towards the platform, readjusting the power of the studio lights. “Next part of the class is long poses,” You say, twisting the knob. “So it’ll be harsh lights. you just have to sit there, it’ll easy.”

You turn back around, Mingyu looking at you with a small smile, barely a yard away. His hands on his hips, as he looks down at you. “You know,” He drawls, his voice low. “This was a lot more fun than I thought.”

“Is it?” You respond bitterly, “Well I’m glad. Because you’re not gonna be paid for this.” You inform him, as Mingyu isn’t a real model signed with the school.

“Thats okay, I’m getting what I wanted anyways.”

You sigh, as you cross your arms. Deciding not to beat around the bush.

“What are you doing here, Mingyu?” You ask tiredly, finally looking at him straight, your brows furrowed. You boldly looking into his playful eyes.

His smug expression softens, almost reminiscent to how he would look at you before everything. He takes his bottom lip under his teeth, chewing as he looks at you.

“You seriously need me to answer that? Like always?” He says quietly, but with only you two in the studio, he could whisper from across the room and you’d still catch it.

“What, like you actually answer me with anything that makes sense?” You respond back tightly. Sighing, you relax your shoulders, biting your cheek as you glance away from him. A student’s messy pencil case catching your attention, albeit forced.

A deafening silence falls. Mingyu never really liked to fight anyways.

“You’re, you’re difficult, you know that?” He starts, as he ruffles his hair with his hand, as if that would release his pent up frustration. “When I got the random phone call that you guys needed a last minute model, I thought for a second it was intentional.”

He takes a step closer, “But of course not. You looked like you saw a ghost when I walked in.”

You gulp, “Well, to be fair, thats what you are now.” You say quietly. Avoiding his eyes.

“Oh? So I’m just dead to you?”

“No, that would be easier.” You snap, finally looking back to face his eyes. Mingyu’s jaw clenched, his eyebrows knitted, trying to figure you out like an abstract art piece.

He swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing as he lets out a disappointed huff. “y/n.” He starts firmly, in a tone he barely used.

But of course, directed to you, making your skin crawl in the overly air conditioned room.

Hands on his hips, as he takes a long breath, his head facing down as he hides his expression. “For an artist, you’re really shit at expressing your feelings.” He sighs, his bangs hiding whatever you could gather from him.

“Fine.” He concludes, looking up, his shoulders more relaxed. “I’ll stop bothering you about it, since you’re so sure.” He says throwing his arms out. “On one condition.”

You furrow your brows in confusion, wary of whatever condition he was gonna propose. Mingyu could be unpredictable when you pushed him, making the hair at the back of your neck stand.

“Draw me.” He says finally. He glances at the clock on the wall, “They still have that lunch break. So just draw me at least once, before everyone comes back.” He proposes, turning around to walk casually to the platform, as if he’s assuming you would just do it.

Is he serious? You weren’t even together anymore, and yet he wants a free commission from you? Thats crazy, like you’d ever —

“Fine.” You say curtly, “Since you’re so desperate for my attention anyways.” You quip, walking over to the supply table, making sure your shoes stomp against the hard floor. You swipe some spare paper, clipboard, and some charcoal.

The second you were at an art horse in front of Mingyu though, your fire waned slightly. The dead silence of the room was deafening, as you adjust your clipboard. The sound of the metal clips thumping against the paper, the feet of the art horse squeaking as you adjust sitting on the worn wood.

When you gaze up at Mingyu, it was obvious. He really was getting what he wanted, and it was your undivided attention.

Once ready, the charcoal in your hand, Mingyu sits down on the stool, eyes steady on you as he grips the already loose tie around his robe with his large hand. Letting it fall, as he exposes himself once more in the bright lights you set up yourself. He kicks the robe away off the platform, set on you drawing him like this.

You blink back any feelings that threaten to show on your face, readjusting the charcoal in your hand as you avoid Mingyu’s eyes, pressing down to finally start a line.

