#i have no clue what this means and refuse to figure it out

[immortalratking]

had a dream I tried to fuck a friend

[godmadeaterribleerror]

I Could Have You

Main Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Love Confessions, Smut (p in v, oral both receiving), light angst, soulmates, sex pollen, no use of y/n

Summary/Warnings: Dean is hit with a lust spell, and it doesn't seem to only be effecting him. No one's really sure why, and Dean refuses to give in to the curse, so you'll just ride this out.

You'll defiantly be able to just ride this out.

Author's Note: I had a lot of fun with this one, I hope you enjoy it!

Title from Normal Fucking Rockwell by Lana Del Ray

Word Count: 6k

You’re losing your mind.

Your skin is on fire, your back is flat on the cold bathroom floor, and you’re moaning and whining and bucking into the air but nothing is fixing this. Nothing is relieving you, not your fingers or the pillows or the toy a very red-faced Sam had bought you. Nothing is going to save you, because only one, stupid, handsome, selfless idiot can, and he’s suddenly too good to just fuck you.

Hell, that idiot is the only reason this is happening. According to Sam and Bobby, Dean got hit with a sex spell in Colorado, you started whimpering for him in South Dakota, and you’re not allowed to have sex with him for… reasons.

Reasons no one seems willing to fully share with you, but reasons.

You know Dean wants you. You’ve known he wants you. Neither of you have ever been able to do something about that—never going beyond flirting and lingering touches and stares—but you’re certain he feels the same way. Maybe not the exact same way, because you want whatever Dean offers you, his body or mind or heart or very soul, but you know he’s attracted to you. And if the countless little pieces of evidence you’ve hoarded in your brain—winks and smirks and long, apperceive scans of your body—weren’t enough for you to know, this was. You’d heard Dean roar your name from outside Bobby’s cabin as the Impala door slammed. You’d seen the feral, lust-blown expression on his face as he’d charged at you. Sam had tackled him to the ground as you’d grown a little dizzy with need, and Bobby grabbed your wrist, dragging you upstairs. Away from Dean, from the cure, from his big hands and soft mouth and huge-

“You’re gonna need to stay in here.” Bobby had muttered, refusing to meet your eyes as he shuffled out of the room. “Least until we get Dean’s head right, or figure out what the hell is going on.”

It’s been almost a day, and they’ve made almost no progress. From Sam’s last update, all they’re certain of is: Sex spell, you and Dean, no other options except you and Dean.

“What do you mean no other options,” you’d said, leaning up to frown at Sam. “Did Dean-“

“No.” Sam shakes his head, giving you a sheepish expression. “I mean, Bobby and I suggested it, but he said no.”

“Oh,” you’d mumbled, falling back down on the mattress. “Why?”

Sam had shrugged, leaning into your line of vision. “Do you want to have sex with me?”

“No, Sam, what the fuck-“

“That’s why.”

He’d stood up and left, and you hadn’t had a clue what the hell he was talking about. Sure, you didn’t want to have sex with him, but he was like a brother to you. Dean, somehow, wasn’t. Dean was Dean. And it wasn’t like you’d say no to a random, no-strings attached hookup right now-

Something had tugged in your gut, and you’d realized—staggering to the toilet and vomiting up your lunch—that you could not do a random hookup. You wanted Dean. You needed him. You might die if you didn’t get him, and it had to be him, and he must feel it too, but when you’d asked Sam he said no.

“No?!” You’d rolled over on the floor to glare up at him, wishing you could find the strength to surge up and punch him in his stupid, apologetic face. “What do you mean No?!”

“Dean, um,” Sam had sighed again, and if he kept doing that you were going to kick him in the balls. “He made us lock him in the safe room. He won’t come out until we cure him.”

“Why did he-“ You’d cut yourself off as it hit you, another, softer wave of sickness rolling over your body. The sickness lived in your heart. This sickness was made of the tragic reality that Dean might want you, but he didn’t want you. Maybe that was why he’d never made a move. Maybe he was attracted to you physically, but couldn’t see you like that, and didn’t really want to try to.

Maybe Dean was disgusted by the idea. Maybe he hated that his body found you hot, because he thinks of you like you think of Sam.

“Oh,” you’d rolled back onto your stomach, and prayed Sam would leave soon so you could go back to humping the floor. “Okay.”

Sam had said your name, waiting until you hummed an acknowledgment to continue. “We’re going to fix this-“

“I know.” You’d let out a long, slow breath, curling into your own body. “We always do.”

They would fix this. And then you’d have to look Dean in the eyes, and find a way to be okay with his rejection. Teach yourself how to not turn into a pining dumbass, chasing after someone who obviously didn’t want you. You wouldn’t lose him, he was your best friend, but you’d also have to learn to pretend it didn’t feel like your heart hadn’t just been ripped out of your chest and stomped on.

And now you’re here. Hoping Sam and Bobby will fix this soon, crawling into the empty bathtub to try and sleep. The bed is too warm, too intimate, to inviting of fantasies that will never be reality. Daydreams of Dean’s hands on you, trailing over your skin and setting of little sparks as he maps your body. Those same hands pushing open your thighs, two of his fingers teasing over your pussy, his mouth wrapping around your nipple as he started pumping and scissoring and crooking inside you-

There’s a knock on the bathroom door, and you yank your own fingers out of your cunt, wiping them on the towel as you speak, your voice far too hoarse. “Yeah, Sam?”

“Not Sam.” Bobby grumbles, his voice slightly muffled through the door. “You decent?”

You toss a towel over your body, having long abandoned clothing. “Yep, is everything-“

You cut yourself off as Bobby pushes the door open, his face angled up to avoid you.

“I said I’m decent, Bobby, you can look.”

He grunts, and you sit up a little straighter, making your voice a little firmer.

“It’s weirder if you don’t, you know.”

Bobby nods, his gaze slowly dropping to yours as he sits on the toilet, bracing his arms on his knees. “Sorry.” He mutters. “Ain’t tryin’ to make it uncomfortable. Just not lookin’ to see one of my, uh-“

“I know,” you sigh, leaning your head back on the tile. “I get it. Must be weird seeing Dean as well.”

“Eh.” Bobby shrugs. “I’ve walked in on him with lady company before, this ain’t new-“

“But it’s new with me?” You ask, raising your brows, and Bobby glares at you.

“I didn’t help raise you girl. And you’re just as important to me as those boys, but you’re also a girl. I mean, not a girl, but I don’t got those parts-“

“Jesus, Bobby.” You mumble, bringing your knees up to your chest. “I’m teasing. I know what you mean, I promise, just,” you swallow, shaking your head slightly. “Sorry. I’m tired.”

Bobby rolls his eyes, but his voice becomes a little softer, and far less panicked. “That ain’t nice, kid, you’re gonna give an old man a heart attack.”

“You’d be fine. I know CPR.”

He gives you a flat look. “We both know you ain’t in any condition to give me CPR.”

You wave him off. “I’d call Sam.”

“He wouldn’t hear you, he’s down in the panic room with-“

Bobby cuts himself off, and you roll your head to the side, giving him a bored glare.

“You can say his name, Bobby.”

“Fine.” He grunts. “Sam’s down checkin’ on Dean. He,” Bobby frowns at the air. “He still ain’t listenin’ to reason.”

You hum, hoping Bobby doesn’t notice how you’ve moved the towel between your thighs, just for something. “Reason?”

“We don’t have anythin’ to cure this except, uh, that way.” Bobby mutters. “And he’s still insistin’ we keep him chained up.”

“Ah.” You swallow. “Awesome.”

Bobby says your name, and it’s gentle. Like he’s consulting a child who’s had a nightmare, instead of a grown woman who was just finger-fucking herself in a tub. “You don’t gotta pretend this ain’t hurtin’ you.”

“I mean, it doesn’t feel good-“

“Not the spell.” Bobby says, and you frown at him.

“What-“

“Dean. He’s bein’ a fuckin’ dumbass, and you don’t need to act like he’s not.”

Your voice drops to a whisper. “He’s not what?”

“Killin’ you.” Bobby grunts, scanning over your face. “Rippin’ your heart out and take a big fat shit on it.”

You grimace. “That’s gross, Bobby-“

“Truth ain’t always sunshine and glitter-“

“It’s not the truth!” You snap, your voice suddenly harsh as something wilts and twists in his your chest. “I’m fine! I get it! Dean doesn’t want to do that, and that’s not his fault.”

Bobby leans back on the toilet, holding your glare with his own. “Why do you think you and Dean are the only idjits gettin’ hit by this? Why isn’t Sam humpin’ pillows and leavin’ stains on my walls?”

You feel a rush of heat from that thought—the image of Dean fucking into his hand flashing through your mind and leaving a mark between your thighs—and your voice is almost a squeak. “Because Dean’s the one that got hit?”

“Sam says he was in the line of that bitch’s fire too. But only Dean got,” Bobby makes a vague gesture over you. “This.”

“I don’t-“

“And Sam ain’t in love with his fuckin’ brother, so he was safe.”

You flush, gaping at Bobby for a long, wired silence, and when you speak your voice is a squeak.

“I- I’m, I’m not in love with Dean. I mean, maybe I have a crush, or something, but that’s, that’s not love-“

Bobby gives you a flat, disbelieving look. “You feel safer ‘round him?”

“Yeah, but I-“

“You laugh at all his jokes?”

“Maybe, but he can be funny-“

Bobby mutters your name, shaking his head. “I love that boy like a son, and he ain’t half as funny as he thinks he is.”

You frown. “He’s funny-“

“He can be,” Bobby shrugs. “But his jokes ain’t all winners. And you laugh at every single oneof ‘em. And,” he sighs, rubbing his beard. “He laughs at all’a your jokes.”

“Hey.” You scowl. “I’m a riot-“

“Didn’t say you weren’t. But even you can miss, girl. And he never seems to care.”

“So?” You shuffle on the floor, desperate not to starting grinding on the air in front of Bobby, but getting more and more wet from just the mention of Dean. “We’re friends, friends laugh at each other’s jokes-“

“Do friends get connected by sex spells ‘cross state lines?”

“I dunno,” you mumble. “Never been hit by a sex spell before.”

“You weren’t hit by one,” Bobby snaps your name, starting to sound exasperated. “Dean was. And that’s my damn point. Sam and I, we,” he sighs, giving you a long, confusing look. “We got it. We know what’s goin’ on.”

“Fuck,” you sit up, glowering at him. “Why didn’t you lead with that-“

“Cause you ain’t gonna like it.” Bobby grunts. “It’s an old location spell. Back in the day rich assholes would cast it on their highest eldest sons, so he could find his,” Bobby cringes, his last word pushed through his teeth. “Mate.”

“Mate?” You repeat, letting out a dry, huffing laugh. “What are we, fucking dogs-“

“Soulmate.” Bobby mutters, giving you a look that might have been sympathetic, or kind, or pitiful, but you’re suddenly a little dizzy and can’t really think or see.

“That’s not,” you shake your head. “No, Bobby, soulmates aren’t real-“

Bobby says your name, his voice stern. “You should know better than to say somethin’ like that in our line of work. Sam called Cas, and he said they’re real, but population increases or somethin’ made them ‘logistically impossible’, so they aren’t on the shop line no more.”

“But- But wouldn’t we have like, I don’t know, noticed? If that was true?”

“You shoulda.” Bobby shrugs. “Cas seemed pretty shocked you hadn’t. Said he had assumed you knew, because the pull is like a magnet or some shit. Spell’s only an enhancer, to move the train along.”

“So why-“

“You hopped in right after Dean got back from hell.” Bobby mutters. “Dean’s soul mighta been fucked enough not to recognize you. Spell mighta jumpstarted it.”

“Oh.”

“Yep.”

It’s a few minutes before you speak again, and Bobby waits patiently as you spiral. Down, down, down in your head, trying to rationalize how this could possibly be true. It couldn’t be true. There was no way it was true. Sure, you’ve liked Dean since you first met him, from the moment he introduced himself with a cocky grin, smirk, and fake name. You liked him even more when you called him out on his fake name, and he’d just chuckled, figured out you were a hunter, and offered to buy you a drink. You’d liked him when that drink had turned into a long, sleepless night of only conversation, and when you’d joined him and Sam on the road. And you’d kept thinking of him like that, and you thought of him all the time, but that didn’t mean anything. You didn’t love him. It’s not like you feel better when you wake up in a motel bed and he’s next to you, or a smile always tugs at your lips whenever he so much as looks at you, or the thought of him being in alone or pain makes you physically ill. It’s not like, if he grabbed your hand and told you he was done with hunting—the only life you’d ever both known—then asked you to join him in a boring, easy apple pie life you’d immediately say yes and kiss him, because you’ll go wherever he goes and he’s the only person you’ve ever really-

Oh.

You might be in love with Dean.

You might be soulmates with Dean.

“What, um,” you swallow, watching Bobby carefully. “What did Dean think? Of this?”

