#and u can paint over the mistakes

[ironmanstan]

my fav thing at work is when i tell someone to do somethin and then they nod and theyre like yeahhh maybe thatll help, and then they dont do it at all and the prof comes by and says the same thing i did

[pyrotation]

got a blu suit recently, u know what that means!! (...good thing i like doing embroidery ._. this is 1/2 so far)

[100vern]

hi. i would like to request seungcheol (obviously). all i request is enemies-to-lovers. you may do with this what you wish. i leave it up to you to decide exactly how you will ruin my life 😌

tysm for the request my beloved !! he is so enemies to lovers coded i had TEWWW many thoughts (and started three separate wips oops), but here we are. i hope u enjoy this !! can't wait to get the collab fics out of the way so i can torture u further with baseball dk. i picked dodgers hat!cheol just for u. ♡

— we need to talk

pairing: choi seungcheol x f. reader summary: sometimes the only way to win the game is to not play, but sometimes it's not a game at all—sometimes it's four years of emotional build-up with nowhere left to hide. genre: enemies (kinda) w benefits to lovers; frat/university au; smut, angst?, fluff rating: explicit. minors do not interact with this or any of my work. warnings: frat boys. gendered language and insults. swearing. mentions of drugs & drug use (vernon is literally a drug dealer 🤷🏻‍♀️) as well as alcohol. possessive, jealous seungcheol who is extremely down bad and kind of an asshole and would be toxic af irl but is fine in fanfiction probably. this is maybe more "people who used to fuck and started disliking each other along the way bc they can't figure out their feelings" to lovers than enemies. there are very slight, very meaningless mingyu x reader undertones here. jeonghan is a bastard. feelings you think are unrequited but alas! this got softer than i intended oops. smut warnings: seungcheol truly is a man driven to the brink of madness bc of pussy idk what to say. kissing. hair pulling. mentions of masturbation. the dynamics shift in this one a lot, but to be overly cautious i will say dom!cheol and slightly dom!reader undertones that are not implicitly stated or defined. seungcheol uses the term "whore" once, sorry. oral sex (f. receiving). pussy slapping. unprotected sex. if i missed any pls lmk. wordcount: 8k. no i do not know what a drabble is, leave me alone. author's note: title from the song of the same name by waterparks but this was actually brought to you by "i'll never stop" by nsync bc it's their best song and fit the vibes perfectly. anyway, i still do not love writing smut but i am insane over this man so whatever, we persevere. everyone go shower mj in lots of love bc she's the best and deserves it. also everyone say thank u @the-boy-meets-evil for looking over this for me. i did not look at this again after she beta'd it so any mistakes are of my own stupidity. <3

Seungcheol is incensed.

What in the fuck are you thinking, showing up here? Ignoring him, walking by him with nothing more than a brush to the elbow and that sultry, electric gaze? A pair of painted-on jeans and a sheer top?

Who the fuck had invited you?

He looks around the room, gaze heavy under his furrowed brow. Bass thumps in his ears, the music so loud he can feel it in his chest. Still, his feet stay planted on the floor, already sticky with spilled alcohol and god knows what else. He needs to find Vernon—just needs something to get through this very unexpected (and very unpleasant) surprise, take the edge off.

But he can’t see through the sea of people. They’re everywhere, occupying every inch of available space in the house, but he just needs a glimpse of that mop of cornflower blue hair. If he could just—

Instead, he sees a streak of white-blond in his peripheral vision. “Soonyoung!” he calls, grabbing the man by the arm. “Hey, have you seen Vernon?”

Soonyoung stares up at him with glassy, bloodshot eyes, his breath already stinking of alcohol as he shrugs and says, “Dunno, hyung. Think he’s upstairs.”

Fingers still wrapped around his bicep, Seungcheol heaves a sigh. “Go find Jeonghan. He’s on babysitting duty and you’re already fucked.”

“I’m fine,” Soonyoung argues, slurred words giving him away immediately.

Seungcheol scoffs. “Bro, you can barely stand and you reek of shitty vodka. Go drink some water.”

As he sends Soonyoung away, he can feel eyes boring into him, tension wound tight in the center of his back that refuses to dissipate no matter how many times he rolls his shoulders. He turns slowly, already knowing exactly what he’ll find, but knowing does little to stop the hitch of breath as he takes you in.

And he hates it. Fuck, he hates the effect you have on him more than anything.

Hates that he’s still pining after you. Hates that all you have to do is look at him and he’s putty in your hands. Hates that you’re the first person he looks for in a room, the last person on his mind before he falls asleep. Hates you, hates that all of this is unreciprocated, because if Choi Seungcheol is anything, it’s proud. He’s rich, he’s good-looking, he’s pre-law, and the president of this fraternity, for fuck’s sake—he should not be hung up on a girl.

But he’d been doomed from the beginning. Ever since you’d been assigned to him as a challenge to overcome, an impossible task to conquer, he’d been helplessly, pathetically smitten with you.

And fuck if you didn’t know it, too.

So, it’s a game now. A lifetime’s worth of pining for Seungcheol all because his frat was misogynistic and refused to keep up with the times. They’d nodded in your direction and laughed at the confusion on his face, the knot between his brows. Seungcheol couldn’t figure out why his initiation was to fuck a girl, one his brothers wouldn’t even address by name, but when he’d approached you at a party and you’d immediately told him to go fuck himself, he’d figured it out pretty quick.

Call it determination, call it a stubborn streak that refused to quit, but the two of you soon came to a reluctant agreement: you would let Seungcheol lie to his frat, figuring he was attractive enough that people thinking you’d slept together wouldn’t be complete social suicide, and he’d owe you a favor you’d keep in your back pocket for as long as it took to cash in.

Which hadn’t taken long. The stress of finals that first year had gotten to all of you, and it wasn’t long before you were at his door looking for his drug-dealing roommate and a quick fuck.

That was the second time Seungcheol had been doomed to hopeless pining, because once he had you, he knew it’d be impossible to let you go.

Short of outright saying the words, he’d all but told you as much during some alcohol-induced brain shortage junior year. And, in turn, you’d all but laughed in his face.

Right.

Of course.

That was to be expected.

So, you’d continued your… well, whatever this is: quick fucks when both of you were bored or lonely or horny, usually under the influence of something illegal; a mutually tense but beneficial relationship for each of you, because you had been Seungcheol’s initiation and the initiation itself awarded him connections and opportunities. You got a back-up plan. A safe body and warm bed to retreat to when the need arose—one who clearly wanted it to be something more, but was, all things considered, fine with the current arrangement. Didn’t pressure you.

But, as was also to be expected, it was never going to be that simple when feelings got involved. When he started feeling slighted. When he wanted you so bad he ached with it sometimes and it was beneath you to care. Which is why he really, really needs to find Vernon. If he’s going to endure an entire party with you, he’s not going to do it sober.

He takes the steps two at a time, feet stumbling onto the landing as soon as he reaches it. Vernon’s door is the third on the left, and he can hear a separate, distinct bass line from the one booming downstairs that hums louder the closer he gets.

And Vernon knows. Of course he does, because he’s yanking his door open before Seungcheol has even raised a hand to knock, the stench of weed seeping out into the hallway, and all he needs is a quick look at Seungcheol before he pulls the door open wider and says, “Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States of America,” as if he’s speaking into a microphone. When Seungcheol doesn’t react, he awkwardly tacks on, “Hi, hyung. I’m assuming she’s here.”

Seungcheol nods, dumbly, and stands as awkwardly in the center of the room as someone who’s about to ask their roommate for drugs tends to be. “Yeah.” Shoves his hands in the pockets of his overpriced jeans so Vernon can’t see the sheen of sweat.

“You looking for somethin’ specific?” he asks, rifling through the top drawer of a tall dresser. “Like, is this an I’m about to fuck her the rest of the night visit or an I need something to help me forget she doesn’t actually like me visit?”

The words come like a reflex. “Fuck you,” he seethes. Vernon’s not wrong, per se, but he didn’t have to go and just… say it like that.

Vernon just shrugs, one side of his worn-out collar slipping down his shoulder as he does so, and Seungcheol can’t tell if he’s actually dressed for the party or not. “Gonna guess it’s the second one, then.”

Seungcheol scoffs. “Well, it’s not,” he insists, knowing damn well he should let it go, that he’s just digging himself a bigger hole, but the truth sits in the pit of his stomach like lead.

And, really, he knows he just needs to accept it. That little strand of hope hasn’t brought him anything but more pain—allowed him to delude himself into thinking it could be something more, something tangible—and it’s time to let it go.

You don’t want more.

You don’t want the label and the relationship.

You don’t want him.

He knows this, but it still tastes sour in his mouth. Still tastes like the chill of autumn when you’d first showed up at his door all that time ago. Tastes like all the blunts you’ve shared and the liquor from all the parties you’d snuck away in the middle of. Tastes like the sharp notes of your perfume, the ones that’d coat his tongue when he’d kiss down your neck—the same notes that stain his bedsheets.

Mostly, it’s the pitying look Vernon’s giving him that hurts the most. He’s above pity. Doesn’t need it, especially not from Vernon Chwe, but it hurts all the same to be on the receiving end of it.

“Give me whatever you’ve got.”

Vernon’s face quickly morphs into surprised concern. “Uh, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I mean, I’ve got some pretty heavy shit here.”

Heat flares in his belly. The pity was bad enough—now he wants to be patronizing? “Then give me whatever the fuck you think I need,” he snaps. “I don’t care. I don’t have time for this shit.”

“Well, you definitely need to chill,” Vernon mumbles. “You want some dabs?”

“No. Something…” The word feels thick in his mouth. Stronger implies that Seungcheol does heavy drugs, and that’s not true. “Else,” he finally finishes.

Vernon sighs as he continues rifling through the drawer. “Your dad would fucking kill me if I gave you my real heavy shit, so…” He pauses, eyebrows raising in triumph as he finds what he was looking for: a small baggie filled halfway with some nondescript powder. “You want a bump?”

Maybe he should be ashamed at how quickly he agrees, at the urgency and greed with which he grabs the baggie from Vernon’s fingers, but he just needs something. Needs the distraction, the brain fog. He shoves it in his back pocket next to his wallet. “How much do I owe you?”

Vernon wrinkles his nose. “Nah. Consider that one a freebie. No offense, but you’re a real piece of shit when you’re like this.”

The implication only pisses him off more. Seungcheol is loaded—he can afford to pay his drug dealer, thank you very much—but he’s not like anything. “I’m sorry?”

True to his nature, Vernon barely shrugs. “I’ll put it on your tab, hyung,” he says in a way that implies he’s not at all going to do that and is only saying so to get the fraternity president off his back.

Jeonghan (23:12) Better come get your girl. Kim Mingyu’s dick looks like it’s halfway up her ass by now. Jeonghan (23:12) Uh oh! I think I just saw a testicle

Seungcheol stares down at his phone, hands trembling in anger. Of course it’s Mingyu. That pathetic loser has been taking up residence on the subs bench ever since you’d made out with him months ago in an admittedly successful attempt at payback. Seungcheol had hooked up with some downgrade at a party one time and you’d gone and made out with his friend. It was hardly a fair trade.

Seungcheol (23:14) Good for Mingyu, he can deal with her then Seungcheol (23:14) I’m busy Jeonghan (23:14) Doing what? Jerking off in the upstairs bathroom again? Jeonghan (23:15) Do you know what size condom he wears btw? Looks like I might need to fetch him one if you don’t want to take care of another man’s baby Jeonghan (23:16) Although, to be fair, you might want to sit this one out. He has way better bone structure than you. Might be a blessing in disguise Seungcheol (23:16) Fuck you Jeonghan (23:16) Better be nice to me, Choi Seungcheolie~ that might be the only fuck you get tonight

Seungcheol needs better friends. He needs a lot of things, really, but number one on his to-do list is to never let Jeonghan be on babysitting duty ever again. Somehow he’d forgotten how obnoxious Yoon Jeonghan is when he isn’t stoned and half-asleep on a couch somewhere.

For now, he just stomps down the hallway; locks himself in his room and doesn’t bother to turn on the light. He’s not going to be here long. Just enough time to do this line, change his t-shirt, and come up with a game plan, because he’s not going to let Mingyu even entertain the thought of being able to have you but he also can’t appear desperate. Not just to you, but to everyone else. Choi Seungcheol is not clingy, especially not over a girl.

Especially especially over a girl who doesn’t even want him like that.

But the longer he sits in the dark, the more trouble he has finding his resolve. Can’t bring himself to dig that baggie out of his pocket. Can’t drag his t-shirt over his head. Can’t bring himself to think about anything other than Mingyu’s hands all over you, and fuck, does that image drive him insane.

Does he touch you like Seungcheol does?

Does he coax those same jagged whimpers from your mouth like Seungcheol does?

Does his semi-hard cock feel as good pressed against you?

God, he’s so fucked. Utterly and completely fucked. And he wonders if this would be as bad if he’d just kept his mouth shut, took that secret to his grave instead of fooling himself into thinking it could be more. If it wouldn’t have devolved into… this. You’d always told him not to get attached, that sex was just sex and there was no need to ruin a good thing. But Seungcheol is a selfish man, always has been, and what if? is a dangerous question.

Jeonghan (23:36) Wow, you’re a fucking pussy. Stop hiding in your room like a little bitch. Seungcheol (23:36) Fuck off

He can’t go down there. Not because he’s a coward, but because he’s barely tethered to his sanity as it is. Something about you brings him out of his mind, makes him toss whatever good judgment he has left to the wind. Seungcheol is far too impulsive when it comes to you, reckless in ways that have all twenty years of his social training weeping in a corner; have alarm bells ringing in his brain. So, no, he can’t go downstairs right now because he knows he’ll do something stupid. Stick not only his foot but his entire lower body in it. He should’ve listened, yet here he is, dick pulled halfway out of his jeans because the thought of you alone gets him hard but his pride won’t let him jerk off to the image of anyone touching you that’s not him.

Forget whatever Jeonghan had called him. He’s a fucking fool. A moonstruck, delusional fool who’d tricked himself into thinking he could swim when he can barely tread water.

You (23:41) Something wrong?

Oh, here we fucking go, he thinks. Because this is Seungcheol’s game—one he’d perfected years ago, the one where he’s coy and chilly, never too eager, never committed. Just a little bit of a tease. Barely enough to keep them on the hook, a little needy; still enough to keep them coming back. But you’d taken one look at him all those years ago and had him pegged immediately. Figured out his game and learned the rules, used them against him. Now you watch him flounder with a smile on your face.

Seungcheol (23:42) Never knew you were so needy baby. First you show up uninvited and now youre missing me?

But just because there’s now a player two doesn’t mean he’s doomed to lose. He knows how you look when you’re on your knees for him. Knows how you sound when you’re begging to cum and stuttering out his name like you’re singing hymns. Knows how you look with your eyes rolled back after he’s fucked you dumb. Kim Mingyu doesn’t know shit.

Seungcheol knows he’s the only one fortunate enough to experience you like this.

And god does it kill him.

You (23:44) Don’t act stupid

A pleased exhale of laughter, an equally-smug smirk. Yeah, this is still Seungcheol’s game, the crown still sitting atop his head. You can let Mingyu grind his dick against you all you want, but Seungcheol is still the one you’re seeking out, pouting at the fact he hasn’t come to find you yet.

You (23:44) Mingyu invited me

Oh, you’re good—know just which buttons to press and how much pressure to use. Whatever smug expression Seungcheol had been wearing slides off his face immediately, tongue pressing into his cheek.

Seungcheol (23:46) And yet youre looking for me? You (23:47) Don’t have to look for you to know you’re upstairs sulking in your room because Jeonghan tattled on me like a fucking five year old Seungcheol (23:49) Maybe you should come up here then Seungcheol (23:49) Away from prying eyes

You don’t reply immediately. It’s just long enough for Seungcheol’s brain to conjure up something indecent—the way you’ll straddle him, the way his cock will feel pressed against the apex of your thighs; the goosebumps that’ll raise on his arms when you work your tongue along his neck, that spot near his collarbone you know he likes. His cock throbs against the confines of his jeans when he thinks about the devastated look on Mingyu’s face when you make up some excuse to get away from him, to traipse up the stairs and fall into Seungcheol’s bed, when he realizes he’s not going to have you.

You (23:56) It’d be pretty rude to leave my date, don’t you think? You (23:57) If you want me so bad, come down here and get me yourself

Seungcheol doesn’t play games; doesn’t compete because he has no competition. He’s always been given whatever he wants on a silver platter, no questions asked, so he’s wholly unprepared for this turn of events. What he knows he should do (respond to your text and tell you to fuck off, that you know where he is should you stop being a brat and change your mind) is not what he does (tucks his dick back in his jeans, finally throws on a clean t-shirt, and takes his time descending the stairs so he doesn’t look too eager), because logical thought gets tossed out the window entirely wherever you’re concerned.

“Ah, if it isn’t our resident pissbaby making his grand re-entrance.”

Seungcheol clenches his jaw for the nth time and glares. “Fuck off, Jeonghan.”

The man in question laughs—the annoying raspy one that grates on Seungcheol’s nerves—and hands over a cup of something brown and pungent. “Well, judging from your attitude, and the fact you’re barely hiding that boner you’ve got, you clearly didn’t spend your time away jerking off. What finally got you down here, the promise of cheap whiskey I nicked off some freshman or the fact that your girlfriend’s about two seconds from getting a public indecency charge courtesy of Kim Mingyu?”

Well. Jeonghan may be an asshole but he’s not wrong. Even through the crowd of people and the haze of whatever’s in his cup and a contact high, Seungcheol spots you immediately. Your back is pressed against Mingyu’s chest, his fingers gripping tight at your waist as you roll your hips in time with his. Whatever manufactured filth he’s whispering to you draws a smile, causes you to reach up and tug sharply at his hair. Fuck, Seungcheol can almost hear Mingyu’s moan from across the room, and his blood quickly heats to a rapid boil.

Another chuckle from the demon beside him. “Stop fucking laughing,” Seungcheol snaps, still unable to take his eyes off of you. “Fuck this. I’m going back upstairs. Make sure everyone’s out of here by three. I’m not paying for another noise citation.”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “I’m absolutely not going to do that.” He shoves a bottle of something in Seungcheol’s hand. “Take this and think of me when you’re crying yourself to sleep because Mingyu stole guaranteed pussy right out of your hands.”

“Why do you do this?” Seungcheol asks, shoving at Jeonghan’s shoulder roughly. “You never know when to fucking quit.”

Another streak of white-blond. “Hey, no fighting!” Soonyoung slurs, trying his best to push Seungcheol to the other side of the kitchen with his useless, limp arms.

This attracts the attention of Joshua, who struts into the room looking straight out of Fashion Week, much like he always does. He hasn’t even broken a sweat. “Aw, are Mom and Dad fighting again?” he asks, his lips tugged into a smirk. He ignores Seungcheol’s scowl as he fixes himself a drink. “You know Mingyu only does it to get a reaction out of you,” Joshua adds, quieter this time, as if he’s telling Seungcheol a secret only meant for the two of them to share.

“What’s her excuse, then?” Seungcheol fires back, because even if he doesn’t like it, Joshua’s right. This is exactly the kind of behavior he’d expect from resident campus whore Kim Mingyu, but he never expected you to go along with it.

Joshua cocks an eyebrow. “She doesn’t need an excuse, Cheol. She’s not your girl.”

Even though it’s a truth he already knows, it somehow hurts worse being spoken in plaintext, a hushed conversation in a crowded kitchen. Being let down gently. Seungcheol knows he needs to make a decision. He needs to let you go and start moving on with his life; can’t be having these quasi-meltdowns during frat parties anymore. Can’t be possessive and spiteful. You don’t want him. Everyone knows you don’t want him, so that’s all there is to it. Maybe you’ll want Mingyu and he can finally wash his hands of this forever, scrape the jealousy off his tongue.

He steels himself. Rolls his shoulders back, cracks his neck. Navigates the crowd in the living room until he reaches you and your so-called date. Grabs you by the elbow—gentle enough that it doesn’t hurt but firm enough to send a message—and says the two of you need to talk. Upstairs. Now. Mingyu just smiles like he knew this was coming and presses a pointless, wasted kiss just below your ear. Seungcheol tells him to fuck off, too, and Mingyu grins wider, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

As he guides you to his room, he doesn’t think about the way your hand fits in his. Doesn’t think about how this is going to be the last time he has you. Doesn’t think about who’ll have you after. Doesn’t bother to wonder if you’ve finally changed your mind like he had all those other times he’d walked this same familiar path with you in tow. Because it’s the last time. Whatever happens once it’s over is out of his control.