Its been a while since you last drew figures, and it usually took an hour of continuous drawing before you really found your pace in figure drawing sessions. But it was different this time.

Your heart beats in your ears, a silence of the room highlighting the sound of your charcoal smearing against the newsprint — the sounds of your breathing and of Mingyu’s, as time passes. Agonizingly slowly, yet a focus every artist aches for.

Your hand moves accordingly. Outlining the contour of his silhouette, the way his neck slopes, the soft lines that shape his abs he always was working on. Pressing for pressure with your charcoal as you indicate the weight of him sitting on the stool, hands in his laps loose as you capture his likeness with ease.

But the focus doesn’t last for long, especially when you flicker your eyes back to his. Already flicking a stroke to mimic his right eyelid, before you still. Pressing the tip of your charcoal into the paper, crumbling against the grain as you stare into his large brown eyes.

Fuck. What are you even doing?

Why are you drawing him so intently, when you vowed just a while ago that you never wanted to see Mingyu again?

Your breath hitches, as you raise your arm, flickering back to your drawing. Charcoal in the air, swinging to run a huge line through your figure of him, to smear it, to destroy it, to —

Your wrist stops mid air, as you feel a warm grip tightening around you. Eyes wide, you unfocus on the paper, to look up. Somehow in your tiny melt down Mingyu got down from the platform.

He looks down at you, eyebrows furrowed. Jaw tense, “You were just gonna ruin it, weren’t you?” He asks you quietly.

You can’t help but knit your brows, a pained expression forming that matches the one in his eyes.

The charcoal clatters out of your hand, landing on the floor in broken pieces.

Tears start welling in your eyes, your bottom lip trembling. “You’re right,” You start shakily, “I don’t know… how to address anything unless I’m drawing.” You say weakly.

Mingyu’s eyes soften slightly, swallowing hard as the bright lights highlight the contour of throat bobbing. “Yeah, seems like it.” He replies carefully. You expected him to use this as a told you so, maybe give you a smug smile, like, I knew you weren’t over me.

But Mingyu was never like that anyways. No matter how much he craved your attention, he also wanted your peace of mind. A hard thing to ask from an artist like you.

His grip on your wrist softens, as he kneels down, getting eye level with you as you still sit on the art horse. Holding your hand in his, rubbing a thumb over the veins on the back of your hand gently.

“I miss you.” You finally muster, your eyes focused on his.

“I miss you too.” He responds back, before cracking a small smile.

You strain your brows into a furrow, blinking back the warm tears you naturally formed from the vulnerable moment. A shaky huff also coming out of you, as you decide to lean forward.

Inching your face closer, until the tip of your noses brush, Mingyu stiffening slightly as you shyly graze your lips against his lips. A small breath escaping his lips, fanning over yours before you finally part them.

Your lips against his — it was like home. Finding your way back after such a tumultuous and useless road. The warmth of his lips seeping into you, Mingyu as relieved as you are. His hands finding its way to the sides of your face, pulling you impossibly closer.

It only escalates, as you open your mouth wider to push your tongue against his, making Mingyu groan out as he meets you with similar enthusiasm.

He pulls you forward, off the art horse. Taking you down to the ground, maneuvering you until your back is against the hard floor. Covering you with his large frame, his weight pressing down on you in ways you were having such a hard time admitting you missed.

It was fast, and albeit messy and rushed. Like trying to make up for wasted time as you pull him close, hands wrapped around the back of his neck as your lips go numb, your teeth clashing.

You let out a whine, when Mingyu pulls away with a heavy breath, fighting against your attempts to pull him back for a kiss.

“Y/n — fuck, can we?” He asks hurriedly, his voice breathless. A look of want in his big eyes, but there was also a little responsibility.

First of all — anyone could walk into the studio any second. There was only a lunch break, sure, an hour. But at least half of it has passed.

As you take your bottom lip under your teeth, chewing at your swollen lip as you think. And Mingyu knows exactly what look you were giving him, and he wasn’t going to reject you. Not now.