“We have told him yet.” Bobby’s jaw ticks, holding your gaze. “We ain’t sure he’ll-“

“Yeah.” You whisper, turning your attention back to the ceiling. There’s a little crack on it. Jagged and split through the white paint, easy to stare at and get lost in. Helpful in pretending this doesn’t hurt like a bitch. “Okay.”

Bobby mutters a promise of at least trying to talk some sense into Dean, but you both know his words are empty. Because Dean won’t believe this. It won’t be a matter of you and Dean, it will just be Dean, believing something like a soulmate could never happen to someone like him. He’ll insist they’re lying, or Cas is wrong, or all of this fucking bullshit.

“You ever wondered about aliens?” He’d asked you once, leaning against the Impala as you lay on the hood, watching him from an upside-down angle.

“Just like, in general?”

“Yeah.”

“I guess,” you’d tilted your head at him. “Why?”

“I dunno, just curious.” There had been another moment of silence, then, “You think they’re real?”

“They have to be right?” You’d reached over your head, grabbing his chin and tilting it up, until he was staring at the night sky. “I mean, look at that, De. It’s huge.”

He’d chuckled, swatting your hand away. “Where have I heard that before-“

“Eat me, Winchester.” You’d rolled your eyes, and his shit-eating grin had grown. “No. Shut it.”

He’d raised his hands in surrender. “Didn’t say a thing.”

“Uh huh.” You’d let your own attention trail up, over the vast darkness above you, splattered in infinite stars that you think—if you really tried—you’d be able to grab and hold in your hands. Maybe offer one to Dean. He’d deserve it.

You were silent for a while longer, you watching the sky, Dean waiting for you to come back to earth, and when he’d spoken again his voice was soft.

“You think you’d want to go? If they were?”

You’d looked back to him with a frown, and found him already looking at you. “What, aliens?”

He’d nodded, and you’d furrowed your brow in thought.

“Maybe. I’ve never thought about it before. I kind of like Earth.” You’d rolled onto your stomach, swinging your legs around to rest in Baby’s open window as you looked down at Dean. “What about you?”

“Nah,” he’d held your gaze, pulling himself up to sit at your side. “Not now.”

“Not now?”

“I would’ve when I was younger, if I coulda taken Sammy with me.” Dean had let out a dry chuckle. “But I’m not that lucky.”

He wasn’t that lucky. Dean didn’t get to be abducted by aliens, because he wasn’t lucky. Because saviors and little lights to guide you forward don’t just drop out of the sky.

But you didn’t drop out of the sky. You’d been on the ground, and tangible, and very, very real.

You feel real, to yourself. You didn’t feel like a possibility, or a myth, or a lie.

And you might love Dean.

And you know that, the longer you don’t get to at least see him, touch him, breathe him, the more you go mad. The harder it becomes to speak to Sam and Bobby when they check on you, the less you allow them to even say the word Dean, because it makes you writhe and moan and everyone just gets very uncomfortable.

So if Dean’s too much of a righteous, noble, self-loathing buttface to do something about this, you will.

You wait until the house is dark and quiet. Until you hear Bobby mutter a goodnight through the door—about an hour ago you’d started whining every other breath and fucking the edge of the bathtub, so Bobby wasn’t coming into the room anymore—and Sam walks in backwards to make sure you’re not dead and have enough food and water. Like you’re a caged animal.

You do feel a little like one. You feel like someone’s sucked everything rational and careful out of your brain and replaced it with Dean. Dean, Dean, Dean, you need him or you’ll die. He needs to need you, or something worse than death will happen.

And you’re willing to risk that, that small possibility of Dean looking at you—bare and wet and pleading for him—and still turning you away, because at least you’ll see him.

You need to at least see him.

It’s shocking easy to sneak around the house. For two seasoned, well-respected hunters, neither Sam nor Bobby seem to wake up as you crawl down to Dean, despite the floorboard creaking under you movements and the downright pathetic whimpers that keep escaping your mouth. It takes all your focus to grab the key to Bobby’s panic room, unlock the door, and push it open.

It’s dark. Pitch black. But you know Dean’s in here, because every nerve is trying to fly off your body and into the shadows. To Dean.

“What the hell are you doing,” Dean groans your name from the back of the room, and you feel molten. “You can’t be here-“

“It’s not your panic room, Dean.” You mumble, pushing yourself up on the wall and fiddling around for the light switch. “I can be wherever I want-“

“Not here.” Dean snaps. “Go.”

You shake your head, and the lights blind you as you flip them on. It takes a moment to adjust—blinking and hugging your body in a desperate play to not leap across the room to Dean the moment you see him—and when you do a high whine escapes your mouth.

Dean looks as feral as you feel. He’s just as naked as you are, just as drenched in sweat and flushed, and—if the proud, massive cock between his legs, standing at full attention and twitching as he scans over you, is any sign—just as aroused.

“Dean.” You whisper. “Please.”

“You need to leave.” He grunts, his fists clenched at his sides. “Now.”

“I don’t want to go-“

“Yes, you do.”

You frown. “You don’t get to tell me what I want, Dean. I want to stay-“

“No,” he hisses, and you might come just from him looking at you like that. Primal and wanting, with a gleam in his eyes that feels like a promise. “You don’t know what you want-“

That gets you to scoff. “Fuck off, asshole-“

“See!” He makes a dramatic gesture, then flinches back from himself. “I, I can’t let you do this. You don’t want me,” Dean mutters your name, running a hand over his face. “The spell wants me. Doesn’t count.”

“Yeah, the spell does want you, you idiot!” You take an unsteady step forward, and he steps back. “Because I want you!”

“No, you don’t-“

“Yes, I do! I need you, Dean, and I think you need me-“

“Doesn’t matter what I need.” He grunts, bracing his body and you take another step. “Go back upstairs.”

“Did Bobby talk to you?”

He scowls. “Bobby’s wrong. That’s- No.”

“Because it’s me?”

“Of course not,” he snaps, and it’s too quick. “Because that, that’s not a thing. People would be runnin’ around, selling soulmates in little bottles if they were real. And we’d have known by now-“

“We do know now.” You whisper, swaying slightly in the middle of the room. “And Cas says-“

“Cas is wrong.” Dean mutters. “I don’t, there’s no way that’s true. Not for me.”

His beautiful, deep eyes look so sad. Glossed over and weighted down of years of that being the truth. That things like that, like this, don’t happen for Dean.

You’d really love to be the first exception.

“What about for me?”

“What are you-“

“What about for me, Dean.” You watch his jaw clench, his nostrils flaring. “Does it get to be true for me?”

He doesn’t answer, and you push on.

“If it’s true for me, it’s you.” You talk another step forward, and this time he doesn’t flinch. “Just you.”

“It’s just the spell.” He mutters, and you don’t think he’s convincing himself. Not when his throat bobs and his eyes darken. “You don’t want me, baby, not really.”

You almost fall over from that. From Dean calling you baby, and saying it the exact same way he says your name. Low and rolling and lined with something soft.

“I do.” You hold your ground, raising your chin. “I want you, Dean Winchester. Fix this.”

He shakes his head, barely a jerked movement, and you start to feel a little faint.

“Dean. I need you to look me in the eyes,” your voice starts to rise, growing pleading and frantic. “And tell me you don’t want me. Say that you wanting me is just the spell, and I’ll go. I promise. I just need to you to fucking say it, Dean, just fucking say you don’t want me or need me or love me-“

He moves before you even realize what’s happening. Almost leaping onto you as his mouth crashed into yours, his hands cupping your face as he walks you back, back, back into the wall and growls down your throat. And you’d been wrong. His hand on you don’t feel like small bursts of electricity. They’re like lighting. Dragging something you hadn’t known existed to the surface, and setting off a storm of need in your body.

“Course I want you,” one arm snakes around your waist, pressing your right into his erection. “Always fucking wanted you. You’re smoking hot,” he starts to kiss over your face, his words slightly muffled against your skin as you cling to his body. “Funnier than I am, and smart as hell. You feel like home and smell so good and, fuck, I’ve lost sleep thinkin’ about how it’d feel to get lost in you. I’d have to be fucking blind and dumb not to want you,” Dean grunts your name, returning your mouth to yours with a painfully soft, gentle, featherlight kiss. “But I’m not-“

“If you say good for me,” you mutter, leaning back to glare at him. “I’ll punch you.” He chuckles, and it’s dry and low, rumbling from his chest into yours. “I’m not-“

“You are.” You whisper, offering him a small, slightly broken smile. You need him to get this. You might start crying if he doesn’t. “You’re good for me. And I want you. I love you.” Something flashes in his eyes, and you don’t care if he believes you. He doesn’t have to believe you. He just needs to get it. “No spell, Dean. I’m here, and I’m yours. Take me.”

Your nails dig into his skin—attempting to leave a mark of him if he turns you away—and his breathing is ragged. Heavy and hot, fanning across your face as he stares at you, just stares at you, why is he just staring at you-

“Dean-“

This kiss is brutal It’s teeth and tongue and bruising lips, like he’s trying to move into your body. His hands are everywhere on you, squeezing your ass and palming your tits, rolling your nipple between two fingers before groaning down your throat when you moan.

“Fuck,” Dean mutters your name, his hand on your ass glides onto your pussy, playing with your folds and flicking at your clit once, twice, three times and you feel fucking high- “So wet for me-“

“For you,” you whimper, nodding stupidly as Dean presses him thumb down on that bundle of nerves, rubbing slowly. “Fuck, Dean, all for you-“ 

“Need to taste you,” he growls, pulling his mouth fully back, watching you grind onto his hand with a dark gaze. “You gonna let me taste you, baby? Let me eat that pretty pussy-“ 

You’ve barely nodded before he’s on his knees, one arm still around your waist to support you both as he dives into your cunt. 

Oh.

He’s good at this. Really, really fucking good at this. You can’t really think anything that’s not Dean, or make any noise that’s not a moan kind of good at this. He’s ravenous and starved, his nose bumping and pressing into your clit in an impossibly mind-numbing rhythm, his tongue plunging in and out of your cunt until your squirming above him, desperate for more.

“Dean,” your hand tug at his hair, and you don’t know if you’re trying to push him deeper or pull him away. “Shit, Dean, I’m gonna cum-“

He groans against you, his eyes opening to watch you come apart above him, and you think he might be getting off on this.

“Please,” you whimper. “God, please, I need to cum-“

Dean bites your clit, and your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave. It’s all bliss and relief and a high, bright haze of Dean, and then you’re falling down.

Dean’s pulling you down. Onto his lap as he leans back, moving you to straddle over him as his cock throbs between his legs.

You want to touch him.

You push back on him, just enough for his grip to loosen, and take him in your hand. He’s huge. And pretty. Dicks aren’t supposed to be pretty, but Dean’s is, and it might be because every part of Dean is pretty. Every part of him is impossible pretty, from his cock twitching in your hand as you run your thumb over the slit, to his lidded eyes and parted mouth as he watches you with wonder.

“Shit,” he moans your name, and fuck, even that was pretty. “What are you doing to me-“

“Handjob,” you whisper, placing your free hand lightly on his chest in a silent request for him to lay back. “I think.”

Dean huffs a laugh, leaning back with a smirk. “Ya think? You sure you know what you’re doing with that- Fuck-“

You hum around Dean’s cock, your lips wrapped around the base as your tongue swirls around his shaft, and his groans are sinful. The fire in your corse hadn’t lessened by any means from your orgasm, but it grows unbearable as you move Dean’s hand to your hair and let him guide you up and down. Let him set the pace, moaning when his hips jerk and he hits the back of your throat, and squeezing his thighs in silent reassurance that you’re good. You’re really, really good. You’re grinding onto Dean’s knee as he fucks your face, playing with his balls with your free hand and devouring every bit of slightly slurred praise that falls from his mouth.

“Fucking hell, baby, you always been this good at sucking cock? You’re, shit, you look like a wet dream, look like an angel, fuck.” He hisses at your teeth graze over him. “You look so good like this. Mouth stuffed full of cock, desperate and wet for me-“ You roll your hips against him, and Dean tugs you fully up, smirking at your swollen lips and glossy eyes. “Careful,” he warns, sitting up as his thumb swipes a little bit of drool from your cheek. “When I’m cumming tonight, I’m cumming in you, baby, got that?”

“Yes, please,” you whimper. You’re on the pill anyway. “Dean-“

“C’mere.” He tugs you into his lap with careful hands, scanning over you with a small shake of his head. “Son of bitch, you’re gorgeous. You’re sure you-“

“I’m sure.” You grind against his cock, never looking away from him as the head of him bumps your clit. It goes on for too long, Dean just watching you fuck yourself on his lap with his hands bruising your hips, and you start to whine. “Shit, Dean, need you-“

Dean surges forward, kissing you long and deep and slow, and keeps his brow pressed to yours as he looks down to where you’re moving on him.

“Hold on,” he mutters, and you follow the order without a second thought.