Perhaps that’s what it’d always been about. Seungcheol has always been spoiled and selfish and so terribly, terribly desperate to prove he’s more than his family name and family money. So, yeah, he’d wanted the control; wanted what was never his for the taking. You’d always been the opposite—his perfect little counterpart. Always so pliant and careless and free: everything Seungcheol tried so hard to be but couldn’t, and that’s where the switch flipped.

Someone like you isn’t meant to be controlled.

What he used to want so badly now tastes rancid in his mouth.

The door locks behind you. Seungcheol doesn’t meet your eye as he says, “You got what you wanted. Are you done being a fucking brat?” It’s not a tone he usually takes. Usually he’s dirty, a little possessive, willing to let you set the pace. He doesn’t miss the way your breath hitches. “I asked you a question.”

“Seungcheol—”

He clicks his tongue, stalks closer until you’re nearly in his grasp. Your eyes close instinctively as if you’re expecting his mouth on yours. Instead, he threads his long fingers in your hair and pulls. “What’s so hard about answering a simple yes or no question? Did you really want Mingyu’s dick so bad you’ve gone dumb all of a sudden?”

You gasp. “No.”

“No what?” Seungcheol chides. “No, you’re not done being a brat? Or no, you weren’t just downstairs acting desperate and pathetic for mediocre cock?” He runs his thumb across the seam of your lips, follows their movements as you speak.

“I wasn’t—”

A low, mocking chuckle. “You were, baby.” Sounds condescending; speaks to you like you’re a stupid child. He’s so close to you now. Can smell the tang of your skin, the sticky notes of your perfume. Feels your breath fan against his own sweat-slick skin. Still avoids your gaze, because as domineering as he appears, he knows he can unravel just as quickly. “Take your clothes off. This is the last time I’m gonna fuck you and I’m not going to ask twice.”

Now you truly look caught off-guard. “What?” Still he ignores you, expensive silver rings clinking into a dish on his dresser one by one, expensive watch following. “What do you mean the last time?”

Deft fingers play at the buttons on his shirt. Not silk, but just as expensive. “Shit. You’re really testing my patience, you know.” You’re still standing at the edge of his bed, staring dumbly as if he’s just going to start spilling all his secrets, give you some kind of explanation. “I believe I told you to strip.”

Unlike Seungcheol, your fingers tremble as they work at buttons and zippers and hemlines, push down denim and remove heels. It’s clear you’re trying to work out what he’s playing at—if this is some punishment for fucking around with Mingyu or if he really means it—but you’re not going to risk asking. Things between the two of you are already tense as it is. Seungcheol has never been wound this tight, never been so ready to snap.

“That’s it,” he praises once you’re left in nothing but a skimpy underwear set you know he likes. “Look at you. Fucking gorgeous. I bet that’s why you think you can get away with embarrassing me, huh?” He grabs your chin, forces you to meet his gaze for the first time since he’d dragged you up here. “Get on your knees. I’m getting tired of repeating myself.”

It’s not an unfamiliar sight—as it is, you usually leave Seungcheol’s room with bruised knees on a good night—but it settles differently in his gut this time. Because he’d dared a glance at you once and knows he can’t do it again, so he watches the top of your head as you fumble with his belt buckle and looks away whenever he thinks you might risk a glance upwards. Finds some point on the wall to focus on. Hisses through his teeth when you pull his cock from his briefs, your hands cold against his flushed skin.

All he wants to do is kiss you. Draw this out. Give you a memorable last time, maybe mark you up a little. He really wants to savor the feeling of your tongue on his cock, but all he can focus on is the fact that he’ll never be enveloped in that wet heat again. He’s never going to feel your mouth working him over, feel you humming around his length because he knows you love the weight of it, you love wrenching away that little bit of control, turning him into a mess.

But he’s not going to dwell. He’s going to thumb at the hinge of your jaw, force it open just wide enough for his cock to fit inside. Then he’s going to fist your hair into a makeshift ponytail, grip it tight, use it to guide your mouth until there’s only an inch of space between you. He’s going to stare down at you, silently revel in how fucked out you look already even though he hasn’t touched you. He’s going to watch the way your fingers dig into your thighs because they can’t touch him. Then he’s going to say—

“Beg me. Beg me to let you suck my cock.”

There’s a flicker of hesitation. Seungcheol doesn’t talk to you like this. This is not the kind of dynamic the two of you have, and Seungcheol finds himself wondering if things would be different if it was. If he’d never started going so easy on you. Would you want him then? Or would you have left a long time ago?

He’s half-expecting you to do that now. You look ready to bolt, to pull your clothes back on and tell him to go fuck himself on the way out. Probably go straight back to Mingyu, let him fuck you hard but routine, the way Seungcheol usually does, the way he knows you like. He expects you to leave, and this is the last time, anyway, so he figures he has nothing left to lose.

“I’m going soft,” he snaps, the admonishment harsh on his tongue. When you look up at him, his jaw is clenched, eyes narrow. “You have one fucking job and you can’t even do that properly? Who’s going to want a dumb little whore that can’t follow simple instructions?”

He watches your eyes squeeze shut involuntarily. Wonders if he’s gone too far before deciding he doesn’t care if he has. It’s the last time, anyway, so it’s not like it matters. Watches the indents in your thighs grow deeper. Watches you inhale and try to steady your breathing.

Watches your eyes snap open, any trace of hesitation long gone. “Did you make that other girl beg for you?”

Seungcheol snorts, amusement showing all over his face. “Is that what this is about? You’re still mad I hooked up with some other girl so you act like this?” He clicks his tongue at you, fists his cock, slicking it up. “Are you jealous?”

“No,” you answer simply, “I’m just trying to figure out why you think you can speak to me however the fuck you want.”

Seungcheol’s hand stutters along his length before it stills, your words sharp and immediate against his skin. He should’ve known. Shouldn’t have thought something like this would work on you, that you’d like it, and he’s halfway to soft and throwing his hands up and tucking his dick back into his briefs when you say, “Answer the question.”

“What?”

You tsk. Move your hands from your thighs to his, nails pressing just deep enough to leave crescent moons behind that match your own. Something for someone else to see. “Did you make her beg for you?”

Seungcheol’s brain power decreases the higher your palms go, when your thumbs press into the dimples of his hips. Can barely choke out a hissed yes, yeah, fu-fuck when your hand covers his, fingers wrapping tightly around his own as you guide it back and forth, up and down the length of his cock. “What did you make her beg for, Cheol?”

“To—to to-touch me.”

You hum. Tighten your grip on Seungcheol’s hand and laugh as his hips roll involuntarily, seeking the friction. “Touch you how? Like this?”

“Yeah—fuck, yes, like this.”

“Did she? Did she listen to you like a good girl?” Your hand leaves Seungcheol’s only to collect the precum at his tip. “Don’t get all shy now, Cheolie.” You suck your thumb into your mouth and he whines. “Was she a good girl for you?”

You sit back on your haunches. Watch him jerk himself off. “Yeah,” he finally says, word cracking in the middle. “Boring, though. Not like—not like you.”

“No one is like me,” you admonish. “I could’ve told you that for free, before you went off and fucked someone else.”

“Not an idiot,” Seungcheol replies, the pace of his hand quickening. He’s playing a dangerous game; approaching the cliff edge at a dangerous pace. “No-nothing comes for free with you.”

All you do is smile, lopsided and smug. “Mm, that’s true. Guess your little dom moment earlier can just be chalked up to momentary stupidity, hm?” Seungcheol wants to nod, wants apologies to tumble from his lips until you shut him up, but his palm is so slick against his dick, fist tight enough to white out his vision. “Did you make her beg to suck your cock?”

Truth be told, Seungcheol can’t remember much of anything right now. He’s perilously close to coming, right at that precipice, and each filthy word that slips from your mouth just pushes him further to the edge. He remembers Chan inviting him to a party. He remembers a few drinks, a few hits from a blunt, compliments of Vernon; he remembers a girl making eyes at him from across the room—eyes that had looked a lot like yours in the haze of his crossfade. He remembers a locked bathroom and the sound of his voice as he told that girl how to touch him so it felt like you. He remembers her doing whatever he told her to, remembers how eager and submissive she was, how she didn’t mouth off to him the way you always do—

Remembers how unsatisfying it’d been when he came.

You’ve ruined him.

Not a revelation. Not even close to one. Seungcheol has known this for a long time, but that doesn’t mean annoyance doesn’t flare in his belly at the reminder. You don’t want him. Being so hung up on you isn’t doing him any favors, just means he’ll have a longer drop when this is all over. God, what the fuck is he doing?

He wants you so badly he’s aflame with it. He wants you so badly he can barely look at you anymore. He wants you so badly it consumes him, drives him insane, has him all fucked up and seething. He wants you, he wants you, he—

Loves.

Reality washes over him like a cold wave. Knocks him backwards, drowning, desperately trying to remember how to breathe. In, out; in, out—and none of it changes a goddamn thing.

Four years of this. Four years of touches exchanged in the dark, behind locked doors. Four years of yearning and trying and failing. Four years of everything getting lost in translation, because it’s hitting him now, but shouldn’t he have felt it before? Shouldn’t all those ‘drive me fuckin’ crazy, can’t fucking stand you’s he spoke into the crook of your neck rang hollow?

“Cheol—” you say, because you asked him something, tried to play along with this whole stupid charade, and he knows he’s frozen, just standing there, hand still wrapped around his cock, and he needs to say something, he needs to fix this—

“I’m a liar,” is what he comes up with. You’re still staring up at him, brows furrowed, pinched in the middle. Move, he wills himself, but nothing happens. “I’m a liar,” he says again, because if he says it enough you’ll believe it. “I’m sorry. I’m—”

“What are you talking about?”

He swallows. I’m in love with you, he wants to say. Feels the weight of the words on his tongue, heavy and pressing, and he thinks you should know. Even if you don’t feel the same, he thinks you deserve to know, but the way you’re looking at him—

He can’t bring himself to say it.

But he can—“Can I show you instead?”

Slowly, you nod. Seungcheol nods, too, still feeling off-kilter as he cradles your face in his hands, thumbs in the contours of your cheeks. Moves them down your neck, your shoulders, down the length of your arms. You meet him halfway, twining your fingers together, and he helps you stand, careful and considerate. At full height, he places a hand in the small of your back to tug you closer, kisses you like it’s the end of the world. Whines into your mouth at your familiar taste, and if he lets himself be delusional enough, he can pretend there’s form and substance to those sounds, that their edges are squared-off to form the words he wants to say.

Because it really might be the end of the world. Seungcheol has never known how to play the cards he’s been dealt when it comes to you. Always gets it wrong. Feints one way when he’s meant to go the other, takes the field with two left feet, always playing catch-up. Maybe the mistake was treating it like a game. Maybe the mistake was strategizing, only playing to win, because he lays you gently on his bed, fits his body in the space you create for him between your legs, and realizes he already won a long time ago.

He won the first time your eyes met. He won the first time he’d kissed you, more nerves and teeth than anything else. He won the first time you tucked yourself against his side and stared at his bedroom ceiling, half-smoked joint between your fingers, and made fun of the stupid flag he’d hung up. He won every time you took all the bullshit he threw at you and dished it right back. He won every time he had the privilege of tracing mindless shapes into your soft skin.

Every second of your time you chose to give him—all victories.

He presses in further. Groans when your hands move to his shoulders and grip tight; when your nails dig into the skin of his back. “I’ve been so stupid,” he says, punctuating his words with a nip at your ear. Smirks out of the corner of his mouth at your shuddering breath. “Haven’t I?”

“Yeah,” you answer, rolling your hips upward. He grabs at you desperately, tries to keep you still; hisses when you swat his hands away and redouble your efforts. “You’ve been a fucking asshole for a—for a while.”

You can’t see the way he pouts. Wonders, too, if that would work on you, if it’d earn him one of those rare moments of tenderness. “Well I’m trying to—shit, baby—trying to make it up to you, but you seem pretty determined to make me bust right now.”

He can see the way you roll your eyes. See the way the corners crinkle after as you laugh softly, breathlessly, still trying to chase a high Seungcheol refuses to provide. “You deserve it. You tried to dom me, you dickhead.”

Embarrassment sits obvious on his ruddy cheeks. He hides his face in the crook of your neck so you don’t see it, don’t have something to poke at him with later, but you’re having none of it. You thread your fingers through his hair and tug gently, forceful enough to have him pliable, and there it is: there are stars in your eyes as you stare up at him, tender and soft just like he hoped you’d look, and he misses the feeling of your nails on your scalp until you’re tugging at the delicate chain around his neck and pulling him closer. “Just kiss me and we’ll call it even.”

This is how it feels to get struck by lightning, he thinks. Every part of him is on fire, and he’s content to burn as his lips find yours. He sighs happily into your mouth, hikes your thigh higher around his middle, presses in to lay claim to what little space is left between you. Seungcheol is so close he can feel the rapid pace of your heartbeat, because this is not the way you usually kiss. What used to be dirty and quick, a means to an end, now has intent, purpose. He’s kissing you like he wants to steal the air from your lungs to replace it with something better.

Trails those same kisses down the length of your body. Open-mouthed at your neck, your collarbones, the space between your breasts. Teasing and slow in the space between each rib, just to watch the way your skin pebbles. Hungry and insistent at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, because if he’s feeling this unhinged, he wants you right there with him. Can’t bear the thought of still being in this alone. Not anymore.

“Legs over my shoulders.” You listen immediately, and Seungcheol mutters a quiet fuck at the sight before him. “God, you’re so wet.”

“No shit—”

He swats at your clit, delighting in the way your body jolts. “Hush. The only thing I wanna hear out of your smart mouth from now on is my fucking name.” And then he’s diving in.

He eats you out like a man starved; like he could do this every day for the rest of his life and he still wouldn’t be satisfied. Can’t help but rut against the mattress at the way you taste, the way your thighs tighten around his head, the sting as you pull at his hair. Places both hands beneath your ass to lift and drag you closer to his waiting mouth—licks at you wet and feverish, all of this seemingly more for him than it is for you, and you’ll get tired of it soon, just like you always do. You’ll tell him—

“Do it right, Cheol, please—”

And he’ll pull away and tsk, swat at you again. His responding laugh will be cocky and derisive when your body trembles again, frantic with the need for more. “What did I say, baby? Do you not trust me to make you come?” You cock an eyebrow, torn between throwing some sarcastic remark at him and following the rules long enough to get what you want. His voice grows serious as he presses a soft kiss to your core. “I will always take care of you.”

The rest is muscle memory.

The rest has a chorus of Cheol, Cheol, Seungcheol spilling from your lips as he suctions his own around your clit. The rest has you grinding your pussy against his face. The rest has him groaning at the way he’s so wholly consumed by you: the taste of you on his tongue, face soaked, two fingers pressed deep into your cunt. The rest has him saying that’s it, baby, come on my face, I know you can and feeling delirious when he finally pushes you over the edge; when your walls clench around his fingers, breathing fractured, when you grab at him until you’re eye-level and you’re licking into his mouth to taste yourself.

Tastes a lot like I love you.

“Want you to ride me,” he says, gaze half-lidded and pleading. You whine as he moves his thumb back to your clit, tracing slow, slow, slow circles, oversensitive. “Will you do that for me?”

The party seems so far away. Grows even further away when you nod and straddle his lap. Seungcheol sits up, tells you to wrap your legs around him. Can’t stand not touching you; needs every inch of his skin to be covered by you like a bruise—something deep that’ll last for days, weeks, months. The mottled colors will change, but it’ll still be there.

“Need you, Cheol,” you whisper, kissing his eyelids. He hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes.

“You have me,” he answers, but it sounds foreign to his ears—sounds wretched, like the words have been punched out of him. It sounds like forfeit. “Always have.”

You pull back. Study his face. Run over his plush bottom lip with your thumb. It feels like an eternity of silence before you speak. “No, I haven’t,” you insist, tone insistent but delicate, like you’re trying to convince him of it, too. “Not like this.”

I love you.

You lift your hips just enough to sink down on his cock. Seungcheol’s moan is loud and unabashed, not afraid to let anyone hear the way you make him feel. All he can think is familiar: he knows your blinding white heat; has made countless homes in your tight grip he still holds the keys to; has done this so many goddamn times it’s second nature.

He was an absolute fool to think he could ever walk away.

You roll your hips, taking him deeper like you’ve got something to prove, body moving on its own sinuous accord. Seungcheol loves you like this, when you know exactly what you want and aren’t afraid to take it. When you press sloppy kisses to his neck, the column of his throat. When he grabs at your hips, tries to move you faster along the length of his cock, and you swat his hands away. When your rhythmic up-and-down turns into a slow grind that has you gasping and breathless, pussy spasming around him.

“Goddamn, I love this pussy,” he chokes out, fingers gripping tightly at the sheets since he can’t touch you. He’s mindless with pleasure, feels himself start babbling nonsense he can’t make sense of, and it’s overwhelming, having you like this. Isn’t sure how he’s survived this long, but maybe you were right.

Maybe it was never like this before.

Usually he’d take you from behind, quick and dirty, hands digging into the meat of your ass, palm cracking down on it every now and then, imparting white heat of his own. Usually he’d have you beneath him, knees pressed to your chest, all condescension as you told him, eyes rolled back, that he was too deep, that you couldn’t take it, and he’d rub at your clit and tell you you could as he dragged another orgasm out of you. Usually he’d be so frenzied and worked up he’d take you against the door, sweats pushed to mid-thigh, forearms straining as they held you up.

So, yeah—this is different. This is a patient, sensual dance to the finish line. This is Seungcheol in his rawest form: a live wire, vulnerable, anxious. This is the unknown, because something has to come after but he doesn’t know what it is.

This is Seungcheol throwing caution to the wind, leaning in close enough to taste the salt on your skin, and saying, “I love you.”

This is Seungcheol planting his feet and fucking up into you, unwilling to hear your response. Sometimes ignorance is bliss, but sometimes bliss is just bliss, and he’ll willingly take either.

This is you coming undone on his cock, breathing rapid and ragged, pupils blown wide as you stare at him in awe.

“Say it again.”

Someone slams into the wall just outside Seungcheol’s door, and all at once the real world creeps back in: the thrumming bass line of the music downstairs; laughter, shouting, and yelling; fists banging on shut doors—but he hears you loud and clear. Presses each word into your mouth this time and groans when you swallow them. Barely makes a sound as he spills inside of you, feeling like every nerve in his body is aflame.

The two of you are quiet for a time as you try to catch your breath. Seungcheol only moves to grab his duvet and wrap it around your shoulders, smiling fondly at the small thank you you mumble, seemingly still bogged down, well-fucked.

He presses a tender kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Okay?”

You nod, push at him until he lays back and pulls you with him, lets you use his firm chest as a pillow. That flag you’d made fun of before isn’t up there anymore, but Seungcheol feels warm at the memory anyway, almost laughs at the comment he imagines you’d make.

Clears his throat. Tries to find his courage. “I really am sorry,” he tells you again, because it doesn’t matter if he loves you if he doesn’t know how to be good at it.

“I know, Cheol,” comes your easy reply. You’re tracing shapes on his stomach that have his muscles contracting. “I know you love me, too.” You sigh, press your lips to his rib cage. “Who knew it’d only take making out with Mingyu to get you to admit it.”

A wild laugh tumbles out of him. “Fuck off.” He can feel your grin.

“You got a fucked up way of showing it, though.”

He hums, holds onto you a little tighter. “Go easy on me, I only figured it out about an hour ago.”

“An hour?” you faux-gasp, make like you’re about to leave. “I’m outta here. I know my worth. If I’m going to say it back to someone, they need to be in love with me for at least two.”

He chokes at the implication, heart threatening to beat right out of his chest and into yours. He knows he looks exactly like the moonstruck, loved-up loser he is, and he coughs to cover it. “That’s what I said,” he lies. “Two hours. You must’ve heard it wrong.”

No, it was never like this.

[freelancelobotomy]

౨ৎ˚₊𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐃𝐋𝐘 [𝐒.𝐑]

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

𐙚⋆.˚Summary: Spencer is smitten for the T.A. at Penelope’s art class. And he just might have a chance with her.  ⋆˙⟡♡WC: 2.3k

⊹܀˙CW: Suggestive language, Derek is half neked (for plot reasons of course), Spencer wants y/n so baddddd, Reader is described to have hips (the pic is to show the maxi skirt that I imagined), Reader has long hair.