He leans back in, crashing his lips against yours in a sloppy kiss, breath hot against yours, before moving to your jaw. Leaving open mouthed rushed kisses down your neck, as you move your hands down his back. Feeling the muscles you were forcing yourself to look away from during the whole first half of class.

Touching Mingyu was way better than just drawing him from afar. You’re sure on that.

He moves his hand down, to push your midi skirt up, bunching the fabric to your hips. Your legs exposed to the cold air of the studio, as he wastes no time to slide your panties to the side. Already wet and damp from the heavy making out, and partially to the adrenaline of being in such a risky place.

“Damn, already?” He says, with a slight tease to his voice, making you pinch his arm. He lets out a pained chuckle, before placing his thick fingers against yours core, a gasp escaping your lips.

It helped that he knew you so well already, your legs squirming around the sides of him as he runs his fingers through yours wet folds, his thumb circling your clit as he inserts two fingers in, stretching you out as you gasp, Mingyu attacking your neck with messy kisses as he gets you ready for him.

“Fuck, Gyu,” You whine, your eyes rolling back in pleasure as he curls his fingers, hitting the spongy flesh that makes you arch your back off of the floor.

You weren’t the only one worked up, Mingyu being bare this entire time. His dick pressing up against the inner of your thigh, hardening at the sounds of your pleasure.

Your hand shoots down to grab hold of him, helping him get hard as he lets out a moan, as you tighten your grip. Pumping him a few times, lining him up to you as he removes his hand from your entrance.

You both let out soft gasps as you hold his dick to swipe against you, coating him in your arousal, his tip leaking with precum.

He doesn’t even ask, he just knows, as he pushes in, filling you inch by inch. The friction from your pulled to the side panties, to the tight warm walls of your pussy, making him feel lightheaded with pleasure.

“Fuck, you’re so tight baby,” He breathes, without even adjusting, he ruts into you roughly. Bottoming out as he knocks the wind out of you.

A whine escapes your throat, as you hold tightly around his shoulders, as Mingyu doesn’t slow his pace.

Its rough, its fast, and overall — desperate. The lewd sounds of flesh colliding echoing in the empty studio. Your mind going dumb at his fast pace, only focused on how he goes in, out. In, out.

The smell of his sweat, the way your hands run down his exposed body, all for you. He did this all for you. To get your attention, to get you back. God, does he even know how that makes you feel?

“Fuck, fuck,” He whines, burying his face into the crook of your neck. Already feeling a little fatigued from abusing your pussy so fast. But it was just too good, he missed it so much. So, so much. And he made it evident, as he pushes the back of your thighs higher to your chest, getting deep as he can. And fucking you like his life counted on it.

You feel the familiar build up of your orgasm, your walls tightening as you grip Mingyu’s shoulders. “Gyu, Gyu, I’m —“ You manage to choke out, as he moves his face from your neck to yours. Catching your cry with his mouth, drowning it as he kisses you messily.

You shudder, squirming under him as you feel the familiar high. Your body tingling with sensitivity and pleasure, as he overwhelms you with what can only be love.

He follows soon after, not being able to maintain his mouth to yours as he lets out a shaky grunt. Spilling inside you, his cum warm and filling, making your cheeks flush in contentment and relief.

He slows, stilling as you both catch your breaths. Pulling out of you with a reluctance. Pushing himself up, to lean back to sit. You follow as well, adjusting your skirt back as you push yourself up to your elbows.

Mingyu was a sight, as he always is. His tan skin glowing with a layer of sweat. The way his toned chest rises from catching his breath. The way his bangs are sticking to his forehead, his cheeks flushed with a rush of blood. A satisfied look on his face, as he sighs, licking his bottom lip as he looks at you.

You can’t help but smile, a warm one. As you gather yourself.

“Lets get you cleaned up before the second half. Where did you throw your robe?”

“Oh fuck. I don’t know. You got any other ones?”

[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.

[daylighted]

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