Your arms wrap around Dean’s neck just as he lines himself up, and you almost scream when he pushes into you.

“Shit,” he looks back at you, eyes wide. “Are you-“

“Don’t stop,” you moan, burying your face in the crook of his neck. “Fuck, it feels so good, Dean, don’t stop.”

He nods, kissing the side of your head, and slowly moves into your aching pussy until he bottoms out with a long exhale.

“Gonna, fuck-“ He groans as you squeeze around him. “Can’t do that, baby, I won’t last a minute-

“Sorry,” you mumble against him, playing with the short, soft hair at the nape of his neck. “Didn’t meant to-“

“It’s fine.” He grunts, still not moving. “Just, fuck, you feel so good. So warm,” he groans, pressing his face onto the top of your head. “So tight and warm, feel so good-“

“Dean, please-“

You gasp as he gives one, short thrust upward.

“So good,” Dean growls in your ear, making another small, dizzying movement that presses him right up against that spongey spot deep inside of you. “Ready?”

“Ye-“

You squeal as Dean rises to his knees, keeping himself sheathed inside you as he falls forward, his hand splayed on your back and holding you carefully against him. His face is resting between your breasts, his cock angled so deep inside you it might drive you insane if he doesn’t start to fucking move, and his eyes stay yours as you only watch each other for a long moment.

He’s asking permission. Dean’s not pulling away, but he’s also not moving, because he’s offering you one last chance to turn him down. 

You move one hand to hold his face, wrapping your legs around his waist and squirming around him in silent encouragement.

It snaps something in him. Dean grabs your hand, moves it onto the back of his neck, and lowers you fully onto the ground so you’re caged between him and floor. He scans over you for only a second, a small, cocky smirk crawling onto his face, leans down to give you one last, almost sweet kiss.

A soft moan leaves you as Dean traces his tongue over your lips, and his low growl is the only warning you get before he starts to fuck into you like an animal.

It’s sloppy and wet and loud, skin slapping against skin as Dean abuses your cunt, and fuck you’ve never felt better. You feel full, split open on his cock and right where you belong, alive in a way that seeps right into your soul and ignites your blood into a holy fire of Dean. Groaning your name on your skin and touching you with calloused, big, expert hands. Watching you as you unravel beneath him, scraping your nails over his back and making needy sounds that only spur him on.

You’re going to fly out of your body. Dean’s muscles are ripping above and around you as he fucks you into the floor, and his mouth is mold perfectly onto yours. Neither of you seem to care to breathe, or speak, or do anything but nips and suck and lick at each other. Trying to get impossibly closer, to drag the other over the edge so you can fall with them. You grind up into Dean, and Dean bites your lip. Dean rolls his hips as he bottoms out, making your mouth fall open for his tongue to plunge down your throat, and you scrape and claw as his chest until he groans, and you manage to slip one hand down to play with his balls.

He wins he swats your hand away and starts to rub small, firm circles on your clit. He’s unrelenting, and watching you with an affection that feels a little misplaced for the carnal hunger on his handsome features.

“Always want you,” he mutters your name, pressing his thumb flat against you. “Cum for me, baby.”

Your vision blurs as you find release, and it feels like heaven. Like stars and fire and water and light under your skin, in your blood, like a halo around your head that’s all just the pleasure Dean’s is still wringing from your body. Your pussy is fluttering and gushing around his cock, and it sends him over the edge with a roar, his hips slamming home as he paints the walls of your cunt white.

And when you’re both spent and Dean rolls you over—carefully adjusting you to be right on top of him, his body a barrier between you and the now-cold floor—you feel good. Really, really good. Fucked out and high, nothing trying to burst out of your skin or eat at your stomach. You feel better than you might have ever felt in your whole life. The only warmth in your body is heat you’re trading with Dean, and you feel good.

“We, um.” You trace over his tattoo, looking up at him under your eyelashes. “We should probably talk, or something-“

“Or something.” He agrees, grinning down at you. “Don’t feel like it’s a rush though. Sammy and Bobby will find us in the morning. Right now,” Dean kisses your brow, squeezing his arms around your body. “You’re all mine.”

You can be all his. It’ll be really, really easy to be all Dean, because he hasn’t said he loves you, but he does. You know he does. It lives in how he’s still touching and holding you, still talking to you like you’re his best friend and not a mistake, and running his hands through your hair mindlessly.

And you’ll have a lot to talk about later. A lot to fight about, and fuck about, and laugh and cry and scream about.

But right now you just have to be Dean’s.

And that will be really easy.

End Note: Bobby Singer you are fifty times the father John Winchester could ever HOPE to be.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery

[litfiction]

oneshot stolen charger 🪫

pairing — paige bueckers x fem!reader

content & warnings — "arguing because paige stole your charger" , only playful arguing!

word count: 1k , notes @ the end (something fun!)

“Has anyone seen my charger?” You walked into your living room where some of your and Paige’s friends were gathered. Most people shook their heads no, some replying out loud. You sighed. Your phone was down to 5% and starting to lag.

You had felt around for it on your bed when the 20% battery warning popped up in the middle of watching your show but left it when you couldn’t find it. 20% was okay for now. When you got the 10% warning you felt around more thoroughly, even checking under your bed thinking maybe it had fallen when you moved around to get comfortable.

Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t there. Frustration started to set in when you searched all over your room to no avail, your phone battery quickly draining to 8%.

It wasn’t on your nightstand, it hadn’t been plugged into the outlet at your desk. You vividly remember taking it back to your room after charging your phone in the bathroom to let it play your music while you showered earlier.

After going out to your dorm’s common area you searched the outlets behind couches and through the clutter on the kitchen counters which showed no results. Literally where could it possibly be?

It’s not like your charger has legs and skedaddled off when you needed it.

Or maybe it’s just really good at hide and seek because now your phone was at 3% and you still have no clue where your damn charger could be. You’ve looked in all the obvious places.

Well, maybe except for one.

You quickly pace towards Paige’s door, leaning close to it to hear what she was doing inside before knocking. “Come in,” the blonde’s voice came a moment later.

You opened the door to see KK and Jana scrolling on KK’s phone. Your figure had appeared in the background and they had seen this, gesturing you over to show you off to the live.

“Hey girl! The live wants to see you,” KK smiled brightly. You momentarily forget about the search for your runaway phone charger to greet the people on KK’s live.

You squeeze between KK and Jana so that you’re all in frame before waving and saying hi quickly before turning to the girls on your sides to ask them if they’ve seen your charger.

Jana shakes her head no, followed by KK’s “Negative”.

“Seriously? I’ve been looking for like 10 minutes!” You sigh, exasperatedly.

The people in the live chat laughing at your frustration, some empathizing with your pain. You looked down and your phone was down to 1%. It was a losing battle and you’d just let it die at this point.

Doesn’t mean you don’t still need your charger.

You stand up straight from your bent position between Jana and KK, your face being cropped out of frame. Your head swivels to look at Paige and ask her if she’s seen the cord.

She’s sitting up on her bed, legs stretched out with one crossed over the other, her back against the wall. She wasn’t paying attention, her eyes glued to her phone, occasionally laughing quietly at something funny she happens to see while scrolling.

Your eyes meet her figure before flicking to what’s in her hand. Her phone, on charge, using your charger. The very thing you’ve been looking for for almost 15 minutes by this point.

“Paige!�� You demand. She looks up from her phone to look at you, her expression calm but confused. “Yes?” She responds obliviously. “You stole my charger!”

She looks back down and then drags her gaze back up to you with a sheepish smile. “Give it back!” You demand again, putting your hand out for her to return your charger. She shakes her head immediately. “No! I’m using it now!” Paige retorts. You groan, “You always do this! You always steal my stuff and then refuse to give it back to me when I ask for it back!”

“Ok first of all, you didn’t ask, you demanded. Second, you can’t just wait until I’m done using it?” She questions you like she’s the one in the right. You glare at her. “I demanded it because you stole it, and no, I can’t wait this time because my phone is dead and I just wanna watch my show!”

By this point, KK and Jana (and even some people in the living room) aren’t paying attention to what they’re doing. Even the live was invested in this argument. KK was quietly snickering while Jana just watched this unfold.

“C’monnnn,” Paige whined. “Just give me 5 more minutes!”

You shook your head adamantly. “No Paige, I need my charger now.”

“How did you even get it? I had it in my room. And why? You have your own charger, Paige, do you not?” You deadpanned.

Paige just shrugs at you. “Aubrey needed a charger so I offered her mine but then I needed to charge but Aubrey wasn’t at a good enough percentage so I took yours. I just grabbed it from your nightstand while you were in the bathroom.”

You roll your eyes. Of course she had. “Ok well, time’s up! Hand it over.” She makes puppy dog eyes at you, making you roll your eyes at her again. “That hasn’t worked for you before, it won’t work now.”

She leans her head back against the wall and sighs before unplugging the base of your charger from her wall and crawling on her bed towards where you stood at the edge of it to place the cord in your outstretched hand.

You shoot her a sarcastic smile before thanking her and walking back out to your bedroom. Finally, you can watch your show in peace.

You enter your room and head to your closet to grab your favorite sweater.

But when you open your closet doors expecting to see the fluffy bundle sitting in an organizer just at eye level, it wasn’t there.

Then you register what Paige had been lounging in.

You were too busy to notice it hanging off her shoulders. You throw your head back exasperatedly then yell towards her door. And you swear you hear her snicker with KK.

🔖 — i feel somewhat ashamed that this is the longest work i have on here.. also hi again! i haven't written in a bit because i haven't had any ideas :( my requests are open if anyone wants to send something in! anyway, this is day one of something i've decided to try! for july i'm gonna pick a prompt from a list i have and write something based on that! i didn't take the list from anywhere i just made it myself. i wanted to do this to just write more and push myself to write stuff with creative freedom since a lot of prompts are quite vague. but yeah! that's my update, sorry this so long oops. hope this was entertaining to some degree, thank you for reading!!

[dreamsontheirway]

It’s Not Your Fault | S.R.

Summary: You leave work late one night and someone follows you. Spencer x reader. Warnings: stalker, sexual assault/unwanted touch Word Count: 1.7k

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Spencer hated it when you had to work late nights. You were also an agent at the BAU, but sometimes you had to stay late to complete paperwork. He would stay late with you on occasion, but you hated inconveniencing him. Of course, he would never consider it an inconvenience.

He had offered to stay late with you again tonight, but you refused. He had such a long day and you knew he needed rest. Besides, you wouldn’t be too long.

It was only around 9 pm when you were finishing up your work. You heard the shrill beep of your phone, indicating a notification.

Hi darling. Almost finished?

You smiled at his message. You quickly sent a reply, letting him know that you would be leaving imminently. Almost immediately, he replied with a thumbs up and a heart.

You began compiling all your papers and files, now completed, and placed them in the filing cabinet at your desk. You stood up, grabbed your satchel bag, and admired the look of your tidy desk before turning on your heel and walking towards the door.

You normally parked in the parking garage attached to the building, but earlier today it had been massively full due to a conference. You were forced to park in the garage down the street a ways. This wasn’t so bad; the early fall weather was the perfect kind to walk in.

You began your short trek from your building to the parking garage, adjusting your satchel bag on your shoulder. It made you a bit nervous how dark it was already, but it wasn’t a far walk by any means.

You were about halfway there when you heard the light scraping of shoes on concrete behind you. You snuck a glance and saw a dark figure about fifty feet away. Most of the time men on the street were harmless, but you were an agent, and you had a bad feeling about this. There had been a few cases recently about women being assaulted in this area.

You assumed you were just being a bit paranoid. It had been a long day of looking at horrible case notes, after all. You decided to walk diagonally across the street as a short cut, and to see if the figure behind you did the same. Your stomach twisted tightly when the figure followed your path exactly. The figure had gotten closer, too, by at least ten feet.

Your hand instinctively went to your hip. Shit. You had left your gun locked up in the office. Shit.

You could hold your own in a fight, but you had absolutely no clue what you were up against here, and no back up.

You scrambled and fumbled your phone out of your pocket, and clicked the most recent contact on your call list. He picked up on the second ring.

“Y/N, are you on your way home y—“

“Spencer,” you whispered, with an intensity that resulted in a thick silence on the other end. You typically called him Spence. He knew something was wrong. “Someone’s following me. I left my gun in my desk.”

“Shit,” Spencer exclaimed, frantically. “Shit. Where are you?” You heard rustling on the other end.

You were a talented agent, and Spencer knew you wouldn’t call him unless you thought there was something seriously wrong. Unless you thought you couldn’t handle it. The thought sent a shiver down Spencer’s back.

“I’m almost to the parking garage, but there’s no one around. Spencer, I don’t know anything about who’s behind me. I don’t know what to do.”