♪‧₊˚A/N: hiiiiii I love this song + it came on my shuffle yesterday and it gave me an idea so yk I had to get to WORK. I hope u like. If this gets over 100 notes ill write Gravity pt 3. Okay bye bye

Spencer had agreed to take both Derek and Penelope to Penelope’s art class that night since her car wouldn’t start and Derek’s had gotten towed for being parked on the street too long while they were in Florida for a case. Derek wasn’t taking the class with Penelope—he was the model for it.

“It’s a life drawing class,” she had explained, giddily. “They saw Derek pick me up last week and the professor asked him to model for us today. And to bring baby oil.”

The art room was bright and beautifully decorated, with an abundance of ferns and vines and all sorts of greenery adorned onto the walls.

The professor had smiled as the three of them approached the stool that Derek was supposed to perch on during class.

“Penelope! Derek! Happy that you could make it. You can change in the supply closet on the left,” Professor Andi had gasped. “Did you bring some oil? I have linseed oil from my oil painting class earlier today that you can use if you didn’t.”

“I got some, don’t worry, Doc,” Derek had said with a wink before making his way to the supply closet and shutting the door behind him.

“Who is this? Are you here for the class?” Professor Andi had beamed.

“Oh… no. I’m Spencer. I was just dropping off—”

You had walked into the room, your hips swishing in your maxi skirt as you balanced a tower of sketchbooks in your arms.

“Y/N! Hi!” Penelope had smiled. “Do you need help?”

Spencer’s legs had started moving on their own toward you, taking four of the sketchbooks from your stack.

You had smiled politely at the tall man. “Thank you.” The both of you placed the sketchbooks on the table..

“You’re welcome,” he said, his gaze lingering on your face. Beautiful, he had thought, a warmth spreading through him. The first thing he had truly noticed were your lips—the way they curved into a smile as you spoke, their delicate movements as you formed each word. You wrapped Penelope in a hug.

“Oh,” you sighed, a faint blush gracing your cheeks. “How rude of me. I’m Y/N. Professor Andi’s TA. You must be Derek,” you had said, offering your hand.

Spencer, despite a fleeting thought about germs, had found himself wanting to hold it. Your touch was light, and your nails were a pretty pale pink. What would it feel like to have those hands explore…?

Spencer had cleared his throat, a nervous laugh escaping him. “I’m not Derek. I’m, uh… Doctor Spencer Reid—well, just Spencer. Please.” He had fumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets to resist the urge to reach for you again. “I’m Penelope and Derek’s ride.”

“My mistake, Spencer,” you had said, your eyes meeting his with a playful tilt of your head. “Will you be joining us today?”

Did you know the effect you had? It had felt almost cruel. He glanced at Penelope, who was practically begging with her eyes.

A subtle smile had played on his lips. “Looks like I will be,” he nodded, his attention already drawn back to you.

“Great! Come with me. Let’s get you a sketchbook,” you grinned, gesturing for him to follow, and he had found himself eagerly complying.

Your backside was just as pretty as your face. He watched you switch on the light in the supply room, the movement causing a soft sway of your hips that he couldn’t tear his gaze from.

You crouched down to the floor, rummaging through bins of pencils. The way your brow had furrowed in concentration was endearing.

“Have you ever taken art class before? Or just been creating independently?” you asked him, your voice a melodic murmur that had sent a shiver down his spine. Gravity had pulled your hair toward your face, showcasing the delicate slope of your neck—a sight that made his breath catch. He wanted to reach out, to feel the softness of those strands against his fingers.

“Neither. This is all sort of new to me,” he admitted, his chuckle betraying a hint of nervousness—a vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to show. Especially not to someone who already held his attention so tightly.

“I see,” you said, picking up a large sketchbook and a brand new case of pencils and blending stubs. “Well, what do you like to do in your free time?” Your eyes met his for a fleeting moment, his stomach fluttering.

He had taken the supplies from you, his fingers brushing against yours—a brief touch that sent a jolt of electricity through him. He wished the exchange could have lasted longer, wanted to linger in that delicate contact. He spent too long just looking at you, memorizing the curve of your smile, the way your eyes sparkled. Words, he had reminded himself. He needed to say something meaningful, something that would capture your attention as completely as you had captured his.

“I like reading,” he managed, his voice slightly rougher than intended.

You waltzed past him to re-enter the art room, your perfume drifting toward his senses. Hmm… Fresh. Pear maybe? The scent was intoxicating—a promise of sweetness that he desperately wanted to explore. He would’ve followed that fragrance anywhere, even into the deepest ocean.

“Me too. Um… what’s your favorite book?” you asked.

He paused. You wanted to talk to him. The realization sent a thrill through him. What timeline was he in right now? This had felt like a dream.

“I enjoy everything that I read,” he replied. He had known it was a terrible answer, a deflection, but his mind was still reeling from your nearness.

“Okay, but there’s got to be a standout,” you chuckled, raising a brow. Cute. The simple gesture had made him swallow hard.

“Well, recently I’ve been re-reading Orwellian literature, so something of that nature. As of the moment I’ve been particularly enjoying 1984.” He wanted to impress you with his intellect, hoping to find some common ground, some way to bridge the distance between you.

“Ooh,” you sighed, “That’s a good one. Mine right now is probably…” You trailed off, thinking as you opened a fresh kneaded eraser for him. “Lord of the Flies,” you had decided. “Works that ask the question if evil is ingrained into our morality are some of my favorites. I find them the most stimulating,” you said, your eyes holding a captivating intensity.

It hadn’t been suggestive in the slightest the way you had said it, yet it had stirred something within him—a deep need to know you. To know where you came from and the places you'd been. He had managed a curt nod, his usual eloquence deserting him as he had found a seat next to Penelope, his gaze still drawn to your every movement.

After Professor Andi gave a quick review (or introduction, for Spencer) of value and shape, Derek had stepped out of the supply closet, glistening like a glazed donut. The women in the class had turned to each other, giddy and excited. He had taken his place on the stool in the middle of the circle of chairs. Derek smiled at Spencer and Penelope before striking a pose.

Spencer didn’t give a shit, though. He had been staring at you as you peeled a clementine at your desk, the delicate way your fingers manipulated the fruit utterly mesmerizing. You popped a slice into your mouth before wiping the residue from your hands and taking your sketchbook in hand. He imagined the sweetness lingering on your lips—a dangerous thought that made his chest ache. He’s never wanted someone so badly before.

Professor Andi had put on her Bossa Nova playlist. How fitting. Your hoop earrings, the faint flush on your cheeks—you had looked like how Bossa Nova sounded: pleasant and dreamy, an ethereal vision that he had felt he could only admire from afar.

You had begun sketching furiously, a small pout forming on your lips in concentration, your brow furrowed. The intensity of your focus had been incredibly alluring. He had found himself wanting to be the subject of that fierce gaze, to have you study him with such intent. He envied the loose leaf paper of your sketchbook and your 6B pencil that had the privilege of feeling your touch uninterrupted.

“Why haven’t you started yet?” Penelope whispered—not so subtly. It snapped Spencer from his haze, the spell you had cast momentarily broken.

“Huh—what?”

“Your page. It’s empty. Why?”

“Just thinking of how to approach this, is all,” he lied, his mind still replaying the way your hair had fallen across your neck. Penelope had narrowed her eyes but had chosen to let it go.

He had desperately wanted to impress you, to create something worthy of your attention. The thought of your opinion consumed him.

Spencer had somehow managed to find the control to start drawing a half-naked, oiled-up Derek, but his values had gotten a little muddy. He had needed to block out the highlights like Professor Andi had said in her brief lecture. But his kneaded eraser was stiff and wouldn’t warm up in his hands, no matter how long he had pressed it between his palms.

“Do you need help?” 

“Uh, yeah, my eraser won’t soften.”

“Y/N,” Penelope said, calling you over with a smile. You peered up from your sketchbook and smiled as you got up to approach her.

“How can I help?” you asked, bending over slightly with your palms on your thighs to be within earshot of Penelope.

“Spence needs help getting his kneaded eraser to knead,” she whispered, biting back a smile.

“No problem,” you smiled, dragging a stool next to him and sitting down. You had leaned in close to get a glance at the eraser. Pears, he had thought.

“Is it hard?” you asked. Ironic, he had thought.

“Yeah. I’m sorry. I’ve never done this before. I don’t know how to.”

“You’re totally fine. It happens to me all the time. Here. I’ll help,” you had said, taking his hands into yours. “See this part of your thumb?”

Your long, delicate fingers had softly rubbed the joint below the pad of his thumb. Spencer had nodded, his mouth suddenly dry.

“You’re going to press it against this joint,” you had said, your fingertips now tracing the second joint of his index finger. “And rub the eraser between your fingers to warm it up.” You had placed the square, unkneaded eraser in the described position and guided Spencer’s hands to repeat that motion over and over until his fingerprint had appeared in the softened eraser. Spencer had hoped you wouldn’t notice how badly his hands were shaking as you held them.

“Okay, good job,” you had said, a soft warmth in your voice. Jesus. “Now stretch it with two hands like putty, then roll it into a ball.”

Your molasses gaze had flickered over his fingers, briefly meeting his. He had your complete attention in that moment and he literally had no idea what to do with himself. He had rolled the now-soft eraser into a ball.

“Perfect. Now you can use it.” You smiled at him—a genuine, captivating smile that had sent a jolt through him—before moving your stool away.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice a little rough. You nodded politely before returning to your sketchbook.

Spencer had made the decision that he was going to try his absolute hardest to impress you. He had known it was probably stupid, but it hadn’t seemed impossible, and he had thought he had a good shot at making it work.

By the end of the class, everyone had given their sketches to Derek for him to keep. Spencer had handed his to Derek. Derek’s brows had risen.

“You did this?”

“Yeah,” Spencer croaked dryly, his mind elsewhere. He had been watching you through the mirror near the door. You had ripped out two pages and then gotten up from your seat.

“It looks good, actually. Nice work, pretty boy,” Derek had said, clapping him hard on the shoulder.

“Hi Derek, nice to meet you,” you said nicely, smiling. You had handed him your portrait, which—of course—had put everyone else’s to shame, Spencer’s included. You made polite small talk with Penelope until they had eventually needed to leave.

Spencer lingered in the doorway. Ask for her number. Stop being awkward and aloof for five seconds of your life and ask her. But what if you never called him? Should he ask you to coffee instead? Or lunch? You seemed like a brunch type of girl—

“Doctor,” you whispered.

Spencer had turned around, his heart leaping. “I have something for you,” you had said, walking toward him.

“For me?” he asked, a hopeful tremor in his voice.

You handed him something—it was a portrait. Of him.

“I did it after I finished Derek’s.”

It was beautiful. He looked beautiful. The delicate lines of the shadows sketched by your hands, the slope of his nose, the shape of his lips… it had been him, and it had been wonderful. And it had been by you. You had observed his face and felt the need to put pencil to paper.

“Would you like, um—Y/N… Do you want to get coffee with me sometime next week?” he stammered, the question tumbling out in a rush. A slow, knowing smile had crept onto your lips, and you had nodded. Unbelievable.

“Yeah, I’d love to, Spencer,” you chuckled breathily, the sound like a melody to his ears.

“Really? Could I… get your number?” he had asked, his gaze fixed on yours.

“Flip it over,” you said, brushing past him, your scent lingering in the air again.

He had followed your directions. Your number had been scribbled on the back of the portrait. “Bye, Spencer.”

He watched you get into your car as Penelope and Derek laughed about something.

Your car had pulled out of the driveway, and you had honked the horn.

Penelope had smirked at Spencer. “Someone made a friend.”

“I saw her helping you ‘knead your eraser.’ I can tell she likes you.”

“You think?” Spencer had asked, biting back a grin.

He sure had hoped so—because he was already obsessed with you.

borders from: @muffiinss

I love jeff buckley

[chronicowboy]

bet the house (watch it fall) | 1.2k

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been six months since my last confession," Eddie says, a perfect recital of the line he'd spent all morning in the bathroom rehearsing.

For a long moment, silence. Eddie has to fight the urge to check there's actually someone on the other side. Then —

"Eddie?" It's a familiar voice. One that has the tension seeping out of Eddie's shoulders all at once.

"Yeah," he breathes out. "Yeah, it's me."

"It's good to hear your voice again," Father Brian says, a hint of a smile in the words. "I wasn't sure I would."

"I wasn't sure either, but, uh." Eddie digs his left thumb into the middle of his right palm until flesh yields to bone. "I needed to talk to someone, and I wasn't sure who to go to."

Not true. Knew exactly who he'd go to. Bobby. But Bobby was gone. And Buck would have been his next choice, but Buck was hanging on by a thread, and Eddie wasn't going to be the one to break it. He'd just be the one to catch Buck when it finally snapped.

"You're always welcome here," Brian tells him, and Eddie has to squeeze his eyes shut against the tears.

"This was my captain's church, you know?" he rasps. "That's how I knew about it."

"Captain Nash."

"I, yeah. How did you —"

"He spoke about you a lot. Spoke about all his firefighters, but especially you and a... Buck?"

"Yeah." Eddie huffs a wet laugh. "That tracks." Wonders what exactly Bobby would say about him. Imagines he must have painted a pretty tragic picture.

"I was very sorry to hear of his passing. He was a good man. I find that's increasingly rare in the world right now."

"He was something else alright." Eddie takes a deep breath, gathers up all the grief and the guilt in the back of his throat. "I wasn't here when he died. I found out over the phone." His voice breaks, and Eddie takes a moment to gather himself. Father Brian lets him. "Buck told me. And, God, I've never heard him like that before."

Except that's not true, Eddie thinks. He's heard it once before. When Los Angeles was half-drowned, and Buck was dirty and bloody and soaking wet and shaking, and all he had left was Christopher's glasses.

"I moved back to Texas to be with my son," Eddie says suddenly. Can't linger in that memory for long. Not if he wants to make it out of the confessional.

"Ah, I see." Another smile creeping into his voice. There's something about the way he speaks that reminds Eddie so much of Bobby that he has to turn his thumb, so the nail digs a crescent moon into the soft flesh of his palm. "You followed your joy."

"Yeah." Eddie sighs, drags a hand down his face, laughs a broken noise. "Left a hell of a lot of it behind though." Holds his breath for a moment. "With Buck." Waits for God to smite him down.

Nothing.

"Well, you can only fit so much in a U-Haul," Brian says easily. It startles a laugh out of Eddie. A real one this time. Sharp but real. "I'm sure he took good care of it for you."

"He did," Eddie agrees, just as easily. Then averts course like a coward. "I'm just. Stuck. Now. I'm having a hard time getting myself back to Texas even though my kid's there."

He leaves out the part where Christopher keeps telling him he's not allowed to come back until he's sure Buck is okay. It feels too big for such a small space.

"And why do you think that is?"

"I wasn't here when my team needed me. I don't want to make that mistake again."

"Are you thinking about coming back?"

Eddie laughs again. Another empty thing.

"I've been thinking about coming back since I left. I just. I never thought it'd be like this. Because of this." He shakes his head. Doesn't bother fighting the tears this time. "I wanted coming home to be happy. That's the only reason Chris is still in Texas. I didn't want him coming home to another ghost."

"That makes sense," Brian says not unkindly. "But, Eddie, I have to say, it still sounds like you're denying yourself joy."

And there it is. That fucking word again. The one that's haunted him since the juice bar. Since Buck on his doorstep. Since Eddie flipped that goddamn tablet and it took his whole world with it.

"Maybe." Eddie shrugs. What right does he have to joy when Bobby's was taken from him so cruelly? "Bobby told me once. He said that I didn't have to lose everything before I allowed myself to feel something." Those words have been on his mind a lot lately. Every time he looks at Buck, and he wonders if Bobby had seen something Eddie had never been able to look too closely at. "I didn't know what he meant at the time."

"And now?"

"Now, I know I haven't quite lost everything, but I've lost a hell of a lot, and I don't want to have to lose anything else before I allow myself to feel joy." The words come out hoarse and hollow. Eddie thinks, in another world, he'd get to say this to Bobby. And he tries to imagine the smile he'd wear when Eddie said it. That thing so full of pride, so naturally paternal. It winds him a little.

"What does joy look like to you, Eddie?" Father Brian asks gently.

"Christopher." Eddie huffs a breath, looks up at Bobby wherever he may be. "Buck."

"Mm." Eddie glances at the partition, just for a second, catches Brian's smile as he ducks his head. He loses his breath a little, looks back to the doorway. "What are you gonna do about it?"

And that's the question. The one Eddie's been trying to answer since he left. Since before that maybe. Since a quiet, half-honest conversation in Buck's loft. The one he gave up for Eddie. Since the lightning strike. Since the shooting. Since the well. Since Evan Buckley.

"I've got joy right in front of me." He shrugs, smiles just slightly. "I'm not gonna walk away from it again."

"Alright then." The smile is unmistakable in Father Brian's voice now. The way Bobby's would be in the engine when he was trying to keep them all focused but, instead, found himself getting sucked in. "Your penance —" and Eddie supposed he should have expected it, bringing this into God's house, but he'd thought— "is one Hail Mary."

"Only one?" Eddie blinks. He looks back at the partition, finds Father Brian's warm eyes already there.

"Something tells me it's gonna be a big one," he murmurs. Eddie ducks his head to hide the flush of his cheeks. How terribly easy he must be to read. How many people must have read him cover to cover before Eddie could even bring it upon himself to open the fucking book. How inevitable it all seems now. It's Buck. Of course, it's Buck. "Good luck, Eddie."

[daylighted]

─ FRIEND FROM COLLEGE, dad's best friend ! jackles

your welcome home party from college is joined by none other than the man your father based all of his warnings about boys around: his estranged best friend from college. little did he know that it wasn't the signs you needed to be warned away from, but the man himself.

warnings. ( 18+ ! ) pls for the love of god don't interact with this one if you're a minor. hefty age gap. unprotected p in v. semi - public sex (maybe?). choke kink. daddy kink (lite edition). spit kink? maybe? manhandling. creampie. romanticization of sneaking around. mentions of alc/hol & drinking. word count. 6.7k (SORRY.)

happy birthday to my bree bree, @titsout4jackles <3 thank u for forcing me back into writing smut with this one HAHAH.

OF COURSE YOU'D HEARD ABOUT JENSEN; an infamous character from your dad’s past, a faceless name that frequented in all of the stories that he ended with, don’t try that, or don’t repeat my mistakes. you’d heard infinite stories about your dad’s time in college involving that man, his name spoken around an exasperated sigh, so at adds with the story in mention. your father, wistfully telling you at the dinner table to not do any keg stands while you were away at school, because of the time jensen had done three in one night, somehow, and ended up in the emergency room.

it was just one of those things you accepted about your parents’ lives, before they met and made the family that was you: jensen was either a scapegoat character made up to teach you obscure life lessons, or those three keg stands in one night killed him, considering you'd never met him once in all of your twenty-something years. either way, those stories did have some sort of influence on you, because your years away at college went by without issue, or hospitalization from alcoholism. 

you were so happy to be back home. your term was up for the year, landing you back in the summery sunset heat enveloping your parents’ home, coating everything in a thick sheen of inescapable warmth. your mothers rose bushes in the front yard were blooming flowers of beautiful shades of pink and red, loose petals scattered across the bright green of their front lawn, the floral-and-pollen smell a warm greeting as you walked up the front steps. 

music drifted outside from the open windows, the navy blue shudders rattling against the creamy white clapboard siding on the house. you could see, just faintly, through the blinding white of the sun’s glare, the outlines of people in the sun-darkened interior. 

were you supposed to knock? this was the house you grew up in. your heights over the years were etched into the doorframe of the closed off upstairs staircase, the graphite of the pencil faded with time but the grooves in the wood a permanent staple. the living room’s cream paint job was dulling, too, except for that one spot by the warm brown skirting board, where a littler you had just learned that crayons and markers worked as well on the paint as they did on the papers you colored, and your parents had to cover it up. 

were you meant to knock on a door that held so many memories within its grasp? did it suddenly stop becoming your home just because you’d spread your wings and flown south for a little while? 

the debate is interrupted when a hush falls over the chatter inside, even the volume of the music dropping to a low murmur. before you can even process that your presence had been noticed by someone, the front door pulls open, putting a final end on the internal debate racking through you and gnawing on the inner workings of your mind.

“honey!” your mom exclaims, her arms tossing around your neck, dragging you in for a tight hug. she smells like the solo cup she has in her hand around you: malibu rum, with a twinge of sweet pineapple juice. when she tugs back away from you, the cup in mention is offered to you. "finish this for me, will you? your father's cutting me off."

your lips tilt up in amusement, taking a little testing sip from it. expectedly, your mother's unmistakable heavy hand is evident in that one sip, the burn of alcohol slipping down your throat with the faintest trace of coconut on your tongue. "i wonder why."