The person behind you was getting closer, but you were talking quietly enough so they couldn’t hear you. You were growing increasingly frightened. You knew you were trained for this, but you were still a relatively new agent, especially in comparison to Spencer and the rest of the team. You’ve had your fair share of creepy men come on to you, but you had the advantage of analyzing them and knowing what you were dealing with. You didn’t have that advantage this time around. You could assume the figure behind you was a man by the heavy steps, but that’s about it.

“Keep walking, quickly. I’m on my way. I’m texting the others. Stay on the line with me, please.” His voice was desperate; you could tell he was just as terrified as you. You knew one of his biggest fears was losing you. Your mind briefly flickered to the realization he’d probably never let you work late without him again. The thought seemed comforting in the moment, and you found yourself wishing he was here.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up stiffly.

“Hey baby,” a deep, slimy voice spoke, a few feet behind you.

Damn it, you thought. You had been preoccupied talking to Spencer, you hadn’t realized how much closer he’d gotten.

You ignored the voice, and continued to walk quickly. You were unsure about how to handle the situation. You just wanted to get to your car. You could see it shining in the distance, the beams of light dancing on the windows from the lights in the parking garage. Luckily, you had parked on the lower level so it would be easy to access.

“Hey, I’m talkin’ to ya,” the deep voice continued.

You could hear Spencer frantic on the phone, asking who the voice belonged to. You ignored him; you had to focus on making it to your car.

“Hey!” The voice bellowed, and a strong hand clutched your arm tightly, and you knew it would bruise.

You yanked it away, turning around. “Do not touch me.” You demanded, releasing a shaky breath.

Spencer was losing his mind. “Y/N,” he gasped. “I’m almost there. Hold on.”

You just breathed out in response. You slipped your phone into your back pocket, still on the call with Spencer.

“What’s a pretty lady like you doing alone out here on a night like this?” The man questioned. He smirked, his teeth crooked and his eyes a piercing blue, so different from Spencer’s soft and comforting hazel.

“I’m going home,” you stated, continuing towards your car, but angled so you could continue to watch the man.

“Come on,” he smirked. “Aren’t you up for a little fun?”

He lunged then, grabbing the sides of your arms and pushing you against the concrete wall right next to the parking garage. You struggled against his grip. He had caught you off guard, and he was much stronger than you.

“Let me go,” you spoke deeply, as venomously as you could muster, although the slight crack at the end wasn’t very intimidating.

He just hummed in response, and let his hand travel down your arm and rest against your hip. You squirmed against him, but his grip was far too tight. You felt bile rising up your esophagus at the touch of the vile creature in front of you.

You whimpered, tears pricking your eyes. You couldn’t move. You had no part of your body free to even attempt to utilize the years of training you’ve had. The bastard knew what he was doing, and it terrified you.

The man’s large and sweaty hand traveled further, and squeezed at the fabric of your ass. Against your wishes, your let out a light sob.

All of a sudden, the man was torn away from you, his tight grip causing you to stumble forward onto the grass. It all happened so fast and you looked in the direction of where the man had been pulled to.

You saw a familiar head of brown, wavy hair. Spencer was clad in a Caltech sweatshirt and jeans. He really had left the house as soon as you called. He always preferred to wear a combination of slacks and a button down or sweater.

Spencer had the man pinned against the wall, one arm against his throat and the other — oh my god. Spencer’s right hand had his gun pressed to the man’s side.

“Don’t fucking touch her. What gave you the idea you could touch her?” Spencer growled, his left arm adding pressure to the man’s throat. Spencer rarely cursed; you knew he was pissed. The last time you saw him like this was during the whole events with Emily. But even then… this was different. The veins in his neck were popping out so much it looked like they might burst. Spencer was often protective of you, knowing the dangers out there in the world, but you hadn’t ever seen him like this.

“FBI, put your hands up!” A loud voice boomed to the left of you and you quickly looked towards it, breathing out when you saw Morgan, his gun pointed towards the man and Spencer.

Despite Morgan being here now and you being safe, Spencer didn’t budge from his position against the man.

“Agent Reid,” Morgan boomed, harshly, knowingly. He knew how much Spencer cared for you, and how quickly his emotions could escalate when something he cared about was threatened.

Spencer loosened his grip slightly, and the vile man against the wall lifted his hands up in defense. Spencer hesitated, then finally released him, but pushed the man against the wall as he let go.

Morgan rushed forward and took Spencer’s place, twisting the man so his front was against the wall. He grabbed his wrists and placed them in cuffs.

You were sat, watching the scene in front of you. You felt helpless, vulnerable, stupid. You were an agent of the FBI, how could you have let this happen? You choked back a sob, but a whimper left your lips against your will.

At the soft and solemn sound, Spencer’s gaze dashed to you and his eyes were filled with worry. He rushed to you then, cursing himself for not attending to you earlier. He lifted you from the grass, clutching your shaking form against his own.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He asked, his hot breath against your ear.

“Just my pride,” you choked, laughing grimly. “I’m so sorry I let this happen.”

His grip on you tightened, his strong hand pulling the small of your back towards him. “Don’t say that. It’s not your fault. We’re pretty sure he’s the unsub the local police department has been looking into.”

You shuttered at the thought. You felt like one of the victims whose smiling face was on the board in the conference room. You felt weak.

As if Spencer could hear your very thoughts, he whispered against your hair, “It’s not your fault.”

-----

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[astrologysaysno]

I saw this Tumblr post floating about on the world wide web and decided, "Hey, let's turn that into a Moshang AU"

Mobei is the heir of Northern Goods, a family-owned multimillion dollar company whose main stream of revenue is the sale and transfer of produce and other goods all across China. As Vice-President, he is the successor to his father, who is planning to step down within the decade or so and retire.

Mobei is a hands-on boss, actively participating in the process of harvesting and preparing to ship these products around the country and internationally, a family tradition to be as involved as possible in the process as to not forget their roots as humble farmers who resided in the desert.

That's all fine and dandy, it's why the turnover rate is so low in his company, their boss is competent in this field.

What Mobei isn't competent about is the more beaureaucratic type of business.

He has no real clue about how things such as accounting and the logistics that ensure that transportation and sale goes smoothly happen. Mobei isn't the business-suit on Wall Street type, he prefers to let his products and their quality speak for themselves.

So he hires a manager from the city to deal with it instead.

Shang Qinghua, a man who lives in the city since he was a child, gets hired by Mobei to as the Logistics Manager of Northern Goods. He snatches up the offer even if it means having to relocate to the countryside.

Plot follows, they fall in love, all that good tea.

Mobei is enamoured by this tiny (Shang Qinghua is not THAT short, Mobei is just very tall and well-built) little man that has somehow paved a way for Northern Goods to be stronger than ever.

Shang Qinghua is in love with his ever friendlier boss that actually understands the hardship and struggle of working out in the field as a farmhand, doing his best to ensure a better and more efficient environment for both the company and their workers.

Shang Qinghua one day decides to try his hand at this whole farming thing now that Mobei and him are closer, but Mobei refuses.

Shang Qinghua is a city man with a city boy constitution. He fears that such strenuous activity may actively kill the poor guy. SQH has worked at a desk and ONLY at a desk for his entire employment, filing taxes and filling forms for the company. Mobei would much rather have his man safe in the shade (hopefully entranced by his figure as he works) rather than having him sweat a river and dying of a stroke while gathering crops.

Shang Qinghua convinces Mobei to let him try anyways, stating he wanted to experience what Mobei experiences.

(If Mobei agrees and both of them use it as an excuse to spend more time with each other, that remains unsaid.)

What Mobei concludes that day is that Shang Qinghua is that the man has no upper body strength at all, but invested it all in his legs. When I tell you this man can run like the wind. Shang Qinghua would put a trackstar to shame.

After having to constantly run from one side of factories and fields to the other in order to stop someone from doing something dumb so many times, he's built up the cardio for extremely long distances without breaking too much of a sweat. He will need some melon seeds and a long nap afterwards, though.

(And if Mobei thinks about his legs every once in a while, he doesn't say a word.)

[ponderingmoonlight]

would you be able/want to do something with gojo where him and the reader are both teachers and are in an established relationship but the student (aside from megumi) don’t know and start trying to figure out who gojo’s in a relationship with? i feel like gojo would either mess with them or be honest that it’s you but they just don’t believe him cause. yk. it’s you?

Hey, thank you so much for that great request, it was really fun to write! I mixed it up a little with an already existing fic of mine, I hope you don't mind. Let me know what you think <3

Part l to this fic can be found here

Gojo going nuts when his students don't believe him that you are his wife

Pairing: husband!Gojo x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,5k

Synopsis: When Satoru wears his wedding ring for the first time in front of his students, Nobara can't help but wonder who he's married to. But when Gojo confesses it's you, his students just don't believe him.

Warnings: language, sad Gojo lol, this is an absolute comfort fanfic so there you go if that's what you need today, read part l if you haven't yet <3

Tags:  @arehzhera @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @kenstarsworld @dazaisdick @hellkaiserinphoenix  @lauv4chuuya @shadowfoxey @starlightanyaaa @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen @magalimachete @mokoartpost @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut  @mynahx3

„Itadori!“ Nobara hisses through gritted teeth.

“Did you just see that?”

“What do you mean?”, Yuji remarks with doe-eyes, gazing up at her with no clue what she’s even talking about.

“That ring on Gojo-sensei’s finger, you idiot”, she barks back at him while frantically running to the door in order to catch one last glimpse at him.

“Is he by any chance married, Fushiguro?”

Megumi signs to himself, staring at Nobara in nothing but annoyance. That talk from last week where she literally forced you to describe Gojo still doesn’t sit right with him. Of course, Megumi knows about your relationship. After all, he’s been with both of you for many years now, witnessed countless times how Gojo caresses your cheek gently in the darkness of privacy, how he calls you “darling” around the house and passes out on the couch next to you 10 minutes into a movie. And even though both of you never talked about this whole marriage being private thing, Megumi simply refuses to talk about your love life – even with his friends.

“I have no idea. But maybe minding your own business will help with your complexion or something”, Megumi bites back.

All of the sudden, Nobara smacks the back of his head hard.

“Hey, that’s pretty mean, you don’t have to be so rough!” Yuji complains in an instant.

“Both of you, shut up. I will just ask him when he returns. Why wouldn’t he tell me?”

“There are actually a lot of reasons not to tell you…”

“SHUT YOUR MOUTH FUSHIGURO!”

“Huh, what’s going on here? I’ve been gone for a minute and you’re already smacking your heads?”

Casually, Satoru sits down behind is desk, long legs stretched out in front of him while nipping at the coffee you just made him. Oh, how much he loves to pay you a small visit during work. Just to be assured that you’re fine, that the second years don’t get on your nerves while training them. He just loves to adore you from afar. Yes, and the minute he gets home, you’re all his and his alone.

“You’re wearing a ring on your finger”, Nobara suddenly blurts out.

Satoru tils his head to the side, gaze wandering over his wedding ring. While he normally never wears it in fear of losing it during some stupid mission, today is your anniversary. The urge to proudly show off his ring became much greater than any anxiety. Also, today is a teaching only day and he’ll return home with you by his side after this lesson is over. The things he has planned for both of you tonight…He smirks to himself, joyful like a child when thinking about the surprise that’s waiting for you at home.

“Gojo-sensei!”

Megumi’s urgent voice rips him out of his daydreams.

“So what? A ring has many meanings”, Satoru replies calmly.

You never talked about this. While you seem to silently agree that showing each other affection at Jujutsu High isn’t what you want and that you are keen to keep your relationship private, you never talked this through. Last week when you described Satoru Gojo so well as your favourite type of men, you never said his name once, probably turned completely red when Yuji mentioned it so casually.

“Yeah, like being married for example!”

“Maybe I am, who knows?”

Satoru intertwines his fingers behind the back of his head, smirking at Nobara who is close to lose her mind widely.

“Maybe you should leave him alone…”, Yuji suggests in hushed tones.

“Maybe you should shut up, Itadori. This is far too important to let it slide!”

“You are way too dramatic about this.”, Megumi comments dryly.

“You guys just don’t understand the magic behind this!”

“So you want to know what this ring means?”

Nobara’s eyes light up in an instant, filled with so much unveiled curiosity that Gojo can’t help but wonder why she is never this invested when it comes to learning.

“Please tell me!”

Let’s see what happens.

“This is my wedding ring. I’m married to (y/n) for three years by now.”

Thick silence, utter speechlessness. The expression on Nobara’s face is so priceless that the urge inside Satoru to take a picture and show it to you later almost becomes unbearable.

“What’s up, Kugisaki? Did you see a ghost?”

“There’s no way in hell this is true”, Nobara mutters into Yuji’s ear, which earns a serious nod from the pink-haired boy.

Wait, what? Satoru furrows his eyebrows while gazing at the girl in front of him in disbelief. What did she just say?

“Why on earth couldn’t this be true, huh?”, he barks at her, hands clenched into fists.

“(y/n) is a real sweetheart with great taste. I just don’t think she would get involved with someone like you. Also, she said that she likes muscular man. And she never wore a ring”, Nobara explains briefly, earning a death stare from Satoru Gojo himself.