"hey," your mother scolds teasingly, her arms folding across her chest in a way so similarly to how you do, it almost aches, "you can't scold your mother before you give her a proper hug." you remembered a time when you were as tall as her hip, and attached to it too. growing up was as much a blessing as it was a curse, the memories of the simpler days like wounds that didn't ever fully heal. you supposed it was something that got easier to manage when every year circled around again.

you laugh, reaching around her to set the cup down on the entrance table in the living space, right beside the bowl of keys filled halfway, before you properly hugged your mother. you'd known that they were throwing you a welcome home party, but this many people? you can't draw your eyes away from the bowl, trying to pick apart the ones you recognized.

your father's and your mother's, of course; you were pretty sure that was your aunt's, with the frilly pink puff on the key ring, and one of your dad's friends, your honorary uncle tom—

caught up in the impossible task of assigning names and faces to a bowl of keys, you miss your father's booming voice, echoing through the scattering of people in the living room, eyes locked in your direction like they were waiting for their turn to say something to you while you were caught up in the embrace of your mother. "there is my little girl!"

you were hardly little anymore, you were over halfway through your college experience by now, quickly approaching the final year. like you looked at this house and saw all the remnants of your youth, it seemed that your father didn't look at you without seeing the girl you used to be.

your mom releases you, and you wait with bated breath to be crushed into your father's chest— but he's interrupted, and you're stuck holding your breath for no reason, by a voice you don't recognize.

"so this is her?"

he has a beer bottle between big fingers, a smirk poking through the scruff of dark facial hair smattering across his cheeks and jawline, dusting across his upper lip. his eyes are a piercing tea green, framed by dark eyelashes that only prove to emphasize their paleness. his hair is slicked out of his face, a couple of loose straggling strands hung over his eyes.

your mouth runs completely dry. somehow, like a piece fitting into the gap in a puzzle, you know without being told that this is—

"jensen," his free hand shoots out in greeting, and stirring you away from the muddle of your thoughts and out of the silent stupor you'd gotten stuck in, "it's nice to put a face to the name i've been listenin' to this guy rave about for the last few hours."

it wasn't embarrassing, per se, but you found your face warming with it, anyways. had your father shown him the doorframe with your heights etched into it? did he see the baby pictures on the coffee table photo album, and the ridiculous number of times you'd had birthday cake smeared all over your face in it?

you manage to find your voice at the same time as you clasp his hand, but it feels awkward in your mouth, like none of the right words are coming forward to claim the sentence you try to force out. "it's— yes. it's nice to have a face."

his mouth twitches. this was not supposed to happen. jensen ackles was never supposed to be real, or, hell — alive. you'd come to terms with the fact that he was as imaginary as the tooth fairy, a figure for life lessons like smoky the bear or something. he wasn't supposed to be standing in front of you, letting you make a fool of yourself in front of the entirety of your family and friends.

jensen keeps his hand around yours for a few longer seconds, the bigger palm hugging yours sending a rush of chills up your arm. he was so warm. and tall. and real. wasn't that crazy? "yeah, it is nice to have a face, sweetheart." he shoots you a wink that takes a detour from your eyes to your chest, sending your heart racing in a frenzy. "you've got a real pretty one, too."

your dad's lips thin, prying jensen's fingers out of yours. "that's enough of that," he grumbles, stepping in jensen's place in front of you to tug you into his chest. "welcome home, baby."

it's a wonderful distraction from whatever that was, clawing at your ribcage and threatening to steal your stuttering heart along with it. you take a deep breath and sigh, eyes closing. it was nice to be home. "i see you guys started without me."

"your lovely mother got excited," your dad explains, shaking his head as he steps back and releases you, "you know how excited she gets about a party."

hence why she'd disappeared, inevitably looking for the digital camera to document this. this was why the photo album was splayed on the coffee table, and why you had a picture for every birthday, every swipe of frosting smeared around your hands and face. hopefully, there wasn't any cake this time around.

like a warm balm to the racing beat in your chest, you could feel jensen's gaze on you still. you refused to meet it head on, though, knowing innately that the entire world would tilt on its axis and never return to its natural state. like the butterfly effect; something so small was capable of changing the world.

you're saved by your father's hand on your shoulder, guiding you toward the glass screen doors that opened up to a fully decorated back patio. fairy lights strung between the trees and over the navy blue awning, a full fold-out table underneath the awning with a big bowl of icy punch, and a cooler sat next to the table with bottles of beer coated in ice water and sweat.

snacks of all kinds lined the opposite side of the table. bags of chips lined out by flavor, a cooking tray with barbecue and hamburgers laid out on it, condiments on the opposite side. the air smelled like charcoal and food, and beneath it all was an underlying scent of—

"oh no."

your dad laughs brightly, clapping you on the shoulder. "your mom insisted. you know she couldn't have a party without her little girl having a cake."

"is she expecting me to drop headfirst into it again?" you weren't planning on doing that anyways, hadn't since you were too little to know how utensils worked, but with jensen here? you were definitely not doing that in front of him. no way.

he shrugs, slipping around you to steal another bottle from the cooler. "doubtful. she will want a picture of you with it, though." he tips the neck of the bottle toward you in acknowledgement. "mom's got more alcohol inside, if you don't want whatever the hell they tossed in that punch bowl or beer. i'm gonna start bringin' the smores stuff out, if you want to get situated by the fire."

you wave your hand in a polite dismissal, stepping out of the way for your dad to disappear inside again. standing in front of the refreshments table, you bend to grab a beer for yourself, cracking it open as the sweat coated your palm. it was a welcome distraction from the sun blazing one last time before it clocked out and the moon took its place.

you were a few steps away from the bonfire pit in the center of your backyard, the patio chairs entangled in with metal foldouts in a circle around it, when you sensed him behind you. it was impossible to not know it was him; he was the only person here whos eyes you weren't familiar with how it felt to be watched from. across from the patio chair you chose, the grill still smoked with the last of the charcoal cooking away, and in the haze of that smoke, he dipped into focus.

under the golden light of the sunset, he looked even more devastating, somehow. a maroon button-up with the top two buttons undone, the sleeves rolled to his elbows. khaki shorts that hugged his thick thighs, leaving little to the imagination as he closed the final remnants of distance.

"already so quick to run away?"

your back straightens, as if the idea of slouching in front of him was something detrimental. your fingernail swirled patterns in the dripping sweat on the bottle, eyes locked on the motion to avoid looking at him. you still heard it, though, when jensen's weight collapsed into a chair across the fire from you, his legs spread wide as he makes himself comfortable in his own patio chair.

"for your information," you say, your eyes flicking up to meet his finally, and it's just as intense as you remember, "i was not running away. i got told to sit out here."

"okay, princess, stand down." his eyes are sinful, raking up and down the length of your body. he was so shameless about it, like he didn't feel an ounce of guilt at all about the fact that you were his best friend's daughter. sure, he'd never met you before, but didn't that thought enter his head at all? wasn't he clinging to that little reminder like you were?

your eyes dance over to the patio doors, split open and inviting, letting the breeze into the interior of the home, deep blue curtains flapping. it was comforting for you, in a way, just as much as it was suffocating, knowing at any moment, someone else could step outside.

the nylon of the patio chair creaks across from you, and you glance over at jensen again, just to see him shift forward with his elbows on his knees. "what are you so scared of, beautiful?"

you were not scared. where he got that assessment was beyond you, considering you were ramrod straight in your seat, unable to look at him at all, finding every blade of grass in the lawn much more enticing. see? definitely not scared. "maybe," you start, tilting your head to the side in mindless thought, "it's because you're a stranger, following me around."

"do you want to get to know me?" his smirk cuts a dimple into his cheek. he’s captivating, utterly captivating. there was something so enticing about him, about the forbidden nature that came with everything about him.

you arch an eyebrow at him. “what’s to learn?” your finger circles the mouth of your beer before you lift it to your mouth for a quick swig of it. his gaze is locked on the bob of your throat. “dad told me plenty of stories.”

“i thought i was a stranger.”

“i thought you were smoky the bear.”

jensen’s laugh is music, echoing in the growing dark of the night. the golden cast over his face was now a warm orange, casting a darker shadow of the deep dark of his gaze. "smoky the bear?"

"i thought he made you up," you were not biting back a smile. jensen was your dad's former best friend, something potentially had gotten revived, considering he was here. off-limits echoed in your head like a mantra, growing quieter with each passing moment you tried to pretend that he wasn't looking at you like that. "since i never got a face to the name of the guy who supposedly ate a worm for three dollars."

you expect him to deny it. his mouth curves in a crescent, his eyes glimmering in the deep amber light. "three dollars and seventy five cents."

"no."

"bought myself a gumball that day."

your head tips back in a laugh, the harmony of yours atop of his sending a chill up the arch of your spine. you open your mouth to say something, beer bottle tilted in his direction in a half-attempt at a cheers, but voices start to filter outside behind you.

whatever you planned to say is swallowed down, the intoxicating energy of your banter sucked up like a vacuum. your mom hooks a hand on your shoulder, tugging your head toward her to kiss your temple. "i see you've been getting to know jensen," she hums, taking the metal foldout chair next to you. "i hope he's not giving you too much trouble."

you don't look away from him as you shake your head. "nothing i can't handle."

"of course," she agrees, taking up one of the metal prongs and sliding a marshmallow on each of the ends. "you got that from me, you know. your father was unbearable back in the day, to everyone but me."

jensen's chiming in draws your eyes back to him. "it's true. she domesticated him."

you cock an eyebrow at him. "who's domesticating you then?"

his only answer is a wicked grin. your mom, thankfully, says nothing about it, her attention on the marshmallows warming over the lick of the flames, stretching and sticking to the heated prongs.

"m'gonna go get another drink," jensen sighs, palms patting the spread of his thighs as he rises. after a long term of simplicity, no time to even ponder the idea of doing three keg stands, or something disgusting for a couple of bucks, the leash that jensen had around your interest was tight. you couldn't look away as he walked up the wooden steps of your patio, disappearing through the fluttering curtains.

next to you, your mother has captured the marshmallows between two squares of graham crackers, a piece of chocolate melting into the sticky sugar. "want one?" she asks, offering one out to you through the light pinch of her two fingers.

you wave your hand before you can think any of this through. "actually, i'm gonna go run to the bathroom, i think."

"of course," she says with a little smile, and you almost feel bad for denying her, knowing she just wanted to spend time with you on your first night back home. there was plenty of time still in the night, the fire only having just started, and the night having only just now dipped from warm oranges and pinks to deep blue.

the stars winked at you, knowing exactly where you were heading as you stood and started toward the sliding glass doors. they'd keep your secret, whatever that secret turned out to be.

somehow, even after having heard him announce where he was going, you're surprised to see jensen at the mahogany countertop, a crystal tumbler between his fingers that nurses a finger of bourbon. outside, you can hear the cackle of your uncle tom, followed by the hollering laughter of your father. the rest of the guests had settled into the spread of chairs around the firepit.

it was you and jensen in the dim dark of the house, the natural light having disappeared behind the horizon, drenching the both of you in a pale light that danced in the open space between the curtains.

"naughty girl," jensen drawls, his voice low and guttural at the base of his throat. he hasn't turned his attention away from his drink, watching you out of the corner of his eye. "runnin' from the party in her name to hang out with the big, bad wolf."

your heartbeat stutters in place in your chest, but you aren't so easily deterred or riled. your head tilts up in an air of defiance that only makes the wolfish expression on his face widen. the dull point of his canine clamps on his bottom lip. "for your information," you echo from earlier, "i'm going to the bathroom."

"this ain't the bathroom," he muses, nodding back toward the hallway like you were the one who needed directions in your own home. "gone so long you're gettin' lost in your own home?"

"i think you wanted me to come in here with you." you don't know where the words bubble up from, but they're out of your mouth before you can swallow the soap of them back down. "you had beer earlier. you could have gotten another."

jensen laughs, the sound of it pooling like heat in your lower belly. "dictatin' what i drink now? that's bold, naughty girl. we just met."

you stutter on a response. "i'm just saying—"

"maybe i wanted somethin' richer," jensen rasps, turning to face you now, the base of his spine pressed back into the edge of the countertop, "to try n' get another flavor out of my imagination."

every rational thought leaves your head. anything you could have said dissipates into vapor, floating back up toward the sunless sky. the innuendo is clear, written in vibrant shades like words atop a birthday cake — or, for today's sake, a graduation cake.

you're speechless, neither of you breaking the intense eye contact you shared. maybe he was a big bad wolf, what with the way he eyed you, all of you, like he was looking for the treats you'd tucked away underneath your red cloak.

"i'm gonna go to the bathroom now," you manage to breathe out, the crack in the center of your sentence shifting like tectonic plates. the earthquake was bound to hit any moment.

his eyebrows raise in his own amusement. "use mine."

the illusion cracks. the earthquake doesn't yet hit. you're both on one side of the plates, waiting to see who stumbles into the other first. "what?"

"your dad is a helluva host," jensen hums, downing the rest of his bourbon in one fell swoop, "invites me to a party and offers to let me stay a couple of nights too, to catch up."

you still don't say anything, the realization like a knife. you were home for three months; jensen was here for a few days, rekindling an estranged friendship with your father, assumedly going to be over often. your mouth felt like cotton, like you'd swallowed a handful of cinnamon, choking on the dry sweetness.

"do you know what he said?"

the glass clinks on the countertop when jensen sets it down, his footsteps echoing heavily on the linoleum beneath his boots. "he said," he continues without your prompting, close enough that his breath ghosts over the shell of your ear, "he had a pretty daughter he wanted me to meet. thought i'd like her."

your voice is weak when you say, "he didn't say that."

"i took creative liberties."

your mouth opens, closes. nothing eradicates the dryness in your mouth, the plague of it starting to curl down your throat. finally, you manage to choke out in response, "what other creative liberties have you drawn about me?"

jensen smells spicy. cloves and musk and bourbon and cinnamon. you wonder, in a brief, fleeting thought, if he tastes like it, too. "little things," he finally breathes, "wonderin' if that mouth of yours sucks as good as it runs. how those legs would feel wrapped around me when i bury myself so deep in your—"

"there you are, jens," your dad's voice nearly makes you jump out of your skin, his head peeking through the open glass doors of the back entrance, "everything okay?"

jensen settles back on the heels of his shoes as if he wasn't all but tracing the shell of your ear with his tongue. "all good," he agrees, giving your father a smile that gave nothing away of how he'd been talking about burying himself in you. "we were talkin' about school. i held her up on goin' to the bathroom. that's my bad."

he lies so easily that you know it had to be a reason why he and your dad fell out. your dad hated liars, hated secrets. everything happening underneath his nose with this was soon enough going to break his heart when it came to light, but the thrill of that possibility sent electricity jolting down your spine.

"actually, i think i'mma head in for the night," jensen sighs, that smile of his becoming something lazier and more tired than what it'd been moments before. "thanks for invitin' me to stay the weekend again."

weekend. today was thursday. that meant...

you barely manage to move out of the way before jensen brushes past you, his fingertips ghosting along your ribs that were turned away from your father. the invitation was clear when you met his eyes for a final time. go to his bathroom.

"sorry about him," your dad says with a bemused shake of his head, "i've been invitin' him to come around again since we graduated, didn't expect him to actually show up today. hope he's not givin' you too much trouble."

your mother said the same thing. you wondered idly about what sort of trouble they must be referring to, and why it seemed to trail him. "he's fine. i was asking him about which of your stories were true."

he winks at you. "all of 'em."

"well, i learned that," you laugh, ducking your face in a useless attempt to hide the fact that he was more right than he knew. troublemaking womanizer from my time at college that once did three keg stands in one night, who spent his weekend in the hospital. nothing but trouble, doing anything for a dime or a laugh.

you nod behind you to the hallway. "i'll be out in a few, okay? i'm just gonna run to the bathroom and get a little snack first. i haven't eaten all day."

maybe you were doomed to fall out of your close relationship with your father, too, the easy way you lie to him.

he nods, patting the glass doorframe. "okay, sweetheart. mom's makin' enough smores to feed the town, so save some room."

over your shoulder, you smile warmly at your father. "okay, dad."

the house falls silent again. there's nothing but the thudding heartbeat in your chest, punctuating the decision you were dooming yourself to make.

all the bedrooms were upstairs. the guest room and its bathroom and your bedroom were on one side of the hallway, the main bathroom upstairs at the very end, and your parents' and the other guest room were on the other. you bypass your bedroom and hesitate in front of the cracked door of the guest bedroom.

anxiety ripples through you. bad decision, your head says again, one final time, before it vanishes completely, your subconscious giving up on trying to offer you the chance to back out.

you push the bedroom door open, and there was jensen ackles, the maroon button-up discarded, leaving the expanse of his abdomen on display in the reflection of the mirror he stood in front of. your eyes trace sinew and muscle in his back, how his shoulder blades shift beneath his skin as he stands a little straighter at the sight of you.

he doesn't say a word. doesn't move an inch. he can't be as bad as everyone says, you can't help but think, because he's letting you call the shots here. you could stand in this doorway and tell him goodnight, and he'd let you go.

you could do what you already were without realizing: step inside the bedroom and close the door behind you again.

again, he doesn't yet move from where he was, only turning around to fully face you. he was so broad, the muscles indenting his stomach sturdy and solid. he was shameless in how he eyed you up, so you didn't shy away from returning the favor now that you felt safe enough to do so.

there's a heated moment when nothing happens except the air in the room charges. heats and heats until it bursts through the wire coating and catches flame, burning everything in its path.

one moment, he's a couple of feet away, watching you like it was your turn to act on the chessboard. the next, his feet are carrying themselves over to you, his lips crashing against yours like a hurricane.

jensen kisses like he, too, knew that this was doomed. his palms slip under your thighs and hoist you into the air, and you break apart from him in a harsh intake of breath, your hands grasping at his shoulders for stability.

your back collides with a wooden door, and neither of you move for a split second. his tongue laps into your mouth, meeting yours stroke for stroke, his fingers squeezing handfuls of the skin of your thighs between them. he shifts after a moment, knees bending to reach better as he plants your ass on his forearm, his freed hand gripping tight on the doorknob and shoving you both through it.

two doors between you and someone who could catch you was better than one. this one, too, jensen locked behind him, before he slid you onto the marbled countertop of the sink.

there was no time for the simple luxuries of teasing. you were on a time crunch, and jensen seemed to guess such, too, as his big palms slide underneath the skirt of your dress and shove it upwards. the glossy marble is cold on your bare skin, but he doesn't give you any chance to adjust to it before he's shoving your legs open and stepping between them.

"i knew you were a naughty girl when i met you," he rasps into your throat, two fingers dipping into his mouth before he pops them free, a string of saliva following the motion. "show me how naughty you can be, baby girl. open up."

you would have on your own, but he pushes those two fingers between your lips and presses them against your tongue. his eyes are hooded, heavy and dark, as they take in the sight of your lips wrapped tightly around his fingers.

the thought enters your head on its own, like for once, your subconscious has decided to work in your favor tonight. wonderin' if that mouth of yours sucks as good as it runs.

your cheeks hollow as you suck on the digits, the taste of his saliva coating the inside of your mouth. it does taste spicy, the subtlest taste of bourbon burning as you swallow the mix of saliva down your throat.

jensen's head tips back in a groan, shoving his fingers farther into your mouth, enough to make you choke on a cough. his laugh is breathy, the sound of it intermixing with another sound, something metallic jingling.

his belt hits the floor and the sound stops. his fingers don't. "who would have guessed such a pretty little thing had such a filthy little mouth?" jensen muses, popping his fingers free from your mouth and thumbing away the tears that sprung in the corners of your eyes. "might just have to keep you. you'd like that, huh?"

his free hand shoves the dark, tight boxers hugging his legs down, and before your eyes can drift down to see what springs free, that hand comes up and holds your jaw between his thumb and index finger, making you nod in answer. "yeah, baby girl would like that."

you swallow thickly, your lips red and swollen from his kiss, parted to try and suck down a solid breath. you weren't sure you'd breathed since he kissed you, your chest aching with it.

the grip he has on your chin tilts it downwards, shaking it gently until your eyes drop his gaze and land on what you'd tried to get a look at before, and were denied. "might have to keep you regardless," he murmurs, tracing his thumb over your bottom lip, "'cause i don't think anyone else's gonna live up to me."

your lips twitch, some semblance of control reentering your system. "you're cocky."

his head dips downward, brushing his mouth over the swell of your bottom lip, the stubble of his facial hair tickling and electrifying the skin of your upper. "you don't know cock yet."

his two fingers, still wet with the mix of both of your saliva, are back under your dress, the cool wet of them tracing a line up your inner thigh. "say yes," he breathes, stopping just above where your panties cover the evidence of your arousal, "daddy wants to hear it."

you're not breathing again, at least not solidly. instead, your mouth opens and closes fruitlessly, a choke of a "yes" loosing from your throat. those two fingers curl underneath your panties and tug you closer to him by the hold on the fabric.