Both Yuji and Nobara eye him up and down, critical expression plastered on their faces while whispering unclear things into each other’s ear.

Satoru is on the brick of losing it. Did his students just suggest that you are too good for him? And that he’s not muscular!?

“I am muscular!”, he cries out.

“Megumi-chan, tell them I’m married to (y/n).”

If the ground would be able to swallow Megumi whole, he would take that offer in an instant. They already discussed this stupid matter for over 10 minutes now, when will the lesson finally start?

“Don’t drag me into this. Just do your job”, Megumi mumbles in annoyance.

Of course, Satoru is very aware of the fact that you are striking gorgeous, popular even beyond the boundaries of Jujutsu High. Damn, even here there might be some men who’d want you. But he is the strongest, he is good-looking, he is funny…Why on earth wouldn’t you be married to him?

“See? Nice try Gojo-sensei, but we don’t fall for your shit.”

He can’t believe his ears, face so red that Megumi slides back in his chair just in chase.

“You brats have absolutely no idea what love actually is! I won’t let you tell me who I’m married to or not!”, Satoru spits at his students, catching the attention of you.

Huh, what’s going on inside that classroom? You were on your way to grab some cursed weapons to show Maki, but the way your husband’s furious voice is heard through the entire hall makes you stop in front of his slightly opened door.

“Why are you screaming around here, Sir?”, you question, gazing at Nobara in confusion as she almost breaks down in tears from laughing her ass off.

“(y/n), darling, tell my students that you are my wife!”, Satoru demands.

Is that why he’s so stressed, because he wanted to tell his students that the both of you are married? What is going on here?

“I already told him multiple times we don’t believe him. Last week you said you like muscular man-“

“I AM MUSCULAR!”

You desperately try to hold back a laughter, the stressed out look on your husband’s face being enough to let a little giggle escape your lips. How on earth did that topic even pop up? Your gazer wanders to the wedding ring on his cramped finger, heart filling with warmth in an instant. Oh, he really wears it.

“Maybe he’s wearing that ring only for attention…”, Nobara whispers into Yuji’s ear.

“This is getting ridiculous”, Megumi comments.

“Why don’t we all just calm down a little? Your lesson started 15 minutes ago, why are you still arguing around?”, you playfully throw at your husband.

Despite the fact that you want to throw yourself in his arms right away, you keep your cool composure. This is what he gets for picking on you last week. You’ll make him suffer just the way he did it to you.

“You are supposed to help me with this!”, he complains.

“I am supposed to work right now”, you reply sweetly before turning on your heels and closing the door.

You can’t hold back any longer. Tears start to tickle in your eyes, that priceless look on his face. Oh god, you can’t stop laughing. This evening will definitely be entertaining.

-in the evening-

“Hello, stranger”, you playfully greet your husband as soon as he returns from work, blue orbs almost piercing through you.

“You are supposed to help me! Why didn’t they believe me? I’m I really that much of a downgrade compared to you?”

That little pout forming on his delicate face warms your heart in an instant.

“Maybe it’s better this way. I like to enjoy my time with you in privacy. Nice try though”, you playfully remark, your hands gently running through his soft white hair.

Suddenly he grabs your legs, pulling your body up in the air while all you can to is shriek and laugh out lough. He carries you into the bedroom, letting your body fall onto the soft mattress.

“I will make you pay for not helping me out today you traitor.”

“Then I’m happy to be a traitor.”

[cobaltperun]

Congrats on the 500 ❤️ just want to give you a request of a Tara x reader no ghostface au of basically Tara being this popular and reader being this nerd and how reader is madly in love with her but Tara is afraid to be with someone who isn't popular so she ignores reader until reader starts getting attention from another popular person(had no clue where to take it from there)

Miss Popular

Tara Carpenter x GN Reader (Request)

Masterlist

Combined with this request.

Word count: 1.5k

It was never going to work out in your favor. A nerd catching the eye of one of the most popular girls in the school? Tara Carpenter was charming, smart, beautiful, she could get anyone to like her with her kindness. It didn’t matter who you were, as long as you were a good person in her eyes, she would be pleasant with you, listening attentively and making sure no one felt alone.

The two of you talked occasionally and you slowly learnt things about her, that she didn’t want anyone to feel alone because she oftentimes felt alone in her own home. So, she decided she’d never make anyone feel like they were alone if they were in her company.

And you fell in love even harder than before. Her compassion, empathy, everything about her won you over and you were absolutely head over heels in love with her. But that love was impossible in your eyes. You weren’t a part of the same friend group, you only started talking because you happened to do a project together. And there was the main issue.

You were…

A nerd.

A quintessential book-loving, movie-watching, anime-enjoying, no-good-at-sports, introvert-still-waiting-for-an-extrovert-to-adopt-you, nerd.

Asking Tara Carpenter out on a date felt as daunting as writing an essay on a four hundred pages long book was to someone who despised reading. And unlike with the second group, there was no summary online to help you ‘write your essay’.

~X~

You were being incredibly weird these past few days, avoiding even an accidental glance and flinching whenever your eyes would accidentally meet. And Tara was genuinely getting worried, because she couldn’t figure out what she did to save her life.

She would have walked up to you, asked you plain and simple what she did wrong because knowing that she did something and not knowing what it was was killing her! Tara couldn’t do it though, she was afraid. She was a popular girl, on the outside. The truth was she just got lucky after years of being bullied. Mindy took a liking to her and since then she was a part of the popular group, eventually gaining ‘popularity’ herself. It was a fleeting popularity, one that would crumble and turn to dust if she acted on her feelings toward you.

Perhaps it was a selfish desire, but she hoped she’d get a chance someday, after the two of you were out of high school, preferably out of Woodsboro, preferably at a place that didn’t care about who was popular and who was a nerd. Or perhaps she would finally say ‘fuck it’ and forget about what other people said or did.

She would leave that to her future self, surviving high school was her top priority.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she missed you approaching and biting your lip with your hands trembling in your pockets and foot nervously tapping on the ground while Tara was waiting for her friends to meet up with her.

“Hey, Tara,” you uttered, your voice cracking adorably and she sat up straighter, a bit startled by you finally approaching her.

“Y/N,” she smiled at you, happy to see you, another positive of her smiling at you was that it seemed to help you with your nerves as well. It always did, anyway, but from the looks of it it had the opposite effect this time.

“I was, uh, you see,” you refused to look at her and she could only raise and eyebrow at how much you were fidgeting. “Wouldyougooutwithme?”

“Huh?” she really didn’t understand one word you just said.

You took a deep breath. “Would you. I mean, if it doesn’t sound like a waste, no that isn’t… could you, maybe, no hard feelings if you don’t want to, just consider, like, just for a moment think about it. It, uh, being, going out with, or rather just maybe getting a, you know, a drink, and I don’t mean alcohol, just like, water, coffee, tea, juice, something you like, with me?” you still said it really quickly, fumbling over words and looking anywhere but at her.

Tara blushed, her heart beating rapidly as she watched you. You, clumsily, and in the most adorable way she ever experienced, asked her out and her heart said yes. Her heart absolutely said yes! You could go to another town, you could hide it, she was sure you’d understand. “I-“

“Tara!” just before she could answer she heard Amber calling her name and turned to see the girl approaching the two of you quickly.

“I actually like someone else,” Tara whispered, and if only you looked her in the eyes, you would have seen the regret she felt.

You froze and Tara’s heart shattered, you looked like you expected it. “I see, of course, good luck. I’ll see you around,” you forced a smile, staying strong despite the rejection. And she watched you leave, cursing her inability to go after you.

“What was that about?” Amber asked, looking at your back in a condescending way. Even if she was sure Mindy or Chad wouldn’t mind that she liked you, in fact Mindy knew it, Amber would turn the school against her, because in Amber’s mind those that were popular shouldn’t spend time with nerds unless it was to get better grades.

“Nothing,” Tara muttered, not noticing the slight smirk on Amber’s face.

~X~

You didn’t cry over the rejection, you understood, though it did hurt. In fact, you were thankful to Tara for being fairly gentle and to the point about it. You figured she might have been gentler, offering a word of comfort or two, if Amber didn’t come right at that moment.

It didn’t change the fact that she liked someone else. And of course she did.

She had so many friends, so many people around her that the idea of her noticing you of all people was truly ridiculous. You were still happy you tried, even if it meant you wouldn’t be able to face Tara again for the rest of the school year.

At least it wouldn’t be too long. Only several months left and then you’d be leaving Woodsboro anyway.

Still, despite all your thoughts, all the reasons and logic you tried to call upon your heart still ached, you still hoped, deep down, for a different outcome.

“Hello, Y/N,” Amber came up to you in the school cafeteria and you looked up, surprised that she even knew your name, let alone addressed you.

Amber was, by far, the most popular student in the school. Attractive, confident, even arrogant if you were being honest. Being part of Amber’s group meant being at the top of the stupid school hierarchy.

“Hello,” you had no idea what she could possibly want with you.

As introverted as you were you didn’t really know about a certain habit of hers.

~X~

Tara was seething, anger rising within her as she watched Amber talking to you, clearly flirting. She wasn’t just jealous, she knew exactly what Amber was up to, and she was furious that you would be Amber’s target just because she probably figured something out yesterday.

So, before Mindy or any of her other friends could question her, she got up and stomped over to you, grabbed Amber’s forearm and pulled her away, determined look on her face as she dragged her to the corner to avoid attention from other students, not that it worked. Nearly everyone was already looking at the two of them.

“Easy there, Tara,” Amber laughed, more amused than anything right now.

“What are you trying to do Amber?” Tara demanded, looking right into her eyes.

Amber shrugged. “Just messing around, having fun,” she didn’t even try to hide it and Tara had enough. You were too good, too kind, to be another one of Amber’s ways to pass time.

It no longer mattered that Amber would turn students against her, that she could get bullied again. She just went and slapped Amber. “Not with Y/N, you hear me,” she warned ignoring the gasps and covered mouths and while Amber stood there, recovering from the sting of the slap and more importantly her shock, Tara approached you.

“Tara?” you were confused as she sat down, right next to you, your thighs touching and Tara intertwined your fingers together.

“I would love to go out with you. I’m sorry I rejected you yesterday,” she was probably as red as tomato, but you laughed lightly and squeezed her hand tighter.

“Thank you, I promise you won’t regret it,” you didn’t have to say or promise that, she knew she wouldn’t regret it. Come hell or high water, she would never regret this.

[edenesth]

The Way to His Heart [10]

Pairing: general!Seonghwa x wife!reader

AU: arranged marriage au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 4.5k

Trigger Warnings: graphic violence/torture, gore, implied mutilation

Summary: Life has been hell ever since your mother's passing many years ago. Despite being from a prominent family, you've never received the privileges associated with it. It only got worse with the arrival of your stepmother and her daughters. When the intimidating General Park was in search of a wife, your father seized the opportunity to dispose of you, simultaneously securing a connection with the powerful general—killing two birds with one stone.

Part 9 | Fic Masterlist | Part 11

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Wooyoung called out, entering the general's study with Jongho following closely behind, having been summoned to the estate.

Seonghwa looked up from his desk, "Ah yes, I heard you turned down the bonus incentive we offered. Why is that? Is there something else that you wish to have?"

Having encountered few who would refuse extra money, your husband found it hard to comprehend the private investigator's decision. Most people around him were usually drawn by the allure of his wealth or other associated benefits, which left him curious about Wooyoung's motives for declining the bonus. Surely, there was something specific he desired.

The younger man beamed, "My lord, I wasn't working so willingly for you because I wanted something more from you. Honestly, nothing makes me happier than being recognised by you! I just... okay, maybe there is one thing I really want."

Raising his brow, the general was not surprised by the sudden admission, "Go on, name it then."

With a cheeky grin, the investigator replied, "It's that you allow me to help you with whatever problems you have now!"

Your husband rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, "What do you mean? I have no problems now; the worst is over."

"Really? Is that why you're here sulking alone instead of being with Lady Park? You clearly want to be near her, and yet, here you are, staying away from her because you haven't a clue how to face her after the traumatising ordeal you put her through yesterday."

That finally piqued Seonghwa's attention, prompting him to sit up straighter, though he attempted to maintain a nonchalant demeanour, "H-how did you figure that out?"

Without waiting for Wooyoung's response, he shook his head, "No, wait, actually, I don't want to know that. Just tell me... what should I do? I realise I haven't considered well enough what she went through, but I... I've never had to care for someone like this before, and I'm not really sure how to..."

The investigator offered an understanding smile, "My lord, the key to any relationship is communication. You need to talk to Lady Park. Ask her how she's feeling, and tell her you're sorry for what she went through. Avoiding each other won't solve anything; it will only create more distance between you two. You're her pillar of support now, and she needs to feel that you're there for her. You both deserve happiness, but it starts with open and honest communication."

Absorbing the advice, the general nodded thoughtfully, "You're right, Wooyoung. I appreciate your straightforwardness. I'll go talk to her and make things right."

Without hesitating, he sprang from his chair and made his way out of the study. The assistant and his friend couldn't contain their laughter, covering their mouths with their hands, but quickly composed themselves when Seonghwa glanced back at them, "Oh, and please, accept the bonus. You deserve it, especially after this."

Before Wooyoung could object, he had already exited the room and was rushing down the path toward the House of Lotus, his heart pounding at the thought of seeing his wife again.

He remembered how quiet you had been during the entire journey back home the day before, your gaze fixed on the passing scenery outside the window. While you weren't overtly distant or cold to him, you seemed lost in thought throughout dinner. You excused yourself early, retiring to your quarters. The atmosphere carried an unspoken tension, making him hesitant to say anything for fear of your potential reaction.

Reflecting on it, he realised he should have assured you that things would be better from that point forward. Rather than maintaining a facade of normalcy, he regretted not breaking the silence and being there for you in that moment of unease.

His steps hesitated, and his breath deepened as you finally appeared in his line of sight, seated alone in the pavilion outside your room. Your lady etiquette books lay open beside you, but the faraway look in your eyes remained glued to the horizon beyond the lotus pond. For a moment, he stood there, appreciating your beauty, suddenly feeling thankful you looked nothing like your father.

However, as soon as you turned your head slightly and noticed him standing by the entrance, he blinked rapidly, feeling flustered. Gathering his courage, he took a deep breath and approached you.

Just go talk to her, you fool.

Seeing him approach, you closed the books and made room for him to sit in the small pavilion. He offered a warm smile, "Hey, I hope I'm not bothering you or anything."

Shaking your head, you returned a small smile, "No, not at all. I tried to study, but I just... I couldn't."

As he settled down beside you, reaching for your hand, you didn't flinch or pull away. He released a relieved breath and moved closer, "It's alright, you don't have to force yourself. I know you're probably upset with me. I... I'm sorry, my dear."

Lifting your head to meet his eyes, you furrowed your brows, "What? Why would I be upset with you?"

He winced, wondering if you were intentionally testing him to see if he knew what he did wrong. But then again, he knew you would never do anything like that. Sighing, he admitted, "Look, I know I should've thought things through better yesterday. I was so focused on wanting to punish your family for what they did, I forgot about how horrible it must have been for you to go back there and sit through all of that."

"I acknowledge it was a mistake. My intention was to give you a chance to confront your family by taking you to your old room. I didn't think it would affect you so badly. I realise now that it was a misguided decision, and I regret taking you back to that place. I'm a goddamned idiot."

His admission tugged at your heart, and you responded by placing a comforting hand over his.

"Seonghwa, you're not an idiot. I'm not upset with you," You assured him, "I've been quiet since the visit because I'm still processing the fact that my own father killed my mother. All this time, I believed she died from sickness. Now, I can't help but wonder how different my life would have been if only she were still alive. He took her away from me just like that, and for what? All for his own selfish reasons..."

"I just... I feel so—" Tears welled up in your eyes, and your voice broke, "I-I'm sorry..." You pulled your hands away from him, attempting to wipe your eyes, but he gently grasped your shoulders and turned you to face him.

"No, you need to stop apologising. You have every right to be sad, and I'm here to tell you that you never have to endure any more of the pain you're going through alone. I'm here for you, okay? From now on, I want you to lean on me whenever things get too unbearable. Can you do that?"

Feeling the genuine warmth in Seonghwa's tone and seeing the unmistakable care in his eyes, you finally broke down. The weight of the revelations, the pain of your father's actions, and the years of emotional torment spilt over, and you couldn't hold back your tears any longer. He pulled you close, cradling you in his arms as you sobbed against his shoulder.

Whispering comforting words into your ear, he pressed gentle kisses onto the top of your head. His touch was a soothing balm, providing the comfort and support you desperately needed in that moment. As you let out your emotions, he held you tighter.

The sound of your heart-wrenching cries only caused an uncomfortable squeeze in his heart. The general had never experienced this kind of ache before. Throughout his life, he had always believed that no one had a tougher life than he did. But then you came along, with your fragile form, managing to shake his entire world and alter his perspectives on life. All of a sudden, the notion of having someone to protect and care for didn't seem so repulsive, especially when it was you.

You slowly pulled back, staring up at him through your wet lashes, and offered a grateful smile, "Seonghwa, I want to thank you for doing all this for me. I never imagined someone caring enough to go through all that trouble. I promise, in return, I'll try my hardest to be a worthy wife for you."

He wiped away your tears tenderly and gazed into your eyes, "You don't need to prove anything, my love. You're already perfect, just as you are."

Your heart raced, and your eyes widened as you stuttered, "W-wait, what... what did you just call me?"

He stilled, realising the words that had slipped from his mouth before he softened. Leaning close, he pressed his forehead against yours, "My love."

Seonghwa's presence became almost intoxicating. Feeling him so close, as if with a mind of its own, your eyes slowly fluttered closed. He took that as permission to lean in further, and after what felt like an eternity, his lips touched yours in a soft and tentative kiss. When you didn't push him away, he bravely angled his head before pressing his lips firmly against yours.

Finally, our first kiss.

Pulling away after a while to catch your breath, you bit your lip shyly, "I-I'm sorry if I wasn't—"

He shook his head, "Don't worry, it's my first time kissing someone too," He admitted, struggling to take his eyes off your swollen lips. A soft smile played on his lips as he caressed your cheek with his thumb, "Can I..." He asked with half-lidded eyes, and you nodded breathlessly.

Without wasting another moment, he captured your lips in another loving kiss. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the warmth of each other's presence. His touch was gentle yet filled with a depth of emotion. As the kiss deepened, you felt a rush of emotions, a mix of vulnerability and passion.

Feeling the need for air, he pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours. Your eyes met, and you could see the affection and sincerity in his gaze, "You're perfect." He whispered, his voice filled with tenderness, realising that kissing you might just be his new favourite thing to do from now onwards. The moment lingered, the air charged with newfound emotions. It was a beginning, a sweet promise of the love that had blossomed between you.

"Your Majesty, please—"

The King slammed his fists against the handle of his throne, causing the minister to gasp and lower his head. He shook like a leaf, awaiting his impending doom as the ruler declared, "I don't want to hear another word from you, Jang. You're a bloody disappointment. Actually, you're worse than that, you monster."

Kneeling beside your father were your stepmother and stepsisters, equally trembling. Pathetic tears rolled down their cheeks as they attempted to put on a pity show, hoping to move His Majesty's heart. However, their efforts did little to appease his rage. He scoffed in disbelief at their audacity to cry, considering all the despicable things they had done to you and your mother.

This marked the first time the four women had set foot in the palace, and little did they anticipate it would be under such circumstances. The visit might also be their only time here, as the imminent judgement from the King would decide their fate.

Seonghwa stood in the corner, arms crossed over his chest, an amused expression on his face. He left home that morning after a lingering kiss on your lips, feeling rejuvenated and determined. Choosing not to burden you with the details of today's assembly, he shielded you from further thoughts about your family.

Don't worry, my love. I'll make sure they suffer a punishment worse than death.

"I can't stand to look at you imbeciles for another moment longer. Let's get this over with already. Royal Secretary Choi, would you be so kind as to enlighten us with all of Minister Jang's crimes and his punishments?" said the King.

Stepping forward from his corner next to the throne, San bowed, "As you wish, Your Majesty," Tugging open the scroll in his hands, he began reading out loud, "Minister Jang has committed a total of five crimes. First, he committed adultery voluntarily, and for that, he will be whipped with eighty lashes. Second, he committed the crime of official document forgery, and for that, he will be whipped an additional twenty lashes."

Dread filled the minister as he gulped, anxiously listening to the secretary move on to the next section, "Third, for the confinement, continuous abuse, and mistreatment of his own daughter, an innocent citizen, he will be flogged thirty times. Next, for violating the code of ethics as a minister, which is to be a law-abiding citizen, he will be stripped of his title and flogged another twenty times."

As your father's hands trembled, he attempted to hold himself up by pressing his sweaty palms against the floor, breathing heavily as he awaited the final and most severe punishment. San continued, "And finally, for the murder of his first wife, an innocent citizen, he will be sentenced to permanent exile."

That's... it?

Feeling a sliver of hope, the old man let out a small sigh of relief. At least it wasn't death by beheading or arsenic poisoning as he had feared. Banishment seemed acceptable; he supposed he could still live a quiet life somewhere away from here. Bowing deeply, he cried, "Thank you, Your Majesty! Your grace is immeasurable!"

All the ministers and officials present quickly stole glances at Seonghwa, wondering if he would throw a fit and object to the punishment that was yet to be the heaviest one. However, they failed to discern his feelings, as there was only an unreadable smirk on his handsome face.

Lady Jang and her daughters trembled as they awaited their turn. With a nod from the King, the secretary continued, "Moving on, Lady Jang has committed a total of four crimes. First, she voluntarily committed adultery, and for that, she will be whipped eighty lashes. Second, she committed the crime of official document forgery, and for that, she will be whipped an additional twenty lashes."

She nodded to herself, seemingly already accepting her fate, as she listened, "Third, for the confinement, continuous abuse, and mistreatment of the minister's eldest daughter, an innocent citizen, she will be flogged thirty times. And finally, for being an accomplice to the murder of the first Lady Jang, she will be sentenced to penal servitude for life."

Her eyes shot up immediately, finding it hard to accept that she would be separated from her husband. She had believed she, too, would be exiled along with him. But she quickly lowered her gaze as soon as she saw the glare the King had directed at her, as if daring her to complain about it.

Oh god, my life is over...

Noticing the King's patience wearing thin, San quickly concluded with the final sentencing, "Lastly, for the confinement, continuous abuse, and mistreatment of the minister's eldest daughter, an innocent citizen, the three young misses of the Jang family will be flogged thirty times each and sentenced to penal servitude for a total of thirty years."

All three of the sisters' jaws fell slack at their punishment. After living luxurious lives like spoiled brats for so long, they were now expected to be servants, performing hard labour for three decades. All their dreams of getting married and leading comfortable lives were shattered. The prospect of finding suitors after serving their sentences seemed bleak. Their lives were forever ruined, and things would never be the same.

"Now that that's settled, remove these individuals from my sight, and see to it that they receive their physical punishments by today. I don't want their presence contaminating my palace walls any longer than necessary. Moving on to the next agenda, let us discuss who will stand in as the interim Minister of Military Affairs until we elect a new one." The ruler grumbled, waving his hands dismissively.

Seonghwa grinned smugly, relishing the way your father's face fell as he absorbed His Majesty's words. The King fully intended to drive the point home, reminding him that, no matter how much he believed he contributed to the nation, he, too, was just as disposable. Consider it emotional torment for further punishment, if you will.

As the members of the Jang family were forcefully pulled to their feet and guided toward the palace torture chamber where all punishments for criminals were administered, the general bowed deeply, "Your Majesty, forgive this humble subject for not feeling too well. Would it be possible for me to excuse myself from the remainder of today's assembly?"

With a knowing glint in his eyes, the King nodded, "Of course, my boy. Nothing matters more than your well-being. I'll have Royal Secretary Choi send you the minutes of today's meeting later on."

All eyes were fixed on your husband as he confidently exited the hall, wearing an excessively pleased expression, looking a little too content to be feeling unwell as he had claimed. It became evident to everyone that he was plotting something, a scheme that even His Majesty was privy to and had tacitly approved.

"P-please, have mercy!"

Screams reverberated within the dim and eerie confines of the torture chamber, a place the general once frequented during his duties of interrogating spies, war criminals, and suspicious individuals to maintain peace within the nation.

The familiar sounds of your family's agonising cries filled his ears, and he couldn't suppress the chuckle that escaped his lips as he entered, "Ah yes, music to my ears."

Upon his arrival, all the royal guards present swiftly bowed deeply and greeted Seonghwa with respect, "Good day, General Park!" They dared not continue until he gave them a nod, "Go on, don't let me stop you. I'm only here to enjoy the show."

"Yes, sir!" They chanted in unison. To many young soldiers and palace guards, he was akin to a god, an embodiment of success they aspired to achieve one day. Therefore, his mere presence motivated them to perform their duties with increased ruthlessness and precision.

Taking a seat in the centre of the room, your husband bit his lip with a smug expression, locking eyes with your father whose gaze reflected anguish. The elderly man lay face down on a wooden table, enduring lash after lash on his already bloody and battered back. His painful ordeal was far from over.

Whimpering, your father pleaded, "S-Seonghwa, I'm s-still your father-in-law! Please, at least show a little mercy to your wife's father!" Beside him, his wife nodded pathetically, sharing the same painful fate. Meanwhile, the three daughters stood frozen in a corner, wrists cuffed, awaiting their turn to face their beatings.