"good girl," he murmurs in his approval, and one more harsh yank draws a whimpering gasp from your lips, along with the sound of the thin fabric tearing.

the roughness is put on pause as jensen's hand grabs one of your thighs and hooks it around his waist. his two fingers stay between your legs, smearing your wetness along the slit of your folds, not dipping his fingers in like you wish he would.

you catch yourself watching his face again, like every microshift of his expression is something you want to witness. especially as you move your other leg for him, hooking your ankles behind the lower half of his bare back.

"i knew you were trouble," he says, nosing your chin up to take your bottom lip between his teeth. "stay quiet for me, yeah?"

it wasn't something you needed explained to you, but you don't argue with him. not when his fingers finally slip into the creamy folds of your pussy and drag upwards, lazily circling over the sensitive bud of your clit, and not when he captures your mouth in a proper kiss to swallow the squeak of a noise that breaks free from your throat, anyways.

jensen takes his cock into his hand and replaces the drag of his fingers with the sensitive tip of it, keeping up the slow circles with deliberate slowness. you're about to beg, your lips parting against his, when finally, with that same agonizing slowness, he pushes the tip inside of you.

and doesn't move.

when your eyes open, jensen is already staring at you, his pupils blown. "keep goin'?" he asks, as if this is something leisurely to him, as if you can't feel the throb of his hard cock just barely granting any sort of relief to either of you.

"don't be an ass," you breathe, your voice cracking on the words.

jensen's mouth quirks at the corners. "baby girl, asshole is my middle name."

there's no warning to the way his hips jut forward in one harsh movement, filling you completely. your back arches, pressing your chest into his, a choked gasp of a moan stuttering out of your mouth.

his pace is set and relentless, the obscene sound of his balls slapping against your skin as he ravishes you and forces you to stretch around his size. each thrust, your walls grant him more reprieve, the wet squelch of you squeezing around his cock joining the onslaught of obscene noises in the room.

jensen's eyes are laser focused on yours, watching the curve of your mouth to make sure nothing slips free. it's almost more intense like this, being fucked in silence than if he were making you scream and mewl.

you didn't doubt asshole was his middle name, either; not when his palms slip under your ass and squeeze handfuls of the flesh, lifting you off of the countertop. the shift in the position has you clawing at his shoulders for purchase, the only thing keeping you from stumbling to the ground being your legs around his waist and his guiding hands on your ass.

he held you like you weighed nothing, the muscles in his biceps flexing with ease, veins outlined beneath the skin. you were helpless to how he moved you around, using his grip on the supple flesh between his palms to bounce you up and down on the hard fullness of his cock.

the pace slows, just enough for him to maneuver your body down the entirety of his length, the tip of it buried in your cervix. it's almost enough to make you crack, your head pressing into his shoulder, but you bite it back. it was too detrimental to risk being caught just because he was right; he was ruining you for anyone else.

but jensen starts to move you again, starting that deep within you and guiding you back down to that spot, over and over again. you weren't going to be able to walk after this, didn't know how you planned to get back outside to enjoy your party, not with how you could feel the bruising pleasure of him splitting your puffy walls open and grinding into your cervix like this.

you can't even help it when the sharp moan falls out of your mouth, your lower stomach pooled with heat that only seemed to deepen each time he sheathed himself deep inside of you.

"shh," he rasps, the gravel in his voice an intoxicating mix with the strain of it, "don't make me make you quiet. don't want your family hearin', do we? wonderin' what their baby girl's doin' up in here with me?"

your whines are embedded with each harsh thrust of his hips into you. "can't help it," you try to answer, but you aren't sure at all if it came out in a coherent sentence.

his one hand stays cupped firmly over your ass, fingers denting the skin as they dig in. the other comes up to take your throat into his palm, thumb and index pressed hard enough to your pulse points to make you see stars.

"shh," he echoes, the same rasp to his tone as the last time, but much more gentle now, his voice only a whisper, "daddy's got you."

your eyes are wide when they lock onto his, every sound you want to make cut off with the grip he had over your skin. not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough to make your pulse beat harder beneath his touch. "y'wanna come, baby?" he watches your eyes, hissing in a breath when your nails bite into his shoulder again. "go on, baby girl, give daddy all y'got."

the heat builds and builds in your lower stomach, the pleasure roiling through you intensifying until you choke on a little sob, only barely heard over the pressure on your throat. everything explodes into clarity, every color in the golden-lit bathroom growing more vibrant, your body going slack in his grip. your legs tremble around his waist, each thrust past your orgasm making you soundlessly mewl and writhe against him.

jensen lets out a low groan, his head burying into the curve of your neck, his relentless pace stuttering to something slower inside of you, the warmth of his cum filling you and dribbling down the length of his cock, and your thighs. he doesn't fully stop, still driving into you, fucking every drop of cum back into you.

his nose traces across your cheekbone as he lifts his head from the smooth skin of your neck, his fingers loosening around your throat in the process. for a moment, he's gentle again, every trace of the man who defiled you for anyone else gone and replaced with a side you didn't have enough time to figure out.

his thumb brushes lightly over your pulse point, his gaze taking in the mess that he'd made you: flushed cheeks, swollen lips, fingerprint marks ever so slightly evident on the soft skin of your throat, the tears welled in your eyes.

"you should get back to your party, naughty girl," he whispers, wiping away a stray tear that'd slipped from your waterline, "they're probably wonderin' where the girl of the hour went."

all of the softness is clamped down again before you could catch a final glimpse of it. jensen, at the very least, helps to readjust your dress and clean you up, sweaty hair clinging to his forehead that he doesn't pay any mind to, a thin layer of sweat glistening on his skin. it's when you look presentable enough again, when you spin around to say something, anything, and his back is to you in the bathroom, closing the scene you'd both had without so much as a cut.

he doesn't meet your gaze in the mirror this time, either. you didn't think he was shutting you out for good — he couldn't, he was staying three more days — but you recoiled regardless. whatever he was going through, you weren't close enough with him to be a part of or know about.

you were just his former best friend's daughter, who he'd just thoroughly wrecked, in that friend's own home.

what had you done?

notes. IF THIS IS CRAZY I'M SORRY BUT NOT REALLY. pls let me know if u guys want part twos & threes & fours for this bc i have so much lore about dads best friend!jensen i cannOT BE FORCED TO KEEP IT IN. & IF U WANNA REQUEST STUFF FOR HIM PLS DO. HE'S TAKING ME OVER LIKE A DEMON. IF U READ THIS FAR GO SAY HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO BREE RN. ───ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤfeedback & reblogs appreciated <3 !!

tags. @deansbeer @figthoughts @ultravi0lence14 @whyyouegg @honeyryewhiskey @angelblqde @angels-silhouette @seven7lee @rositaslabyrinth @rubyvhs @theosaurous @beausling @soldiersgirl @mahi-wayy @unfortunate-brat @losers-clvb @jensenacklesballsack @chevroletdean @h8aaz @stereotypicalbarbie @sunsbaby @samslovebug @chiierful @cowboysandcigarettes @bejeweledinterludes @bluemerakis @briisbananass @fuckedupfate @losers-clvb @blossomingorchids @bitchykittenconnoisseur @faiszt @moonstruks @chiierful @collywobblvs @severe-mental-illness @doublecrazyyymofo @whyyouegg

[may-stuff]

a friend in need. - fc43

summary: you've been best friends for almost your entire lives. who is he to deny you some help when you need it the most?

warnings: afab!reader, masturbation, oral sex (m), dirty talking, unprotected sex, creampie || typos and grammatical mistakes because english is not my first language and I'm a little stupid. also, this isn't great in any way so please don't be mean, thank u.

word count: 6.6k approx.

a/n: please please please, if you read this and you like it at least a little bit, please interact with it. If I don't get notifications I die 🥀

In the loneliness of your bedroom, you can't help but let your mind wander. Surrounded by shadows that seem to whisper his name in your ears, you get engulfed in the reminisce of him and almost every moment you've shared together. 

Behind your closed eyes you can see his beautiful face, his hair that smells so good, his hands and those long fingers that have touched you in a friendly way countless times before but tonight, tonight you remember those interactions from another perspective, in a new light. 

Not everything is about his physique, though. The brightness of his smile that could light up an entire room, his laugh and the sound of his voice- everything about him is perfect, even the imperfections. You also think of his moody, short answers in the morning when he's still sleepy; you think of his frown and the look in his eyes when he's angry for something or at someone, and even that seems like undeniable proof of a kind of beauty you've never seen before in anyone else. 

Your feelings for him, you realise now, go beyond everything; but tonight, in the quiet of your own room and with the knowledge that you'll never be more than his dear, best friend, you decide that setting your imagination free won't hurt anybody. He doesn't have to know, you don't even have to say his name out loud. 

Only in your mind. His name echoes in every part of your conscience as you imagine. You imagine him in situations that you're sure you'll never see him in. You imagine him kissing you, both softly and then roughly, as if he were trying to consume all of you. Your mind shows him on top of you, his clothes gone, his lips on your skin and your name coming out of them in a plea. 

The visions in your head are so clear that soon your own hands are exploring your body. First, they travel up and down all through your abdomen, making you feel goosebumps at the thought of how good this would feel if it only were his hands on your skin. When you reach your breasts and cup them in your hands under your shirt, you can't help but to moan softly, even more when your fingers pinch your nipples that, in result, become impossibly hard in a matter of seconds. With the image of his beautiful lips wrapping around your hardened peaks, painting them with his own saliva, you feel that familiar pressure in your lower abdomen. That sensation that comes with the arousal that becomes physical and pools in the deepest parts of you, coating your underwear more and more with each second that passes and he's still in your mind, touching you, making you feel better than any man has ever done before. 

In the complexity of the mind, a deep feeling of guilt presses onto your chest. You know this is wrong, you know this isn't what you should do when you think of your dearest friend, but you can't help it. You can't avoid the feelings and the images in your mind. It's like a film that won't stop playing over and over; it's a bunch of images of him on top of you, inside of you, whispering the filthiest things right in your ear. It's him telling you how divine you feel around him, how much he loves being buried deep inside of you. It's his voice moaning and grunting, face hidden in the curve between your neck and your shoulder. 

It's your hands caressing his back and your nails digging into his flesh every time he moves inside you, the lewd sounds of his cock sliding into your hungry pussy filling the room and, in response, making you more needy. 

In the real world, your left hand has already reached your underwear. Your fingers come in contact with the wet spot right above your slit and you moan softly to the knowledge that you've become this wet only because he is in your mind. And as the guilt hits you once again, trying to drift your mind away from the pleasure that the thought of him gives you, you decide to go against it. 

He will never know about this. 

That thought is decisive. Your shirt and underwear are gone in a matter of seconds, and when you feel the soft air coming in from the window and touching your skin, you shiver. You wish he would be here, his natural warmth engulfing your body and soul, making the sadness and loneliness go away. But you're alone in your empty house- and even if he were here, he wouldn't be where you want him to be. 

With the crude reality put in the back of your mind, your fingers finally travel down to where you need attention the most. Feeling your own dampness, you let out a deep sigh. No one has ever made you this wet, not even yourself. All of this is thanks to him, because of him. The fire in your veins, the need to feel pleasure, the need to cum, all of this intensity is due to him and his face engraved in your mind. 

That's why you can hear his voice so clearly in your head the moment one of your fingers finds its way inside of you. The familiar intrusion feels good but it's obviously not enough, so it isn't surprising that a second finger adds to the first in a matter of seconds and this time you feel fuller. You feel fuller and needier, because now you're realising that nothing will be actually enough, because what you need isn't a matter of size, it isn't a matter of how and how much; it's about him. It's all about him. 

About his face and his hands and his voice. About your own fingers trying to find the right pace as you can almost feel his lips on your skin. It's about you and the need to say his name even though you know that you shouldn't, because if you do, it'll become real. The shameful thought that you want your best friend in ways that you shouldn't, will become true if you say his name out loud. 

But you can't help it. Your fingers inside of you feel good enough to make you whimper and mutter words that don't make sense. They're enough to fuel the images in your mind and you can't take it anymore. So, against your will, his name leaves your lips and you feel some sort of relief with it, because now your needs have claimed his name as their own. Your lust has a name now, and you can't stop saying it. 

“Franco.” 

It comes out in a soft plea at first, loud enough so only you can hear it. But it doesn't take much time or effort for you to continue further, saying it louder and louder each time your fingers enter your cunt again. Soon the room is filled with your pleas and cries that almost sound like you're in pain, because in a way you are, but his name falling from your lips over and over are enough to cover them up. Or at least that's what you think. 

You would have heard the front door opening and closing if you were paying more attention to your surroundings. You would have heard the voice calling your name once, twice a second later and then the steps getting closer to your room. You would have had time to cover yourself and come up with an excuse if you weren't so lost in your own mind and body. That's why the only thing that brings you back to the present, to reality, is the light that bathes your face when your bedroom's door opens. 

Everything happens so fast that you're sure you won't be able to recall this memory in the near future. Or maybe you will, and it will haunt you for the rest of your life. 

Once your eyes get used to the light that has suddenly corrupted the darkness in your room, your heart starts beating fast with horror. 

He's standing there, at your door, and the expression on his face is quite difficult to decipher. At his complete mercy, you're fully naked, laying on your bed with your legs wide open and your hands on your cunt; one of them with fingers buried deep inside you while the other is resting a little bit higher, just above your clit. Your chest is rising up and down with the heavy breathing that the pure terror and shame have triggered. Eyes wide open, mouth agape, you're frozen in the spot, unable to say a word, unable to act. 

The tension in the room is cut when he says your name, and maybe you're imagining things, but his voice sounds strangled.

Then, after some seconds, he mutters it again, your name. This time you're sure he's shocked with the scene in front of him but not entirely disgusted. 

The fear and guilt that had taken over you vanish almost completely when you see the expression on his face. Your eyes have adapted to the shining light coming into the dark room, so now you can see him more clearly, and the strange glint in his eyes is enough to make you think that maybe, just maybe, something good can come out of this situation.

Franco's eyes are wide open for a few shocking seconds. Then, when his brain processes the image before him, they start roaming your body. Bright green eyes observe your chest, bare tits and hardened nipples that seem to get even harder under his gaze. The valley between your breasts is covered in sweat and, in a strange way, that makes them look even more appealing. Your stomach, then, is a zone that perhaps you feel a little concerned to show too much but his expression doesn't change at any stop his eyes make on your body. He admires every part with the same intensity, with the same look of bewilderment in that gorgeous face.

He lets out a soft, almost imperceptible groan when his eyes reach your lower stomach and your legs, long and thick. His mouth agape when, in a sudden movement full of boldness, you open them a little wider and let him see more. He's standing to your right, so he can't see all of you properly, but he can see enough and, by the expression on his face, he's loving every second.

The absence of a negative reaction on his part emboldens you to act. Your hands, as if they were separated entities from the rest of your body, resume the earlier activities. Two of your fingers find your clit at the same time your left hand grabs one of your breasts. A sigh leaves your lips at the sudden contact and the fact that Franco is watching your every move makes a wave of pleasure hit you hard. You're aware that you're starting to put on a pornographic show for your best friend and, honestly, you're enjoying it maybe too much.

This is the first time you've seen him so focused on something. All those times he told you he struggled with his own attention span, you should've known that being naked in front of him, touching yourself for him, would be all he'd need to keep quiet and focused. That's why you chuckle when your eyes find him again and you see that his gaze is still fixed in your body.

The sound, a mix of a giggle and a moan, make him look at your face.

"Franco." You moan his name for the hundredth time this evening and rejoice when you actually see him shiver at the sound of your voice. "Please, please help me." You whimper, your own fingers pumping in and out of you faster each time. Harder. "I need you."

He closes his eyes for a few seconds and you know that he's fighting against something, against the fact that, if he gives in, everything will change. You will be friends no longer, because friends don't do this, friends don't want each other in such a way. But you do, and both of you know it. You both also know that, if you act on your shared desire, then when the moment is over you'll probably be in a limbo, trying to figure out what comes next.

But Franco actually doesn't care about the after, he almost never thinks too much before he acts. He lives the moment. You know that and your knowledge gets reinforced when he opens his eyes again and walks towards you, closing the door behind him. In response your heart flutters with excitement. 

Your fingers leave you and go up to rest on your lower stomach when he reaches your side. He's standing at your right, and this time you realize that he's looking at you in the face, looking for your gaze. When your eyes finally meet again, you can read a question that is answered with a nod of your head. 

You want this. You want this so bad. 

Franco's left hand caresses your hair first. His long fingers intertwine in your locks and for a moment you close your eyes to enjoy the innocent touch that, in a different situation, would get you to sleep. But the grip becomes a bit firmer and now he's tugging on it so your head can move to the side again, that way you can meet his eyes. As his hand leaves your head and travels to your soft cheek and then your lips, you don't stop looking at each other. 

A gasp leaves your throat when his thumb sits on your lower lip, and then he puts it inside your mouth, gently enough to give you time so you can reject him if you want. But you don't, you would never.

Soft lips wrap around his finger. Franco's reaction to the feeling of your tongue against the pad of his thumb in an almost imperceptible moan. The sound is low, coming out from the centre of his chest through gritted teeth, and it is the first time in the night that you feel some sort of pride fluttering inside you. The simple fact that he's reacting like this to the first physical contact with you is enough to make you act even bolder than before, and you keep sucking on his finger while looking him in the eyes. 

Franco smiles almost tenderly before the tone of his voice becomes twisted. 

“Who would've thought…” he mutters, still looking at you. “That you were such a desperate slut, huh?”

The sound you make in response to his words is almost inhuman. You're desperate and he can hear it in the tone of your moans, that are still muffled by his finger inside your mouth. 

“All these years…” he continues, voice feeling like velvet on your heated skin. “You were always such a good girl. Always the one to behave properly, wise beyond her years, or at least that's what all of them said, your family and mine… What would they think of you, (y/n)?” Franco asks, the mocking tone coming back. You squirm on the bed as you take his finger deeper and hollow your cheeks, imagining his cock in its place. 

“What would they think of you, (y/n)?” He presses on. This time, you look up at him. “If I told them about this. How I found you naked on your bed, fingers deep inside your soaked cunt while moaning my name like the fucking little whore you are. What would your family say? And mine? Should I let them know how much of a slut you're?”

You almost cry when he takes his finger off your mouth. 

“Answer me.” He commands. “Should I let everyone know?”

“If it pleases you.” You answer, voice sounding a little hoarse because of the previous activity in your throat. 

He smiles. 

“Is that what you want? To please me?”

You nod, fully conscious that you're making yourself look desperate- and actually you are. His mere presence, the sound of his voice, the smell of his cologne and the fact that he apparently wants you as much as you want him is enough for you. You're more than ready for him, for all of him, and Franco knows it. 

He knows it because it's written in you. All over the expression on your face and the way you open your legs for him when his right hand travels all the way down to your knee, and stays there, not moving back but neither further, torturing you silently. 

“Please.” You whisper. “Fran, I need you.”

It's funny, though. You're the one who's ready to please but you also are the one who begs. You've been actually begging him to touch you since the moment you saw him standing at the threshold.

Franco wishes you could read his mind and know that he's waited for this moment for a long time. He's wanted you since the moment you met, all those years ago. First, it was an innocent crush, that was all a child could offer, of course. But since you both grew into yourselves and he started to discover the world and other people- Franco had been with enough people to know that none of them could compare to you, even if he hadn't laid a hand on you yet. Something about you, about your aura, about the strong pull he felt towards you every single time you were in the same room, would assure him that nothing, no one, could compare to you. 

And now you're here, right in front of him, begging. The sound of your voice is almost haunting, like you're in deep pain. He could ask himself over and over again if this is the right thing to do, but in all honesty, he doesn't care about that. He only cares about you and the painful desire you make him feel even when he hasn't touched you properly yet. 

Besides, if you really need him as you say,  if you're in pain as you sound, who is he to deny you his help? Isn't he, after all, your best friend?

That thought is all he needs to vanish his worries to the darkest pit of his mind. 

“Are you really sure about this?” His voice cuts the silence once again. The eager nod coming from you makes him smile. “I need words, love.”

“Yes.” You answer almost too fast. “Please, Fran. Please. I can't wait anymore.”