A devilish laughter escaped the general as he shot a menacing glare at the former minister, "Oh, I'm sorry, was that supposed to make things any better? I would show you mercy if only you had shown my wife any. You shouldn't have said anything, you fool," Turning to the guard in charge of whipping your father, your husband ordered, "Not hard enough, soldier. I want to see his skin tear."

"Yes, sir!" Striking with increased force, the lashes landed on the old man's back, inflicting wounds that would take months to heal. The continuous shrieks of pain only served to widen the smile on Seonghwa's face, "And to think you were thanking His Majesty for his grace; you've underestimated the severity of being whipped, haven't you? Did you really think you were going to walk out of here with a small bruise? Dream on."

"Oh, I can't wait for all of you to experience the wonders of flogging! It will be delightful, a punishment perfectly suited for your kind." The general sang, eyeing the three girls slyly.

They cowered under his intense gaze, suddenly regretting every action they took on the day of your visit. Perhaps if they hadn't attempted any of those, they might have gotten away with a lighter sentence. But there was no point dwelling on such thoughts now.

"Father! Mother!" The girls cried, witnessing their parents only now completing the first half of their punishment. Before they could continue their wailing, guards approached them, saying, "Quiet down! Worry about yourselves instead; it's your turn."

The former minister and his wife looked practically lifeless by the time the guards were finished with their hundred lashes each. The skin on their backs was completely torn open, blood gushing out relentlessly. They were nearly unconscious by the time the guards moved them to separate poles, where they would be beaten with a heavy stick all over their bodies.

Letting out a small yawn, Seonghwa signalled for them to prepare for the flogging. This would be entertaining to witness; most criminals barely survived this punishment by the time it concluded. He would relish the idea of them being left in critical conditions.

"Enjoy yourselves! Thirty times each for what you've all done to my wife – just the perfect amount to leave you halfway to hell. Don't worry; you'll wish you were dead by the end of this. But rest assured, we will keep you alive," Your husband exclaimed with a clap of his hands, "Now, I want you to think of all the things you've done to my wife as you endure this. Can we all do that?"

In the ensuing silence, the guards approached each family member, forcefully striking them with the heavy sticks in their hands. With just one hit, all of them began howling in pain, "Answer the general! Can you all do as you are told?!"

"Y-yes! Yes!" All five of them sobbed miserably, and the general beamed, "Fantastic! Now, let the official flogging begin! The first one does not count, alright? Consider it warm up!"

The insanity in his eyes was genuinely terrifying, and your family was once again reminded of his reputation. Suddenly, it all made sense. This was how it felt to be a victim of his cruelty. They never should have sent you to him; that was their biggest mistake, and nothing they do or say could ever change that now.

"Yes, sir!"

And so it began, the screams that now filled the room were even more piercing than the ones during the first round of whipping.

Approaching each family member one by one, Seonghwa smirked, "Remember all the times you starved her?" Jinjoo nodded in between shrieks, "Good. And you, recall all the times you insulted her and made her feel small?" Jinhee repeated her sister's actions, nodding furiously, "Very good. And you, remember all the times you did something wrong and blamed it on her so that she would take your punishments for you?"

Jinah cried, tears and snot running down her sweaty face, "I'm sorry!" He shook his head, "Will saying a useless sorry change anything? Nope. Hit her harder, soldier," With a grin of approval, he moved on to your stepmother, "And you, recall all the times you kept her locked up in that prison cell you call her room?" Not wanting to suffer like her eldest, she nodded aggressively, "Good."

Finally stopping in front of your father, he crossed his arms over his chest, "And you, remember all the times you laid your hands on her? Your own daughter?" The former minister nodded quickly but was not spared, "Good, hit him even harder so he never forgets how it feels."

"Twenty-nine, thirty." The beatings stopped for the four women, and they collapsed one by one onto the floor like rag dolls. Blood trickled from their noses and the corners of their lips, their bodies covered in countless bruises and open wounds, soaking their clothes red. And that is only what can be seen on the outside; who knew what fatal internal injuries they could be suffering from.

With his hands propped on his hips, Seonghwa took in the sight with satisfaction, "Very well, some of these scars should last you for life. Now, you look as bad as the way you'd left my wife. Actually, worse. But that's good. I'm very happy with the outcome. Guards, take them away and make sure to send them to places where they're known to treat their servants poorly."

The girls sobbed upon hearing that, "General, please, have mercy! We've already suffered enough!" Your husband scoffed, "Mercy? Have you not been paying attention this entire time? I'm not known for that. Get them out of my sight."

As the guards dragged the wailing women out, they cried for their husband and father. The former minister yelled, still taking his twenty additional beatings as he watched his wife and daughters go, "W-will you not at least let me say my final goodbyes to them?"

"Minister, please don't make me laugh. Did you also allow my wife and her poor mother a final goodbye?" The old man had nothing to say at that, grunts of pain escaping his lips as he tried to endure the remainder of his punishment despite feeling like all of his insides had been beaten to mush at this point. He didn't have to look down to know that he was soaked in blood; he could feel the sting on his wounds whenever the slightest bit of wind blew past.

Just a bit more, and I'm free.

« Preview of Part 11 »

"Forty-nine, fifty." Your father sighed in relief when the punishment finally ceased. Collapsing to the ground upon being untied, he stared blankly ahead, feeling pain throughout his entire body. Slowly but surely, he slipped into unconsciousness due to the loss of blood.

Unfortunately, his respite was short-lived. A bucket of dirty water was abruptly dumped over him, causing him to scream in agony as the injuries on his body stung intensely, bringing tears to his eyes.

"Did you think it was over?" His blood ran cold as he noticed he was now tied to a chair, unable to move. With most of the guards gone, only him and Seonghwa remained.

"What do you think you're doing, general? I've completed all my physical punishments; you're supposed to banish me now!" The old man croaked, his eyes widening in fear as he noticed the dagger in your husband's hand.

The general burst into laughter, "Oh, minister, you can be quite slow at times. Did you genuinely believe that His Majesty's decision not to sentence you to death was an act of kindness? Who do you think requested your exile?"

"Y-you—"

Seonghwa smirked, "Indeed, it was me. Killing you would have been too merciful. No, I want you to endure a life so filled with pain that you wish for death every single day. Now, after seeing how skilled you were at begging all day, I believe you'd make a very talented beggar. Do you know what would make you a successful beggar?"

Tears streaming down his face, your father shook his head hopelessly as your husband traced the blade against his skin before whispering, "One without limbs."

That was the most violence I have ever written HAHA I had to channel my inner Joker for Seonghwa's character. Anyway, I hope that was satisfying enough!

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

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All Rights Reserved © edenesth // DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, PLAGIARISE OR REPURPOSE.

[motthe]

hi! omg I read one of your lumens au fics ages ago and loved it! I didn't expect to randomly find your blog lol. may I request something for vi that's angsty? like maybe the reader (I'm fine w/ gender neutral or fem, whatever you want) thinks that vi doesn't like them back? or if you don't like that, just..anything fluff/angst would be amazing. thanks :) totally get if you don't feel like doing this one though.

im glad you enjoyed whichever lumen au you read!! and thx for requesting!!

“Pick someone else.”

Sheriff Caitlyn paused from reading over her paperwork, slowly lowering it to raise a sharp eyebrow at you.

“Care to repeat that, officer?”

You cleared your throat, folding your arms behind your back and righting your stance. “Apologies, ma’am. I only mean to say, this pairing wouldn’t benefit the problem at hand. It would be better if you chose someone else for my position.”

“Yours?” she asked, tone flat. “Not Violet’s?”

“She’s an excellent officer,” you said. “She’ll get the job done.”

“And why wouldn’t you?” Your head officer set the papers down, intertwining her hands over them as she put her full attention forward.

“Well, it’s just that…” you fumbled, face twisting as your eyes fled to the corner of the room. “No, I mean, I would do my best on this job as well, but, uh—”

“Speak plainly, please,” she sighed back to the Caitlyn you knew in training, cement posture crumbling as she hunched over her desk. “I don’t have the energy for your rambling.”

“Hey, now,” you mumbled.

“Sorry.” She brought a hand to her temple, rubbing. “Long day. Why won’t you work with her?”

“It’s not that I won’t—” She snapped your name, patience idling on the edge. “She hates me.”

Caitlyn’s nose wrinkled, slender eyes narrowing as she muttered, “What?”

“She hates me,” you repeated. “It wouldn’t be good to pair us up on this mission.”

“You just started working with our team. Why would she hate you?” You waved your arms around, showing you clearly didn’t have the clue she was looking or. “She doesn’t hate you.”

“She does.”

“She does not!”

You brought a finger up. “She won’t speak to me unless it’s to poke fun or correct something, when I tried to invite her to a group dinner she flat out refused, she never trains with me…” you listed off. “She wants nothing to do with me. Please don’t pair us up.”

“I don’t have any other choice,” Caitlyn stated. “You’re the only two that can get this done, so I suggest you have a talk before you set out and come to a compromise.”

You wrapped your arms around yourself as she stood, patting your shoulder with a gentle smile.

“I really don’t think she hates you.”

“Yeah? Why?” you scoffed.

Caitlyn shrugged. “I’ve seen her hate people. Most of them are either behind bars, on the run, or dead.”

“Guess I better start running,” you sighed, thanking her as she held her office door open. It was late and all the desk lights were off, leaving the bullpen eerily empty. “Night, Sheriff.”

“Talk to her,” she called in farewell, shutting the door behind you.

The walk home was filled with the usual hangouts. Local cafe that sold the best pastries, couple of shops you frequented, a plant place with a sweet, young owner, and on the corner the closest bar to the police office that also stood opposite of your apartment. The neon sign burned your eyes. With tonight being a new moon, it was lit up like a beacon amongst the dark windows and closed signs.

You figured a nightcap couldn’t hurt and old Roger might lend an ear to your woes as he always did for his regulars who knew how to tip.

Entering the establishment, you chuckled as a few whistled and waved. You nodded, heading to the bar where more than a few seats were left open.

“Slow night?” you called as Roger set a clean pint glass on the shelves behind him. He was big enough to be the bouncer when he needed one, all broad shoulders and brooding face. Even with the age in his face, he was a handsome man and no doubt someone you’d crush on if you weren’t caught up another broad shouldered, brooding face.

“Oi,” he groaned, rolling his eyes as he spotted you, “turn the fuck around. You’ll make it go by even slower.”

“Aw, missed you too, old man,” you crooned, hopping up on the stool.

Resting your head in your hand, you watched him pour your usual, setting in front of you with a grumble before turning back to his shelving. “Been good?”

“What’s on your mind?”

“Huh?”

He leveled you with a glare. “I know you. Nights you come in this late, you’re looking for a distraction or an ear and it’s usually the latter. So which is it?”

You sipped your drink, avoiding his gaze. “Can’t I just check in on my favorite bartender?”

He grabbed a wet glass from a sink near the back wall, turning to rest against the counter as he grabbed the rag at his waist and got to work. He stared as you dipped into you drink again, the quiet hubbub of the handful of people and record player filling the space.

You sighed, head dropping onto your arm. “Sheriff wants me teaming up for a job.”

“There it is,” he groused.

“This coworker hates me. I don’t know how I’m supposed to work with her.”

“Which one?”

You didn’t fault him for not remembering everyone. Most enforcers came here after their shift, but you’d also just moved from the other office across the city. It was heaven. You’d been fighting to change since you moved into that apartment a year ago, and with Caitlyn being head honcho here you wanted to work under her. You’d always respected her from your time together in school. She was the best of the best.

“It’s Violet,” you sighed. “Specialized peacekeeper with the Hextech Gauntlets.”

“Ah,” nodded Roger, “Pinky.”

You snorted. “I’m sure she’d hate that nickname.”

“Oh, she does,” he chuckled, “just like you do, Ramble.”

“Hey,” you muttered as he shrugged. “Anyway, I’m supposed to talk to her and ‘compromise.’ I’m not sure how to do that when I don’t even know why she hates me.”

“Then ask,” he said as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

“Wow, thanks. Great advice.”

“Whatever the reason, I’m sure she’ll get over it. I did.”

“Gods, you’re lucky I like the drinks,” you muttered, taking another sip. “And that its Wednesday.”

“It ain’t.”

“Huh?” you yawned.

“It ain’t Wednesday,” he said. “It’s Thursday, ya dolt.”

“What?” You looked for a calendar. “I swore it was…”

“Can tell by the regulars most of the time,” he shrugged, “you’re Wednesdays.”

“Yeah, figures,” you huffed, pushing your empty glass forward. “Whose Thursdays?”

Roger grabbed your glass and smirked, nodding to your right.

“Pinky.”

You went stock still as someone sat next you, lowering your eyes towards your lap as Roger placed the two glasses in front of you.

“On my tab, Roger,” came that familiar overtone as a tattooed arm reached out for the pint. “Thanks.”

Roger grunted, heading off somewhere further down the bar. You slowly brought your hands up to your drink, bringing it over to sip at gingerly.