He curses under his breath because he honestly can't believe it. He's amazed by your eagerness and so fucking turned on that he feels like he's going to cum right here and now. 

So, to avoid that, Franco doesn't waste any more time. Before you can blink twice, he's undoing his trousers and underwear, pulling them down as his hard cock springs out. You moan at the sight of it. Long and thick enough to make your mouth literally water, standing proud and impossibly hard against his shirt, almost staining the fabric with the precum that pools at the angry red tip. It's beautiful, just like the rest of him, and your cunt hurts with the anticipation of feeling it in you. 

After taking his shirt off, Franco's right hand travels down to his dick, grabbing it with a firm grip before pumping it a few times, smearing his own juices all over his length, which makes it look even more appetizing. 

You wait in your place on the bed, observing the small show of him touching himself for a few seconds until his right knee sinks on the mattress, right beside your shoulder. Then, his left hand goes to your hair, under your head, lifting it and adjusting it in the right way so the head of his dick is now right on your lips. He traces them with it, as if he were painting them. 

“So fucking perfect.” He whispers. In response, you let your tongue lick around the head of his dick, coaxing a deep moan out of him. The first contact with his skin is delicious but now you want more, so much more. And apparently he feels the same. 

“I'm gonna put it in your mouth. Is that okay, baby?” He asks. You make a sound that it's a mix between a whine and a moan as you nod for the hundredth time in the night. “Gonna suck my cock until I cum down your throat?” You almost jolt in excitement at that. “Yeah? You want my cum?”

Your answer sounds against the skin of his dick, which you keep licking. “Yes. Yes, please.”

That is the last thing you say for a few minutes, right before he presses the tip against your lips again and this time you open your mouth wide enough to take him in. The way Franco moans at the feeling of your warm, wet mouth is pornographic and you thank the Gods for that, the fact that he's always so vocal about everything and this situation is not an exception. Actually, his moans are all the fuel you need to keep going. The taste of him too. Everything about him makes you take him deeper inside your mouth every time he pulls almost all the way back, fucking your face faster and harder as the minutes pass by. 

The grip on your hair becomes tighter as the sounds of your throat being fucked fill the room. You gag only two times, when he pushes all the way in and holds his dick in the deepest part of your throat he can reach, your nose pressed against him and saliva falling down your chin and neck. Every time he pulls out, you take a second or two to gather your breath but soon enough he's at it again, and you receive him without any complaint, relaxing your throat all you can as he keeps filling it over and over again. 

The intensity and pleasure of it all becomes almost unbearable and soon you're pressing your thighs together, trying to ease the almost literal pain you feel. Franco sees it, attentive to your body even though a great part of his mind is clouded with the sweet abandon of pleasure. So, for a few seconds, he eases the grip on your hair so you can start doing most of the work now, because his right hand travels from your knee to your inner thigh, and it isn't long until you can feel his fingers in your cunt. 

Both of you moan at the feeling. You, because the pressure of his fingers on your slit ease the pain you've been feeling; him, because you're so fucking wet that, when he starts massaging your clit, your juices are so abundant that the movements he makes leave a loud, squelching sound behind them.

“You're soaked.” He moans, still inside your mouth and touching you at the same time. “Is this because of me, love?” 

The answer is obvious to both of you, but you answer anyway, “Yes.” You say, a hoarse voice can barely be heard above the sounds of your cunt. “Yes, it's because of you. Always.” 

Franco smiles, “Do you always touch yourself while thinking of me?” You nod and this time he laughs. It doesn't make you feel bad because it isn't a mocking laugh, it's like he can't believe it. “Same. You have no idea how many times I've made a mess while thinking of you.” 

As his velvety voice keeps sounding in your ears, he keeps massaging your clit, faster as the seconds go by. 

“I've imagined you in every position.” He mutters. “I've made myself cum so many times, thinking of your sweet mouth and cunt wrapped around me, milking me as many times as we wish.” 

He's realized from the first moment that dirty talking is one of your weaknesses, and lucky you, he loves saying naughty things, so he keeps doing it as he massages your clit and smiles triumphant when your legs start trembling and you look at him with an expression on your face that he will never forget. Glassy eyes look up at him as your teeth sinks into your lower lip; your orgasm is close and everything about you says so. 

When you try to close your eyes, his hand immediately slows the pace on your clit. You frown. 

“What-?”

“You keep looking at me.” He commands. You want to yell at him, but his movements become fast again and the sweet pressure on your lower belly comes back. “You look me in the eyes as you cum or I won't do this again, you understand?” You nod. “Words, (y/n).”

“I- fuck, I understand!” You moan as his fingers keep working you on at an impossible pace. 

Not many seconds pass by until the first orgasm hits you hard. Your eyes are still on his; your entire body trembling as the most lewd sounds leave your throat. The simple act of having an orgasm while looking at those beautiful green eyes is enough to bring tears to yours. The pleasure is too overwhelming. 

When the best seconds of your life so far end, your body relaxes and Franco pulls both his hands away from you, letting you rest on the bed. The fingers that worked your clit are now in his own mouth as he sucks them clean. The sight makes you moan. 

“Delicious.” He says, coaxing a giggle out of you. “What?”

“You're crazy. And so fucking hot.”

Franco smiles and shrugs. 

“You know me.”

“Not like this, no.”

“Oh, this? This is nothing, love.”

You frown, “You gave me the best orgasm of my life by simply touching my clit and you call it nothing? It never felt like that before.” 

“I mean, it's not my fault that your previous lovers were fucking idiots.”

You smile.

“And you're what, some sort of sex God?”

“That I am.” 

A genuine laugh escapes your lips. You laugh at his smug words and at the entire situation. Everything is so- surreal, in a way. It's almost comical. But the sound dies in your throat when you realize the way he's looking at you. He's not mad or annoyed, he just looks like he's discovered something new in you, but if he did he doesn't say it out loud. 

Soon, when you've recovered from your orgasm, you realize that Franco's still standing by your side and his dick is still impossibly hard. You remember his previous words, about sucking him off until he's cumming down your throat, and you feel the fire inside you light up once again. Your right hand wraps around his dick without a warning and he hisses, but he doesn't pull you away, instead enjoying your ministrations. 

“Not right now.” He says after a minute or two, as if he's reading your mind. You're sure, though, that he's actually reading the expression on your face as you jerk him off. It's clear that you want him to cum. “Not like this, I won't last long.”

You stop. Then, looking into his eyes, you open your legs for him once again. 

“Come here, then.”

He doesn't need to be told twice. In an instant, he's standing at your feet; both hands reach behind your knees and they pull you towards him. 

In a silent agreement, both of you take your time to look at each other. He's lucky enough to have you like this- completely bare before him, body glistening with sweat due to the previous activities, pretty face with an expression of utter pleasure as you anticipate what's coming, unconsciously opening your legs further, letting him fully see you. You're out of this world, so beautiful that it almost hurts. And he isn't so far behind- you also think he's the most handsome man you've ever seen, with those eyes scanning every piece of you, his curls sticking to his forehead and, oh, such a pretty face. His body is something else too- the hard muscles of his chest and abdomen, the shape of his arms, his hands. You take his hands in yours for a moment, squeezing them, praying this isn't the last time you feel them on you. 

You're both so mesmerized with each other that your bodies seem to move with their own consciousness, and that's why you share a loud moan when he enters you for the first time. 

It feels like nothing you've experienced before. You can't decide what is it that makes him so different from other people you've been with, but surely, there's something that makes Franco feel like heaven. He stays still for a few, long seconds because he's just realized that he penetrated you without warning and in a single movement, and even though it's obvious that you're ready enough to receive him, he doesn't want to hurt you. 

What he doesn't realise is that you're in pain once again because you need him to move and put an end to this feeling, this primitive need to have him just fucking you hard and deep. And that's what you finally ask from him, without shame, without guilt. 

“Please.” You beg once again. “Move. Please, move. I need to feel you.” 

You're sure you're about to cry but the tears get stuck in your eyes when Franco complies and starts moving his hips. It's slow at first, like he's testing the waters, but when the only thing you do is moan softly and writhe under him, crying for more, his hands leave yours and travel to your hips. Once he's sure his grip on your flesh is firm enough, he accelerates the pace, and starts pumping into you with a force that has you almost screaming. 

Soon you start moving your own hips, meeting him halfway and making the experience a thousand times better, if that's even possible. The feeling of his dick inside you, so fucking deep, is more than anything you've ever felt in your life. 

The room is filled with the sound of your skin against his, and the musky smell of sex intoxicates your senses. You've dreamed about this moment for so long that it feels surreal- his hands on your hips, his cock deep inside you and his eyes roaming the entirety of your body, all of it feels so out of this world and you love every second. You love it so much that you feel drunk with pleasure and something else that you can name yet. 

Franco grins at the sight of your eyes, glassy with tears that you're soon to shed. A deep feeling of pride fills his chest. 

“Look at you.” He taunts, never stopping his movements. “You were made for this, weren't you? You were made for my cock, for me.” 

You nod and moan, unable to form a full sentence as his pace becomes impossibly fast and hard- it's almost too much and the thought of asking him to slow down crosses your mind for a split second, until his hands travel up from their place on your hips to your breasts, and your brain almost shuts down. 

“Gonna enjoy these later, I promise.” He chuckles as his long fingers start kneading the flesh of your tits. When he pinches your nipples, the moan that leaves your throat is almost too much, but you don't care. It feels too good to hold back. 

You relish on the feeling of his fingers on your hard nipples until his right hand stops its ministrations to start roaming the skin of your left side, your waist, all the way back down to your hip and then- then you feel his fingers on your clit again, massaging it with expertise. You can't help but throw your head back as a deep moan leaves your throat. 

“Fuck, yes.” You moan, almost hysterical. “So good, so good- oh my-” 

Franco chuckles again and then says, in a mocking tone, “You're so dirty, (y/n). You really-” his words are suddenly interrupted by a strangled groan as you tighten your walls around him. Your warmth hugging his dick in a way that has him literally losing his balance and almost falling on top of you, and he would've crushed you if his arms weren't strong enough to keep him hovering over you.

His face contorted in an expression full of sheer pleasure, he looks so good with his eyes closed and mouth agape, desperately trying to hold the moans in. 

You're the one who chuckles this time. 

“Too good, huh?” You tease him, your cunt tightening around him once again. He groans and hides his face in the crook of your neck. “Can't take it, baby? Too much for you?”

Franco moans again and then you hear him whisper.

“I'm gonna make you- you will pay for this.”

You giggle softly. 

“I think I'd like that.”

All resolve leaves him when you make your magic again. The feeling of your cunt hugging his dick so tightly is enough to make him lose his mind and almost all control. His movements become messier as they get faster, you feel him twitch inside you once, then twice. You hum at the feeling, caressing his back and nape, then intertwining your fingers with his messy, wet locks. 

“I'm close.” He moans, the sound muffled by your skin. 

“I know, baby. Come on, cum for me."

“You first.”

For a moment you think your words are enough, but apparently they aren't. In a second, Franco seems to take back control of the situation when he suddenly breaks away from your arms, kneeling in front of you just like before- his hard, throbbing dick still deep inside of you. You're about to ask him what's going on but then his long fingers are on your clit again, and you answer by throwing your head back in a loud moan. 

Franco keeps working on the most sensitive part of your body as he starts moving again, in and out, at a torturous pace that has you writhing on the bed. Your eyes fill with tears again and he smiles. 

“Cum for me, love.” He encourages through gritted teeth. You know he's holding his own orgasm back by fucking you slowly, and his will certainly impresses you. “Please, do it. Cum all around my cock.”

How would you deny him? When he looks so good fucking you, working on your clit like this isn't the first time. How would you deny him anything when this is all you've ever wanted?

So you let yourself go. Your second orgasm hits you harder than the previous one, sweet cunt gushing all around him, soaking him and the sheets below you. Your moans are almost pornographic and you feel him twitch inside you at the sound of them. 

In the electric explosion that takes over your entire body and mind, you feel him crawling back on top of you, like he was just minutes ago. His face hiding in your left shoulder again as his hips keep fucking into you aggressively, making your climax last longer than expected. 

“Look at me.” You moan in his ear and your body trembles with the sound of a deep groan coming as a response. After a few seconds of you repeating those words, he lifts his head to look at you, forehead pressed against yours. “Cum inside of me and don't stop looking at me as you do it.” 

He chews on his lower lip. 

“I-inside?” You nod as much as you can. “Fuck, (y/n).”

“Please, I need it.” You moan against his mouth, your eyes on his. “I need your cum.” 

That last sentence is accompanied by his name and the way you moan it's all it takes for him to finally let go. The sounds Franco makes when he's cumming deep inside of you are never going to leave your memory, and you wish, right here, now, that you have the opportunity to hear them again many times from tonight. The sight of him is beautiful too- brows furrowed, eyes desperately trying to stay open and that pretty mouth shaped in an O form. His cheeks are red and glistening with the sweat that's covering him, as well as the tip of his nose.

As he empties inside of you, you keep caressing his back, leaving goosebumps behind your touch. His skin shivers with the feeling, still making little sounds that will haunt you forever. 

He pumps into you two or three times more, still filling you with his release, that soon you start feeling overflowing your cunt, falling down your ass and on the sheets. You wonder if he always cums this hard, and the idea that he might not, that you're the only one that makes him feel like this, it's exciting. 

After some long seconds he stops moving his hips but is still buried deep inside of you. His face goes back to the crook of your neck for the second time and you smile as you feel his hot breath on your skin and then a kiss, then his teeth grazing the spot and sinking into it. 

“That's gonna leave a mark.” You moan. 

“Good.”

You stay like that for minutes that feel like hours, in each other's arms, your skin sticking to his due to the sweat that you both share but you couldn't care less. It feels too good, everything about it feels too good and none of you make an attempt to break away from the other. 

Franco knows, as well as you do, that this has been an event that will change everything forever. Some part of you is afraid of what comes next- a hundred questions flood your brain but the main one is the one that haunts you the most. Was this a one night stand? 

You're about to gather the courage to ask him when he lifts his head to look at you, forehead against yours again. You look him in the eyes and, for a moment, you think that the green in his gaze gives you the answer you so desperately need. But in case you needed confirmation, he decides to speak it out loud. 

“I wanna do it again.” He simply states, and you feel your chest full with happiness. “Like, forever. I really mean it.”

You giggle in response and you feel the tears that you've been holding back slowly falling down your cheeks. Franco kisses them away as soon as he notices them. 

“You liked it that much?” You ask as he keeps kissing your face. He stops for a moment to answer, his lips moving against your jaw. 

“Yeah. But I like you, all of you.” He says. “And I want you so much it hurts.”

“I want you, too.”

He smiles shortly before capturing your lips with his, and you realise that this is the first time you've ever kissed. People are supposed to kiss before having wild sex, but who cares?

All you care about is Franco and his pretty lips on yours, moving with such confidence and expertise that leave you breathless. You can feel everything in that kiss, it feels like he's trying to say all those things that he thinks it's too soon to say yet, but you answer him with the same intensity, making him tremble in your arms. 

His kiss says that he loves you too much to let you go, and you tell him that you feel the same.

a/n2: hope you liked it! pls let me know what you think ♥

[lemon-lime-behavior]

i love ur expressions so much!!!!! Is it alr if I ask for u to share ur drawing process, if u don’t mind!! If you’d rather not that’s fine too :333

I can try!

now this does assume I have a consistent drawing process which I don’t, but ill share what I do most often?

So first of course I have an idea

Then I do some sketchies to figure out what exactly I want the pose to be. I dont always do this except when the pose is tricky and/or im just not being lazy that day

Then I go through my sketching and refining process:

I usually do two or three passes and I try and flip it at least once throughout, to help make sure everything’s balancing. For the final lines I’ll usually make them a medium red that I then set to multiply, but if I plan on coloring the lines later i dont do that and just make them black. This is also the stage when I’m scrabbling about for reference images, here are some of the ones I used here:

I usually hunt down references after I do my initial rough sketch, so I already know what im looking for angle and shape-wise in the references. Now for coloring ill fill in the whole area I’m gonna color with a gray then start putting down flats on clipping mask layers (so they dont go outside the lines)

then for quick and dirty shading and highlights I’ll duplicate the flats, flatten them into one layer, then make them darker and bluer and generally futz with it untill ive got a good shadowed color profile down. I’ll repeat the process but making it all lighter for the highlights. Then ill take both those layers, make them masks, and start painting on the shadows and highlights over the original flats.

then the very final step is the Fussing Stage where I make a new layer or two over everything and start fixing mistakes, adding new colors, adding rim lights, messing with levels, color correcting, adding details like flowers, etc. etc.

this can take a very long time or no time at all, depending on how much effort I wanna put in.

Then I slap a background on it which is usually a solid color or a gradient because im a hack and have no idea what i’m doing and ta-daaaaaa, something kinda okay!

And that is one of the many ways I “fake it ‘till you make it” my way through art!

[luiluvr]

all the stars || luigi mangione

first non-request fic :p …😓😓 this may be more than one part idk idk LMK IF U GUYS ARE INTERESTED!!! this is also highschool!luigi so it’s sfw :3

WARNINGS: none! just a fluff fic 🤍 female!reader, uses of y/n, alternates between luigi’s & reader pov.. proofread but if there’s mistakes lmk! :D

SUMMARY: on a field trip, you happen to bump into some prestigious, all-boys school. one of those boys has been admiring you since you stepped inside, and it’s probably love at first sight—for him.

Luigi’s efforts of staying single and focusing on graduation had been excellent. Sure, he pondered the wonderful world of love his buddies described- as they spoke on their loving, gorgeous girlfriends. He never got to that point, even when a girl did try and talk to him, he was too nervous—despite his occasional, cheesy pick up lines and natural charisma; deep down he didn’t think he was a good ‘other half.’ His friends encouraged him to meet someone, or go on a blind date with one of their girlfriend’s friends, but he refused. It wasn’t a waste of time rather it was his own nerves kicking his ass when he actually liked someone.

And oh boy, were those nerves kicking in now.

He was still in high school—specifically his senior year. It may not be much to other students; but he sees it as his final opportunity to excel and show his potential to the colleges he wanted to attend. No time for a relationship in that chaos, right?

Wrong.

He was staring down the prettiest girl he’d ever seen in his entire life. Right now. On this field trip. He wasn’t sure if it was the gray zip-up sweater, or if it was really warm inside. All he knew was he saw you.

You were so pretty with your knitted sweater and maroon-colored skirt. If he could he would’ve just dropped to his knees right there in front of you. He was in over his head, he didn’t know your name, but he already fell in love with you. Just by your smile you flashed to probable friends, the way you inspect the paintings in the museum, the way your eyes flutter as you listen intently to the tour guide.

Everything about you is perfect.

He exhaled shaky, he felt like a creep for staring so hard. He might’ve gazed a hole in the back of your head if he kept on. His buddy Grady noticed—he grins and elbows Luigi, “Staring’s considered rude, Luigi.” He laughs quietly as to not disturb the tour. “Oh shut up, Grady.” Luigi mumbles. Grady was an A-Class, nosey-ass; but Luigi liked him. He could be fun to have around sometimes. “She’s just really pretty.”

Grady pointed at you, with your little clutch in hand, “The one in the sweater?” Luigi nodded. “She looks like she fell right out of a painting.” He says.

Grady chuckles, bumping him again, “You’re whipped, dude.”

“So what? I can like a pretty girl if I want.” He says defensively.

“Never said you couldn’t. It’s just odd for you.” Well he wasn’t lying… Luigi sighed, “I know.” He continues walking forward, then Grady leans next to his ear as he’s inspecting some little archive. “You should go talk to her. The tour’s gonna end soon, she isn’t gonna notice if you don’t say something.”

Unfortunately, Grady was right. Very right. Luigi pushed forward, shoving his hands in his jean pockets—trying to reach where you were near the front. He did. You weren’t even a foot away, you looked so beautiful. His mouth went dry, he rubs his arm as you’re reading over the description of some rock or fossil, whatever. He clears his throat softly, moving a tad bit closer to you.

You take notice, assuming he wants to read as well. “Sorry.” You said quietly. He shakes his head, putting a hand up, “No, no worries, you’re not doing anything.” He flashed a gentle smile, you nod, glancing back at the text. Come on Luigi, get it together! He breathes out and reaches a hand out, nervously. “I’m Luigi.”

“Y/N,” you replied. He was pretty cute, he had a firm handshake that showed confidence and his hazel eyes glimmered. “I hope I’m not bothering you, I wanted to talk to you before we all leave. I think you’re—absolutely beautiful and I’m hoping.. maybe if you’re okay with it, I can have your number and we could hang out the rest of the tour?” He grins anxiously. It was so endearing to you. It was rare for a high school boy to be this nervous and giddy to ask for your number; and to be so respectful about it too?

“Sure, I don’t mind, That sounds nice actually.” You returned a kind smile and he handed you his phone discreetly for the tour guide’s sake and you punched in your contact info. Saving yourself as Y/N—what else would it be? “Awesome…” He murmured. “So, Y/N, how old are you?”

“Seventeen,” you state. “You?”

“Same—seventeen. I turn eighteen in May.” He says proudly, “Happy early birthday. Even though that’s… Four months away.” You chuckle, the two of you begin walking along with the groups, he had his hands in his pockets, while yours were folded behind your back.

The conversation continued, friendly banter and getting to know each other. He attended an all-boys school out in Maryland. Far from here. He was incredibly smart too, he spoke high of his achievements and he wanted to attend UPenn — a very impressive school. It made sense for him though. Looks and smarts aside, he was a realistic guy — for a teenager anyway. It was a relief talking to someone the same speed as you, who was just enjoying life and working to achieve what satisfies them.

He was also into robotics, he even complained a little about how his robot lost a recent competition and that he told the coach he should’ve been given the remote — but no one listened to him!

“That’s inspiring.” You say, and he just grins. He has such a sweet smile too. His cheeks have little dimples, the way his eyes squint and crease at the corners, he shrugs nonchalantly, “It’s nothin’ really, just trying to stay caught up.” He states, glancing around, he thinks before motioning you closer. “Wanna see something cool?”

“What do you mean?” You questioned, he tips his head to the side, gesturing to follow him. However, you don’t think it’s the smartest idea to wander off from the group in a building like this; but Luigi insisted. “I’ve been on this tour a bunch of times, trust me, we’ll be fine. Come on now.” He ushers you, grabbing your hand as the other kids walked on without second glances. You both share a bit of laughter as you moved briskly in the direction he lead you — subconsciously squeezing your hand every now and then. As he slowed down, he pushed open a door, you got distracted reading a flyer outside and he immediately tugged you inside, the door shutting behind your back.

He watches your expression intensely as you look around, it’s a planetarium. The ceiling was casted with a starry sky, although—most likely—not real time stars, it looked gorgeous anyway. It cast a soft light, the room mainly dim.

Luigi admired you as you admire the stars. “Even if it isn’t the sky right now, it’s fascinating to think that all the stars can look like this.” You murmur, finally looking at Luigi, who’s still watching you with a big, dorky smile. “What?” You laugh.

“Nothing. Just admiring the view.” He replies.

“The one up there’s nicer, you know”

“Yeah, but the one right in front of me is better.”

[idekkkjja]

u should sooo do a bully Giselle x reader fic but like it’s not for me duh🙇‍♀️

Belong to me,,🫀⋆ ࣪.

۶ৎ Chapped bruises painted all over your aching body, maroon trickling down from the barely opened pores and your lungs clutching onto the oxygen painfully. The state, as she boasts about so proudly to brainwashed others, claiming an ownership on your very soul. Restricted to nothing but dreadful days of facing her unpredictability at school.

Heads-up: English not my first language so there’s gonna be mistakes, please correct me on them! Very very toxic, read it if you want to. Violence obviously, blood involved, and cursing. Small mentions of masturbation, and this it went downhill at the end wtf.. plus this isn’t proofreaded (for now!) and there’s smut at the end but guys im still new to it please it’s not great at all. And Giselle is just so.. 🤤🤤🤤 can’t resist for her to be a lil crazy.

(I can do headcanons for this Giselle if yall want btw or whatever)

一 Numb to the pain coursing throughout your unfortunate body, a toy to her wrath and pleasure twisted into ‘love’ she softly whispers in private; the pain soothed by the ruined lipstick as she plasters them all over, a physical embodiment of bandages that you plead for.

Hidden beneath the thin layers yet discreetly transparent of your wrinkled uniform, you fixed your collar briefly and continued strolling with the unsynchronised crowds in the cramped hallways. Shoved against others’ unsuspecting selves, you let out a muffled grunt in annoyance and forcefully strode amidst them, rarely determined to get to your safe space.

Away from everyone, away from them.

Cursing under your breath, you slid in the opened doors, into a library reversed for tranquil stillness, with an exception of the old pages of books scraping against each other in a calming rhythm. Most don’t bother giving a visit in the school’s library, it was far too empty despite your friends’ pity attempt to fill up the space. (You only had 3).

But you prefer it like this, fewer people meaning no anxiety knotting painfully in your stomach, a nagging voice alarming you that what they could do to you if given the chance.

Less of a problem now, in the past, others have tried to make you their mocking punching bag. However, it flew right back at their face because of Giselle who forbade anybody else to lay a finger on you or comment anything malicious about you.

Somebody daring to talk shit about you behind your (scarred) back? They better get ready for their nudes to be posted on a porn website if they didn’t get on their knees to you.

Somebody ‘accidentally’ bumping a little too hard against your shoulder? Next day, an inconvenience occurred leading to their shoulder being dislocated.

Somebody flirting with you openly or secretly? Either way, Giselle would find out. And when she does, there’s no point wondering why the person doesn’t dare to glance your way anymore.

Alone on the circular tables at the back, effectively distancing yourself physically as much as you can from everyone, your eyes stared at the repetitive letters on the wrinkled papers—your mind completely elsewhere.

Dried bruises pigmented on your skin, last night aching brutally that dreams had no distraction available to you. Peeling them off wasn’t an option today; too fresh, too raw, relating to your feelings very much for someone.

It was complex, a lengthy puzzle impossible to entangle within months and months on end, and the prize wasn’t worth the struggle. You weren’t obvious with it, those feelings were reduced to nothing but filth used at sleepless nights to get you off.

You were dirty, a very dirty slut behind those ridiculously thick-frame glasses aching your poor, reddish ears, the shy interior. Not in the way of being a slut outside school, no, unsurprisingly you were a humble (that's what you always say to your friends) virgin. Desperately enough, the used toys and such messily arranged in the back of your closet says otherwise.

Who could blame you? Being attention deprived did wonders to a person!

Foolishly so, even in instances where Giselle shoves you roughly around, manhandles you, or beats you up for sick entertainment—you did get turned on.

Subconsciously in stress, you scratched your hair, the messy thin strands fell loose on your forehead. Getting off your chair, you lazily slacked your bag on your shoulder and limped out, leaving the book hanging behind, forgotten because of your racing thoughts.

It was lunch, a time where everybody adores, prays for it to come nearby: but it was different for you, very different. Frantically, your eyes searched across the crowds full of familiar yet blurry faces to recognise where your friends lay by, you couldn't find any sign of them.

With a heavy, defeated suspire, hanging by your lips, you dragged yourself to go on a search for them.

Cafeteria, checked.

Nearly all of the extended and endless halls of the school, checked.

Some of the classrooms, checked.

Needless to say, you were exhausted, your knees buckling slightly.

Then, the highlight of your miserable days shone in the spotlight; Giselle. And her loyal sidekicks. Acting upon your impulse, you sharply turned to the opposite direction, praying to the skies that she would not spot you.

"Ah, my bitch's here, hm?" Your day could not get any worse.

Defences—the paper-thin walls constructed carefully around you—were ripped apart cruelly by that girl the second fate destined the two of you. It was the unfortunate inevitable, bound to occur almost daily: it’s either she beats you up to the ground, leaving week-lasting bruises on every surface of your skin or an entertaining prank orchestrated mainly by her lackeys to humiliate you for days or even years.

So, you had nothing. Nothing. Teachers? They simply did not care except if it involves their beloved salary, and Giselle’s father funding the school made matters worse.

Fair play wasn’t your thing.

Your parents? No point, they were worse themselves, ignoring you completely and belittling every single thing you utter or do.

Both home and school weren’t comforting. You had nowhere to go to, no real solitary.

Slowly, your eyes met with hers, awaiting a response provoked by her taunting.

You couldn’t say anything; you wanted to, to break this vicious cycle of this pathetic life you’re tied to—the will had no benefits to you, no defending could help, no slim chance. Too much disadvantages, you knew that, everybody knew.

Without waiting any further, her hand clamped onto your wrist, yanking you closer; her hot breath ghosting your ear teasingly. “You’re being a mute little thing now today, aren’t you? How sad.” She whispered breathlessly, her thumb pressing against your pulse within the visible veins displaying on your wrist like the roots to your heart.

“I don’t know,” you murmured meekly, shrinking yourself by your stiff demeanour.

Giselle only smiled in response, grinning, her teeth showing. Usually smiles are a sign of happiness, one’s smile would be used to bring positivity to the other they’re showing to.

But her’s—they were terrifying, the opposite, a bad sign.

“I know why you’re so quiet, out of guilt, right?” Her nails dug deep in your skin, awakening new crimson lines. She was subtle in her words in public, playing with confusing riddles that an English teacher cannot decipher fully, so how could you?

You were confused.

What did you do wrong this time?

“You know what you did.” Insisting roughly; she tugged on your wrist to emphasise her point yet it didn’t serve its purpose, overwhelming you instead.

To sobs.

Tears involuntarily pricked in your eyes, you didn’t want to cry, you didn’t know why you were crying now. It would create no sympathy for you, just mockery.

“You’re crying out of guilt now, aren’t you?” Unfazed by the teary display, Giselle stared, unblinking with the eerie smile remaining.

She didn’t glance at anybody else, staring only, seeing you break apart so satisfyingly in front of her brought a twisted pleasure tugging her insides.

Travelling down to your hand, her hand embraced it tightly, too tightly that your complexion paled from before. “Don’t follow me,” Giselle chirped at the other girls—her lackeys who watched giggling and not intervening nor protesting, simply abiding her actions. Subtly agreeing, wishing that they were her.

Everybody wishes they’re Giselle.

Through the hallways, she dragged you, letting you tumble forward in sync with her footsteps as she found a secluded area: nobody around to witness what she will do.

Inside, she ushers you inside and slams the door shut, the sound booming in the tight space signalling your devastating fate. Her smile was long gone, being replaced by an empty calm washing over her relaxed features, a contrast to her actions when she shoved you down to the dusty floor where you belonged.

“You’re guilty, tell me what you’re guilty of.” A small gasp choked out of your clenched throat when her hand found your cheeks, squeezing it and muffling your noises.

You don’t know what you’re guilty of.

“Giselle, I-I don’t know.” You repeated yourself from earlier, affirming how clueless you really are.

Disappointed, she let out a low tsk and threw your head against the floor, unconcerned by your state as always. Her posture straightened, she stared you down, continuing the prolonged and agonising eye contact as her shoe presses down your neck, nuzzling against your windpipe letting the air turn into a privilege instead of a basic necessity.

“I’ve heard you’re dating someone.” Finally, Giselle states the information she sucked out of someone forcefully from a week ago roughly; it has been nagging her for days now.

You? With someone else? Cannot be in her eyes.

“Are you dating someone? If so, you better fuckin’ tell me.” A defeated cry responded instinctively, her shoe crushing a little harder now making it impossible to mutter a no.

Noticing ever so slightly, she decided for once not to let her fury control her actions so she drew her shoe away before kicking your neck a little at the new mark blooming.

“No… no,” you chanted desperately, as if trying to convince yourself rather Giselle.

Doubt flickered in her eyes, she stilled. “If you dare to lie to me, especially about this, I’ll break your neck.” Shouting was much preferred than her blurting the threat with no visible emotion lacing her hoarse voice.

She crouched down, caressing your hair and letting her long fingers entangle in your messy locks. “Did it hurt?” Obviously, the pain burned cruelly.

Pain always reminded you of Giselle.

No response, she expected it and gently tilted your head to meet her eyes again. God, she would never admit it—but she adored your eyes, too much even so. Specifically if glazed with restrained tears because of her.

“Whoever made that little rumour about you… will pay, it made me so angry when I found out. You didn’t reply to my calls or messages when you were away from school for a week. A week. You can’t blame me for thinking the worst.” Giselle ranted on, her hands cupping your rosey, warm cheeks due to the flu still lingering within you.

Scoffing, she looked away gingerly. “Don’t do that again, you… you made me so worr- mad.”

“I wouldn’t.” Reassurance from you was all she needed, her body eases into relief and her knees fell to the ground.

Her lips slowly brushed against yours for comfort, melting into your broken body as she held you up as if she was your saviour arriving at the scene of rescue.

Even if she was the villain all along.

Hesitantly, she pulled away, her forehead touching yours. “Let me do all the work, maybe making up for being a little mean from earlier, hm?” You tensed, this was your first time being so close to a sexual contact with an individual.

You were a loser, an inexperienced clumsy loser. “I-I, I’m a virgin, Giselle.” Embarrassingly you confessed and she didn’t seem bothered.

She was excited, the possessive monster provoked by the mere fact you were untouched before her.

“Can I be your first, please?” This was the first time ever she uttered those words, and it was to ask for your virginity.

You had to say yes, it was Giselle! After all those long sleepless nights shamelessly moaning her name when you neared an orgasm, you could experience her true touch.

“Yes, yes, yes please.” Babbling out so desperately, your voice cracked amidst the pleading.

Giselle glanced around, she shifted herself closer, her body covering yours and pressed her finger against your lips. “Be quiet baby.”

Unprovoked, she kissed you again and slipped her hand underneath your shirt, the coldness of it made you shiver as her fingers trailed up to your breast and massaged teasingly slow.

Trailing down mouth-opened kisses against your jaw, she nipped on your neck and collarbones and sucked hard creating hickeys, branding you as hers. The soft moans eliciting from your parted lips caused some unrecognisable emotions stirring in her, she clasped her palm on your lips, effectively silencing you.

“Today, I’m going to pleasure you.” She breathed out shakily, her hands ripping through your leggings revealing your soaking underwear where she shoved it aside to see her prize.

Humming approvingly, she grinned at the sight and traced her fingers on your leaking cunt, rubbing circles on it with her thumb making you adorably squeak and jolt in surprise.

“Shh, it might hurt at first… but you endured worse, didn’t you y/n?” Whispers of bittersweet reassurance stuck by your side temporarily as her slender, cold finger slid inside you quite easily because of how wet you were.

A startled moan echoed through the storage room, she pressed her free hand harder to suppress the upcoming more.

“Quiet, quiet.. be quiet for me, wouldn’t you, baby?” The use of the rare nickname usually reserved for taunting you had another side to it, the side that let your thighs tremble.

Fascinated, admiration seeped through her tone with her gaze fixated deeply onto you—like how deep her finger was in you, letting the pace go slow (for now) to let you be comfortable with the sudden intrusion.

“Another finger, you can handle another one for me, okay?” Giselle snuck in one more, her dreamy eyes silently forcing you to keep an eye contact with her despite how dazed you were, how unbearable the burning sensation was.

You could barely do this.

“Just like that, baby.. take me, take my fingers.” She practically moaned in your ear, mimicking yours, wishing to use a strap instead on you. Not caring if you were an inexperienced loser.

“Mhf.. Giselle…” you attempted to coordinate words together, managing to say her name at the end.

It turned her on more if that was possible.

Jamming in and out a little more roughly; she savoured your muffled gasps and moans, the way your chest heaves in struggle, and the way it was because of her. Your uncontrollably tremulous hands sought solace, your nails clawing her back as your leg sprawled wide for easier access.

“Just like that baby, take me like this..” she breathes out, inching closer and closer to the pending orgasm she was so eager to witness.

When your back arched, your clenched pussy convulsing around her fingers, black dots scattering in your blurry vision from tears welling up, Giselle hastily removed her hand and swallowed your cries in a rough and sloppy kiss when white liquid trickled down her hands.

“Mhm, good girl. You’re my pretty good girl,” she patted you, breathless by the whole encounter when you’re not even recovering and cleaned her fingers up by sucking it, enjoying the new taste.

“Yes..” out of it, you simply complied. Like always.

Pleased, Giselle nodded, fixing your clothes and tugging your skirt down. “I’ll bring you a new pair from my locker, one second.” She stood up, dropping her blazer on you to cover what was hers and opened the door carefully before exiting quietly.

You don’t know what you got yourself into.

[prttykittes]

STEPCEST! With genshin men!

cw. stepcest, fingering, gn reader, oral sex, almost caught, biting, stand-up sex, stepbro/step!sibling reader, stepparent/step!child, weed, touching, dubcon, kissing, lesbians(eimiko mentioned), reader’s mom is yae miko in scaramouche’s section, ass grabbing, spanking, Dom!reader in Kabukimono section, shoe humping, mention of breeding in Zhongli's section, bong, grammar mistakes(?)

notes: Hehehe, some stepcest since it won the post :33 also I hope u enjoy this, I had fun and this probably had grammar mistakes so sorry about that ;3

SCARAMOUCHE

You let out a gasp as you felt him bend you over, you let out another gasp when you feel his hand rub your ass. He laughs into your ear, you whimper as your sight goes hazier, you can see your stepmother as she walks by. You rest your head on the counter, you cover your mouth with your hand as you hope that she doesn't hear you whimpering. he grabs your chin, you close your eyes and makes you face him. He presses his lips against your soft pretty ones, his hand goes down to your crotch. He rubs your clothed sex, he slips his tongue into your mouth, twirling your tongues together. His hand pulls down your pants until it reveals your underwear, you gasp when his finger touches your hole. You try to push him away as you hear footsteps, he chuckles as he grabs your ass. She stops as she calls out to your mom, she then turns around and walks away. “let's have a quick fuck, M’kay?” He pushes you into the counter, pulling down your underwear and he spanks your ass before he rubs his dick at your hole. He could use his pre-cum as a lube and yours, he collects your pre-cum as he rubs it onto his cock. He spreads your hole open as he enters you, he roughly thrusts into you, he wraps his arms around your waist as he lifts you up. You're standing on your tiptoes as he rams into you, your eyes roll back as he goes fast. Making clapping sounds, your tongue rolls out, you grip onto his arms. You clench around him, his dick twitches in you, you bite your lower lip. You moan when you feel his cum filling your hole up, painting your walls white.

ZHONGLI

You let out a muffled moan, tears swallow up, he smiles when he sees your teary face. His hands run in your hair, slightly gripping on it. He coos at you, praising you on how you're a good cock sucker just for him, he loves how you suck him off much more than your parent that's for sure. He loves how you moan on his dick, knowing that he is the only one who can do this to you and he will make sure that he is the only one. He grips a patch of your hair, he moves your head up and down, you moan when you can taste his pre-cum, it tastes so good you can't help but envy your parent. I mean not any more since you're sucking him off now, you stroke the rest of his dick, you can feel veins on it. You can feel his veins on your tongue as well, you moan at how big it is, you go lower onto his dick. Your nose touches his skin and your hands rub at his wrist. He lets out a small chuckle, you're so needy for his big cock. You reach down to your sex, he shakes his head and grabs your wrists. He lifts you up and places your sex on his shoe, you look up at him. He smirks and wipes your tears away, you grip on his thigh as you begin humping, you let out more moans, humping his shoe more. You feel your sex get wet and more wet, you knew this was wrong to be sucling your stepdad's dick but gosh,.. was it big and you wanted to stick in your hole and make him breed your hole. Abuse your hole, remaking your hole to his dick shape! not gonna lie, you want him to fuck you infront of your parent, but you know that he probably will end up in jail for incestuous actions or something in that area, you gag when he presses your head down, he moves his foot, your eyes roll back and you go limp, your body leaning against him. You feel your climax, and your eyes widen, your mouth feels full and you swallow his seed. He smiles at you, telling you how good you did. He kisses your forehead before he lifts you up and makes you sit down on his lap. He touches your inner thighs, you smile and hope that he finally decides to enter your hole.

KAZUHA

You whine, feeling his hand touch your sex. Your eyes hurt and you galore at him. You can see his red eyes, hear his heavily breathing. He whispers in your ear. “Hold the lighter for me, my sweet darling~” He coos at you, you nod your head and hold the lighter. He grabs the bong and inhales it, you smile when he kisses your neck. He grabs your hip and ,over you slowly onto his leg, you whimper when you feel a spot. He kisses your neck and sukxs on it, you can feel him nibbling on your neck which then turns into a bite. You bite your lip as you feel his teeth sinking into your skin. You whine as he sukcs on the bite mark, he pushes you more down onto his leg. He smiles, his head tilting as he lays back on your bed. You whine, your head hurts slightly. Your eyes hurt and you know it's red, he presses the bong up to your lips, he smiles when he sees your pretty lips against it. It's like a kiss, both of your lips on the bong. He rubs your hip and then your legs. He kisses your back, you cough and he laughs. You can hear knocking which makes you jump, you let out a muffled moan when his finger presses hard against your hole. He pulls down his pants as he kicks it off, his mom knocks on the door. You whimper when he presses you against his tent, you whine when you feel his dick poking at your clothed hole. He talks to his mother while he pulls down your underwear, taking it off as he fingers your hole. You softly moan, you close your eyes as he pulls down his underwear, he grabs a hold of his dick and presses it into your hole. You let out a gasp as you feel his dick enter you. He continues to move you, making you go up and down on it. You let out a loud moan and his mom questions the noise, he says that you hurt your knee and in which you say that you did. She leaves and he continues to fuck your hole, while he does bong.

KABUKIMONO

He whines, whimpering at your touch. His pretty dick twitches as it leaks his sweet pre-cum. Your beloved stepson trembling under you, you smile as you sit on his legs. You adore how his dick twitches when your hand comes near, you coo at his dick. Giving a quick kiss to it, you smile when he reaches out to you, his pretty eyes as tears go down. He begs you to touch it, stroke his leaking cock or suck on it or bounce on it. He wants you to touch it with your hand or your hole so badly! His tears streaming down his face, oh how badly he wants you. His needy cock twitches once you hover yourself over it, you lick your lips as you go down on it, your hole twitching and clenching on air. You kiss his lips, your tongue slips into his mouth, your saliva enters his mouth as he moans at your taste. Your hole clenched around his pretty dick, he cums once you enter him. You snicker as you feel his seed filling you up, you laugh and kiss his face when you see him crying more! You lick up his tears and you bounce on his dick, you can see a white ring forming, you smile as you see his seed fo onto his stomach. You kiss his neck as you suck and give him hickies, you touch his chest while you scratch your nails against his chest. You smile and kiss his cheek, adoring the way he smiles weakly, he blushes and you clench hard around him, you feel yourself about to climax. You push yourself, he lets out loud lewd moans, his eyes roll backed. Argh! He's so cute and so pretty, you feel your sex twitch as you throw your head back and moan. He also moans as he cums once again, filling you up again. You smile and lift yourself up, his white sticky liquid spills out, you want to go again and make him cum over and over!

[ilys00ga]

𝗢𝗡𝗖𝗘 𝗨𝗣𝗢𝗡 𝗔 𝗙𝗨𝗟𝗟𝗠𝗢𝗢𝗡.

PAIR: yoongi x f reader

TAGS/WARNINGS: strangers to lovers, 'love at first sight' (I tried, okay?), producer!yoongi, producer!reader, fluff, I don't really know how to tag anymore, oh yeah no warnings just smoking ig, cats <3 this is very cheesy but op requested that sooo!!

A/N: requested <333 this is not my proudest work. and to be honest, I don't think I like it that much. but this is the best I can provide atm :,) I hope yall like it. don't forget yo leave ur feedback and comments! lots of love <333

SYNOPSIS: the one where yoongi falls in love at first sight on the streets of his city.

PS. ignore all mistakes people, thank u. I can't believe I even managed to finish and post this !

It all started one breezy Tuesday night—The first time Yoongi felt his heart leap in his chest because of a complete stranger.

The tune he had been stuck dealing with for the previous couple of hours was an endless loop echoing in his head, a desperate effort of his brain to solve his headaches for himself.

Being a significant producer-songwriter for many, he was often locked up in his studio for entire days, sometimes even weeks, but that's when he can tell he's on the verge of plunging into insanity—the irony of choosing to do the one thing he loved the most in this world—if he didn’t pick up his keys and his phone, headed towards the door and walked the tension between his bones away.

On his way back home that night, he let his legs bring him to a park by the edge of a vast river. It was fairly late into the night, but some humans lingered there and about.

He sat on a lonely bench, drawing some of the fresh air into his lungs before leaning back and making himself comfortable against his seat. Usually, he’d go for less crowded places, places where solitude spoke to his mind and put it to rest in the middle of the chaos his life was. That night, he found himself watching people existing on the edge of that river, where the water spoke the language of the sky and painted an image of the bright moon and city lights.

On their little picnic mats were couples sharing delicate intimacy and friend groups laughing and chatting amongst themselves, while cyclists drifted by. A perfect picture of humans basking in the moment.

And Yoongi? He had a cigarette burning between his fingers to keep him company.

His thoughts ran with a mind of their very own, he almost didn't notice her.

The stranger passed by him like the gentle whispers of breeze that played with his hair strands. A nearby cat caught her attention, she crouched down and petted it.

“You're hungry, aren't you? Me too, me too. I only had lunch today. Coffee for breakfast. I'm working on a new project these days. It's always hectic, you know? You probably don't. You're just a cute fluff ball. Wandering around. Surviving.”

Such were the soft words he heard the human say. It seemed like a natural conversation to any passing-by ear. He wouldn't have guessed a cat was at the receiving end if he weren't at a short proximity from them, but the simple interaction painted a faint smile on his face. It was endearingly pleasant.

Shifting his gaze to the scenery ahead of himself, he took long, thorough drags of his cigarette, and let his thoughts consume him.

“Hey, can I sit here?” He heard her voice again. Yoongi looked up, almost startled. The first thought that came to his mind was that her friendly smile reminded him of Sakura leaves dripping from the sky.

She pointed to the other end of the bench he sat on, waiting for his response.

“Yes, of course.” He replied, ignoring the way his heart dramatically skipped a beat in his chest, and the way the sound of the world existing around him faded into a blissful quiet once their gazes met.

She sat down quietly, her smell lingered in the air between them, and spoke again, “Cats hate the smell of cigarettes, you know.”

He looked at her again, the warm streetlamps kissed all over her features, giving him a better view of her face.

Her eyes, Yoongi thought he finally found something new to write a song about.

Regardless of the gentleness of her voice—almost as soft as the distant sound of the waves dancing across the shore—he glanced down at the cigarette in his hand with a weird sense of embarrassment.

“My bad.” He muttered, doing a quick job of pressing the burning cigarette to the sole of his shoe. Its once alive flame slowly died into a lifeless gray dust, before being tossed into a trash bin nearby.

She smiled, “It's okay. Have you ever owned a cat?”

He shifted awkwardly in his seat and answered with a short ‘yes’.

“Then you should know they don't appreciate it when people ruin their lungs like that.” She added, her tone light-hearted.

That made him release a soft chuckle into the air. His heart fluttered in his chest when she chuckled along, and then she proceeded to tell him that she too, although rarely, smoked as well.

“I always keep cat food in my bag just in case.” She said, bringing out a pack of cat food from her bag and showing it to him.

“Why?” He asked. He knew why, of course he did, but he'd never felt so at ease with a stranger before. He had the urge to initiate any form of conversation with the stranger to hear pieces of her mind for some longer.

“Because all cats deserve food and love. Especially the stray ones.” It was not hard to pick up on the shift that happened to her tone. The lightness that was once present on her features quickly faded into faint dullness. It almost made a frown of his own appear on his face.

She added, “Sadly, that's not common in the world we live in.”

“Keep doing that.” He said. “The thing you said you always do, keep doing it. Maybe one day you'll influence someone, and that someone will influence another someone. More cats will be fed and taken care of..”

The words floated in the air for a while. She smiled, a genuine, grateful one that gave him a sense of satisfaction.

The pair sat in silence following that. Neither of them deemed the need to fill the comfortable quiet that sat on the bench between them to be necessary.

An ‘Oh!’ from between her lips broke the silence between them. The stranger's brows tugged together as she checked her watch, and she muttered something about the time going so fast and her being late for something.

He never liked to admit it to himself, but he felt a tinge of disappointment pop inside his chest at the thought of her leaving.

He silently watched as she stood up and hoisted her bag’s strap onto her shoulder, then asked about his name. He answered as casually as he could muster.

“Yoongi..” She repeated, as if savoring the name on her own tongue, and smiled, “I'm _. It was really nice meeting you.”

And just like that, she was gone, fading into the faint chatter of the people surrounding him, and he was left in the park with a cat rubbing its body against his legs. It reminded him of her, the only thing that he had left of someone he thought he would never see again.

He made sure to feed and pet the creature some more, before scooping it up in his arms and taking them home. His mother would take good care of him, he thought.

The next day, he spent an embarrassing amount of time wondering if he'd find her warm smile and affection towards strays if he were to go to that park again. He missed her eyes, her smile, the way she'd spoken to him so naturally and so easily.

He was trying to push those thoughts off his plate and focus on his work, when she walked into his studio and introduced herself as his new, awaited co-producer.

The best part of it all was the excitement she displayed upon seeing him. It felt like he was reencountered with an old friend, except that an old friend wasn't supposed to make you feel like a teenager catching the glimpse of their crush in the distance.

“Hi! It’s you again! Sorry for being late. I had a crazy morning and just when I thought I was making it I-” She proceeded to talk, but he cut her little rant off with a gentle question.

“You met another cat?”

The small but amused smile on his lips grew a little bigger when the faint blush on her cheeks became more apparent.

“Well, yeah, I kind of did..” she trailed off, tilting her head to the side in embarrassment.

It wasn't hard for them to find a common ground to stand on after that. She liked to talk, the words kept coming naturally out of her mouth, and Yoongi, he liked to listen, and he didn't mind her talking his ears off one bit.

One day after another, hours spent in the studio together. It slowly became something very familiar to him, the feelings her presence gave him. They shared takeout meals on his uncomfortable studio couch and many cups of coffee at late hours of the night. The project they worked on continued to link his heart to hers. On days she would walk in with a deep frown on her face or tears staining her cheeks, she would sit on that couch and mope, and he would wordlessly open a can of beer and put it in front of her, then sit to work next to her until she decided life was worth living again.

From a stranger, to a ‘friend’, to someone he couldn’t stop thinking about. She was not only a good hearted person, but an incredibly smart and talented producer.

If feeding cats together did not push him over the edge of what he thought he would never come to experience again, then working with her surely did.

Sure, he didn’t have his answers. He didn’t know if it was going to be a long lasting thing, or just one more of those phases where his lonesome heart clung onto something other than the thing he loves the most, music, before deciding it had enough. He didn’t know what to do with the feelings that kept growing in his chest and the stupid butterflies he felt in his guts every time she so much as smiled at him. But he knew that spending hours at work and feeding stray cats became things he looked up to every single morning.

More importantly, he had a feeling that whatever he was feeling didn't come from his part alone, but it was all left unsaid for the sake of keeping a fine line between work and personal emotions.

And then it happened, their first, tipsy kiss. When they shared a bottle of liquor and celebrated the wrap-up of their project. The faint blush on her cheeks every time their eyes met made him feel like screaming at the top of his lungs.

He tasted the alcohol on her cherry lips, and oh, how he loved the taste on his tongue.

He thought he'd reached the peak of helplessness when he wrote poems for her eyes, but then he wrote some more for her lips, then her smile, then her hair, then her hands… and then there was no going back.

[i-cant-sing]

i was just minding my business like scrolling to find new fics to read since i was so so bored and while i was finding some delicious fics (ahem ahem: yandere big brother bakugou x little sister reader) ur post suddenly idk the word (lumitaw (its a filo word)) and i was screaming and immediately dropped what i was supposed to read to read yours 😭😭😭

i got the worst memory ever to exist because i keep forgetting their names but i think i'll grasp them once the next chapter is out (hopefully) but yeaaah!!! baris reminds me of abbas in a way but ig he's a bit more.. brute yk what im talking about????? ig he's ok..

OH! and i have a theory about the painting, y/n's face getting smudged maybe because baldwin or SALAUDDIN decided to smudged it to forget how they look due to heartbroken (prob not baldwin,, but i feel like salauddin would do that ??) i guess im getting married again 😔😔 i feel like im betraying my pookie salauddin 💔💔💔🙏🙏 BUT ANYWAYS THANK YOU FOR THE UPDATE SNOW!!!! AMAZING AS ALWAYS!! can't wait for the next one already!! 😭😭😭 i think i'll send more of my thoughts if something crosses over my mind (prob when im in the shower)

ooohh i like your theory(portrait pictures at the end). i like it a lot. expanding on it:

Baldwin would probably cause the painting to be smudged because he's kissing it, kissing your lips, drunk off his mind, tears streaming down his cheek as he spends hours sitting in front of it, talking to the painting as if u still exist, begging u to come back from heaven, even apologising for all he's done, just please- come back, angel...

Meanwhile Salauddin would probably be staring at your portrait angrily. He understands why you had to leave but.... you couldnt have told him where you were goinh? Do you not think he couldve protected you? He wouldve used his whole army, gathered Muslims from all around the world to protect you. Did you... did you not have the least bit faith in him? deep down, he knows u did this to prevent a war between him and baldwin but.... Salauddin wouldve gone to war for you. Happily. This wasnt your decision to make alone. Now, he stands in front of your portrait, he has it in his palace now, and he doesnt say voice it out like baldwin, but he has complaints. HE keeps them inside, mentally talking to you, telling you just how stupid you were for sacrificing yourself, for jumping off that stupid cliff. How u shouldve just- just asked him for help ONCE, and he wouldve fought until his last breath if it meant keeping u safe. In his mind, u sacrificed yourself to protect Baldwin from murdering innocent muslims or anyone else u wouldve seeked help from.

And now? All Salauddin can do is pray for you. He wakes up late into the night and sits on the prayer mat, making dua for you for hours, reading Quran for you, has animals slaughtered on eid on your behalf, even doing charity and hajj (pilgrimage) on your behalf, just so that you can have more good deeds in your name. He still has the chess board u gifted him, but he's stopped playing chess. He never played the game again, it was only a painful reminder of you. The one person who he could never beat.

As for your painting, why it was smudged? Salauddin didnt want anyone to see your beauty, thats why he kept the portrait hidden in his room, but then he feared that one day when he's not around anymore, someone will see you. So, he used a rag soaked in turpentine to smudge your face, but couldnt do more than just the bottom half of your face. He thought that was fine, after all, thats how u did often appear when you were around, wearing a niqaab, a veil that covered your face.

Now that he looks at your eyes, he realises his mistake. He heard the wise tell him-

"Eyes are the windows to the soul."

He now knows it to be true.

This is what I think the portraits look like:

Notice that this is the earrings Salauddin gifted Y/n when she was in the market with him:

How Baldwin's been:

[irunaki]

howd o u make ur sketch books so interesting?? mine looks boring af.

number one: glue everything you can to it

Candy paper? Glue it. Water bottle paper? Glue it. Clothing labels? Glue it. Beer labels? Glue it. Random Religious music lyrics my friend gave me? Glue it. I recommend specially the colorful ones, it makes your sketchbook more colorful which leads us to numer two!!

Colors!!!! Draw with colorful pens, paint your drawings, doodle random colorful forms all over

Number 3:

Post-its! I use it to cover mistakes for exmaple and they also make things colorful

number four:

No blank spaces!!!! Doodles doodle draw until u cant see the paper under!!! Go crazy!!!

[xoxochb]

HELLO FAVORITE WRITER!!!! I have a reqs if u don't mind :3 Percy x hypnos!reader!!!!! Like maybe r going under percys hoodie and kissing his chest/collarbone area and getting him all blushy😭😭 then maybe js soft percy cuddles?? If u don't wanna write this I totally understand ty!!!

SENDING LOVE MY KIND FELLOW❤️

MWAH MWAH MWAH

——— ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

“watcha doin’ there, sleepy?”

you giggle lightly. “I’m jus’ gettin’ comfy, keep doing your own thing.”

“gettin’ comfy underneath my sweatshirt?”

“yes!”

diligently, you slide yourself upwards along your boyfriend’s front, until your head rests just over his pulse point. you nuzzle your head into his skin.

percy slides his arm underneath his sweatshirt, finding your waist and rubbing it soothingly. in a similar way you begin to place delicate kisses across his chest, simple pecks as you are still half asleep. though that was never much a surprise, you most always were.

“are ya tryin’ to get me to sleep or to wake up?”

you shuffle upwards. “either is fine.”

you feel percy laugh beneath you, patting your waist. “okay, sleepy, then either it is.”

you squeal— for no specific reason you can muster— and place another kiss to his clavicle, two of them, before letting your head just rest on him. it’s peaceful for a moment, for you, of course. though on the other hand percy internally is giggling like a schoolgirl.

subconsciously, he tangles his legs with your own. his face paints a hue of pink. a pink that he presumes would be far to intense to show you unless he was willing to withstand hours (or perhaps days… he shudders when he remembers the one time he had made that mistake) of relentless teasing from you.

though he does wish to hold you normally, closer.

“sleepy, c’mere.” he taps your head to reveal you from underneath his top. “come out from there.”

you oblige to his demands and swiftly climb out from underneath his sweatshirt, settling above now with your head still tucked tightly beneath his chin. with this now he can better access the skin of your back from under your shirt, rubbing it once again far better and more than before.

you’re still equally happy with this position, quickly wrapping your arms around his frame once again, pecking at his neck now.

“sleepy?”

you hum and lift your head to look up to percy.

“I think you’re tryin’ to make me fall asleep.”

“shit, I was hoping you wouldn’t catch on,” you remark sarcastically, though a smile sticks brightly across your lips.

[bruisedboys]

shy!reader who’s always a little anxious and hesitant to show affection but one day initiates by asking remus if he wants a kiss and he’s all giddy but she meant a chocolate kiss and she gets red and blushy

eek thank you so much this is so so cute! sorry it took me so long angel. hope u enjoy 💗

remus lupin x fem!reader modern au

You tip your gift bag upside down over the coffee table, colourful foil-wrapped chocolates spilling out across the wooden surface. Your boss at work had a bunch of sweets left over from her kid’s birthday party and had opted to give them all out to her colleagues. Lucky you, you’re one of her favourites. You’re pretty sure your bag was stuffed full the most.

You dig through your goods, sorting them into piles of different flavours and types, and then your favourites and Remus’ favourites. Speaking of, your boyfriend sits across from you on the one-seater couch, immersed in his writing. The laptop screen paints him paler than usual but no less handsome. You know you’ve struck lucky with him and just looking at him from across the room makes your heart race. You like him so much it’s sick.

You pick through the pile of chocolates deemed Remus’ favourites. There’s lots of dark chocolate, a few nutty bars and multiple Hershey’s kisses.

Without thinking (well, you are thinking, but just about how much you like Remus and want to give him something he’ll love), you speak up into the silence.

“Remus? Do you want a kiss?”

To your credit, you are holding up a silver-wrapped Hershey’s kiss in your hand. To Remus’ credit, he doesn’t see it until his head has snapped up so fast you’re worried he’s cracked his neck, eyes wide and lips parted.

“What?” He asks.

You realise your mistake almost immediately. Heat flares behind your cheeks.

“A Hershey’s,” you correct yourself, embarrassed beyond measure. You hold it up for him to see. “A Hershey’s kiss.”

Remus’ eyebrows lower significantly and his wide eyes soften.

“Oh,” he says softly. “Yeah, okay.” He smiles at you and you miss the mischief, too flustered from your slip up. “Bring it over here for me?”

You’re happy to. You get out of your seat, grabbing an extra couple of Hershey’s for good measure. You stop in front of his knees and hold the chocolates out to him.

He smiles and takes them from you, calloused fingers brushing your soft palm. “Thank you, lovely girl,” he says, lifting his chin so he can look you in the eyes.

You smile back. “That’s okay,” you say, moving to return to your seat. Remus doesn’t let you. He leans over his laptop, the screen digging into his chest, and bracelets your wrist with his lean fingers.

“Hold on,” he says, and now you pick up on the mischief in his tone, now that he’s got you trapped. He pulls you in between his legs and you know you’re not getting away until he lets you. “I’d like a real kiss too, if that’s okay.”

Heat blooms all over your face, creeping up your neck like a rash. “Remus,” you say, in what’s supposed to be a complaining tone but instead makes you sound like you’re a lovesick fool. You are, but. He doesn’t need to know that.

“What?” He grins. “I’m serious, dove. Please?”

It’s his please that gets you. You would’ve given him one anyway, but when he’s practically begging you, you’d rather die than not kiss him.

“Fine,” you say, more breathless than you’d like to be.

You lean over him and kiss him quick and sweet, trying not to linger though you desperately want to. Remus has other ideas. His hand curls around your neck, warm and heavy, and holds you against his mouth while he kisses you properly. Your lips part from the pressure, Remus’ thumb pushing into the hair at the back of your neck.

You’re barely breathing by the time you pull away. Cheeks hot, heart hammering. Remus smiles at you, looking not nearly as disheveled as you feel. Unfair.

“Thanks,” he tells you. “If you’ve got any more to give me, let me know.”

You both know he doesn’t mean chocolates.