“So,” Violet began, that damn smugness coming out that always did when she was about to poke fun, “I hate you?”

You took a big gulp and hummed as it went down a little too slowly. “Yeah,” you breathed, “thanks for clarifying.”

She blew out a breath, raising the glass to her lips. “I don’t hate you.”

“Sure feels like it.”

“Listen, it’s been, what, two weeks since you joined our team?” she questioned, shrugging. “I’m not used to you, and I’m not a big fan of change.”

You turned in your seat, finally meeting her eyes. “Doesn’t mean you can’t be a bit more welcoming. I’ve been trying to, you know, meet you halfway.”

“I know,” she sighed, focus switching between your gaze. You never realized how close these bar seats were to each other until now. “You just…”

“What?” you mumbled.

“You’re too nice,” she sighed, pulling back and resting on the counter.

You rolled your eyes. And we’re back to square one.

“You want me to be mean?”

“I don’t think you have it in you,” she chuckled.

“You haven’t seen me in action,” you argued. “There’s a reason I was moved to this team, you know.”

“Yeah. You and Cupcake are friends.”

You couldn’t help it. That first drink had settled into your empty stomach making everything loose. You snorted.

“Oh my god, you think I’m a nepotism baby?” You ran a hand over your face, shoulders shaking. “No wonder you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you!” she groaned, rolling her neck.

“Caitlyn and I met in training, but we went to different stations. She didn’t bring me here, I fought to be a part of this squad. Also wanted to work closer to home.”

Violet raised an eyebrow at you.

“I live across the street,” you said, nodding over your shoulder at the door. “That’s why I always beat everyone to the station.”

“Thought you were just an early bird,” she scoffed, leaning back and regarding you with a new look. “You and Caitlyn are old friends, though?”

“Yeah, but nowhere as close as you two have been.” You wiggled your brow at her as she scowled.

“That’s history.”

You pursed your lips, squinting.

“It’s history,” she repeated, leaning closer. Your heart skipped as she entered your space. “Which you’re about to be if you keep teasing.”

“You’ve been teasing me since day one. I think I deserve to make you sweat a bit,” you murmured, tilting your head. “Honestly, I wish you’d given me a chance. I respect the shit out of you, y’know?”

“How many times do I have to say it? I don’t hate you,” she laughed. “I’m just getting used to you, Sweets.”

“Cupcake, Sweets. You have a sugar addiction I should worry about?”

She hummed, eyes flickering down for the swiftest second before she leaned back. You took another sip of your drink, your heart in your throat making it hard to swallow.

“Guess we’ll see.”

You smiled, cheeks hot.

Guess we will.

[ririblogsss]

Ok so I've read that OCD, can be a by product of trauma.

So what if Danny doesn't relize he is deeply traumatized by the events that happened in his early childhood. By that I mean with all the weapons and chemicals spills around his house and of course his untimely death.

He noticed that his home has no order whatsoever and that's what made it dangerous to live in. He only found comfort in his own room because it was the only space the could truly control, and make sure it was safe.

He started associating organization and cleanliness with safety and security. He has underling fear of coming into contact with contaminants, and that it will bring his whole world to collapse if he does indeed come into contact with one.

So lets say that a revel gone wrong, and Dannys put into foster care and then handed into the Wayne family.

At this point the Bats know that Danny used to be phantom, because lets be real they would immediately figure it out. Yet Danny has no clue they are the bats. He just believes they are a really big family with too much money to know what to do with it.

So Danny someone who has no clue he has OCD but presents most if not all the characteristics.

For instance:

Danny subbing the same spot on the rug for hours trying to get rid of it. Because in his mind if that spot stays bad things will happen.

On another instance he is seen organizing and reorganizing his shelf on a very specified order and continuously going back until he is satisfied.

When he goes to eat he always asks if the food was washed and cleaned properly multiple times.

He always counts if all his cleaning supplies he keeps are there in the morning.

He has a very strict schedule in which he doesn't break and refuses to break, especially his cleaning schedule.

Now the Bats are completely aware of this, and instead of making feel bad about it they help him and reassure him every time.

Examples:

Danny found that in the living room the rug was too dirty, because of the constant influx of people bringing in dirt with them. Of course Alfred always cleans it, but Danny needs to make sure himself. So one of the siblings would help him clean the rug his way, as Danny does it in a very specific way.

Another example is when Danny started cleaning during a movie night because of all the popcorn that was dropped on the floor. The rest just stopped the movie and helped him clean the area, and then resumed the movie careful not to spill more popcorn.

At one point the family was concerned because Danny was moving into a more dangerous zone of the compulsions, such as scrubbing his hands raw because he accidentally touch something 'dirty' without his special gloves.

So they made Bruce ask him if he wanted to go to a therapist and possibly a psychiatrist for his OCD. And Danny just said he didn't have OCD he just wanted things to be clean and organized like everyone else.

in the end he was convinced to go to a therapist so he could learn to manage living with OCD, but he was endlessly happy that he had people to fall back to that didn't judge him, and instead helped him out.

note:

(I just want to say that I don't have OCD myself but a lot of my family members do have it, and ive seen how it affects their daily lives. And I wanted to bring to light that people can't control their obsessions/compulsions but they can learn to manage it so they can live calmer with less anxiety. So I hope I made it as realistic as possible and didn't sound stereotypical or offensive)

[stayinlimbo]

Hoodie Season

pairing: lee minho x reader genre/warnings: friends to friends with feelings(?), fluff, subtle realization of feelings(?), or maybe they've been there all along, pitiful attempts at me trying to be funny, mc has hair long enough to be blown in their face, mc's gender not specified word count: 1.13k note: this has been torturing me for months. i really tried my best here, so go easy on me ♡

“Yes.”

“No.”

"We have this conversation every time. Yes.”

“No, and that’s because you won’t admit that you’re wrong,” you huff, biting back the urge to stick your tongue out at your best friend. You refuse to stoop down to his level.

“Because I’m not? Just accept it, zip-ups are better,” Minho shrugs, lightly bumping his shoulder into yours. Or at least what he thinks is lightly before he watches you stumble onto the strip of grass next to the sidewalk and almost hit a tree. 

Catching yourself, you whip your head back towards public energy #1 and glare at the sheepish smile he gives in return as the two of you continue walking past a row of quaint shops lining the vacant street. To where, you have no clue. You don’t even think he knows. Minho just texted you to be ready in ten minutes and wear something warm for another Saturday afternoon of following wherever your best friend’s feet decide to take you. 

But let’s not forget the very important topic at hand. 

“Hoodies are superior and I will not entertain any other viewpoint,” you declare, fiddling with your warm and comfortable and warm, and, oh, did you already mention warm hoodie’s drawstrings.

“What happened to your goal of being a more open-minded person this year?”

“That’s besides the point. This is entirely different,” you dismiss with a wave of your hand. The chilled wind nips at your fingers before you bury them deep into the front pocket of your hoodie. 

“Sure it is,” Minho drawls with a quirk of his lips, ignoring the not-so-subtle side eye you throw at him. “Okay, I’ll humor you this time then. Why are hoodies, in your misguided judgment, so much better?” 

“Hey— okay you know what, I’m going to let that slide this time to save your from further embarrassment while I destroy your—”

“Boo, get on with it already.”

“Don’t rush me,” you scold as Minho raises his hands in a playful surrender. “Thank you. Now, as I was saying —look at me, this is serious— hoodies are an easily available and affordable luxury item; pull them over your head and bam, instant warmth.”

“How is that any different from zipping up a jacket?” Minho deapans. “You’re not very convincing, you know that right? And what if I don’t want to look disheveled with messy hair?”

“Is that supposed to be directed at me?” you ask with a laugh, hair blowing into your face. 

Minho’s smile returns. “You said it, I didn’t.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” you continue. “I’m strong enough to admit that hoodies may be a cause for bad hair days but they’re so soft and comfortable that it’s worth it. Not to mention they’re more flattering too. Just look at me.”

“You look like you got swallowed by a fabric monster that decided you weren’t tasty enough to finish eating,” Minho teases, eyes twinkling with amusement as they scan over your heavily clothed figure. 

Okay, he’s got you there with…whatever that comparison means, but it’s not your fault you just so happened to grab the baggiest hoodie you own before rushing out the door. You can’t even think of a comeback before he’s already moving on to his next question.

“What’s wrong with how zip-ups fit anyway? I think I look fine,” he pouts, crossing his arms over his chest. 

You can’t argue with that one either. Fine is an understatement. The black zip-up he’s wearing compliments his physique perfectly, the not too tight or loose fabric accentuating the strong-build of his upper body. Ugh, he’s really not helping you make your case here. 

“You’re an exception,” you admit with a slight shrug of your shoulders, averting your gaze upwards as the rustling leaves above begin to fall on you both. 

Minho’s hand suddenly grabs your shoulder, halting your footsteps and causing you to look back at him, eyebrows knit together in confusion. Heat rushes to your cheeks as he steps closer to you, wordlessly lifting his hand from your shoulder in favor of gently plucking out a couple of stray leaves stuck in your hair and lifting your hood over your head, shielding you further from the crisp air. 

“There, now what were you saying about me being so good-looking that I defy your zip-up expectations?” Minho chuckles, letting his hand drop back to his side. 

Your face flushes even harder. At this point, you’re not even going to need a hoodie anymore with how hot your body feels. 

“Uh, calm down, I never said that.” you defend hurriedly. ”You’re lucky I have my hands in my pocket or else you’d be the one falling on the grass.”

“Leaves you vulnerable, though.”

“Huh? What do you mea— MINHO!”

Your vision becomes blocked when Minho swiftly tugs your drawstrings, leaving only a small oval of skin exposed to the biting wind. His uncontrollable laughter dances through the air around you as you attempt to pry the hood back open, increasing in intensity when it takes you an embarrassingly longer time than it should to reveal your eyes to the world again. 

“Oh, you think that was so funny, huh?” you interrogate, glaring at his hunched over figure.

Minho stands back upright, wiping at an invisible tear. “Yeah.” 

The cheeky grin he wears slightly falters as you stalk a couple of steps forward, bringing your face closer than you ever have to his. Softer pinks hues begin to color his ears and cheeks, likely from the cold wind or his laughter, you think. 

His gaze softens as it trails down to where your hand is carefully lifting up towards his chest, finally resting flat right above the opening of his zip-up hoodie, the proximity causing a flutter in your chest. The wind begins to pick up slightly, blowing your hair into your face again. There’s an unreadable expression on his face as he lifts his hand to brush your hair out of your face and tuck behind your ear, fingers delicately lingering as he opens his mouth.

“I–” he starts.

Zippppp. 

The polar breeze hits his undershirt as an involuntary shiver runs throughout his body. Your laughter rings happily in his ears, the bright sound floating in the air as it is carried by the wind. 

You pull yourself away from him, backpedaling when he sends you a faux frown threatening to break as his lips try to fight the smile blooming across his features and already residing in his eyes. Giggles escape the both of you when he takes a step forward, rezipping his jacket, before breaking into a run as your shrieking laughter and his lighthearted swears fill the empty street, footsteps echoing on the pavement.

Looks like this time, he’ll be following you. 

liked this work? want to let me know how i did? please like, comment, and/or reblog; they are greatly appreciated my asks are always open ♡

taglist:  @linospuddin @linocz @spicyhyunn @inlovewithstraykids @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21

@feelikecinderella

[georgiapeach30513]

How I'm Looking At You, Part 2

Summary: so many secrets

Pairings: Ari Levinson X Reader

Rating: mature

Warnings:  conversations about sex, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 6.3K

Previous

Series Masterlist

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics

You walk towards the clothes section of the store. Having to make sure that there wasn’t anyone watching you, especially him. You swear his intensity broke you out in a sweat. He is the cause of your clammy hands, and you still haven’t come down from the car ride. You’d sent him on a mission with a list to get some things you needed, and you are on a separate mission. One that you didn’t want to get caught doing. You figured you could shoo him away while he gave you his card and you could pay.

Yeah, of course that makes more sense in theory, but you’d be willing to try to get him to trust you enough. Your eyes look over the different colors, patterns, materials, and shapes. All the shapes. What did it mean? Being at this store where there is food, nobody would ever question why someone dressed like you was here. People from your community just didn’t usually venture to this section, but would Ari? No. For some reason you think Ari would keep a lot of secrets for you.

Ehh, that didn’t sound good. You have secrets now. Secrets with Ari. You smile, grabbing up a pack quickly. You have secrets with Ari. And what did it all mean? He mentioned pleasure. Which is a sin. Pleasure of what? The flesh? You’d heard that before, but aren’t sure what it means. Something you aren’t supposed to do. But with Ari it seems — welcome? Unwelcome? No, it was welcome. It made your heart beat funny, but you liked it.

And what did that even mean? You feel tingly all over, and it was all you could do to bolt out of the truck and create some space between the two of you. What are these feelings? Why did all that happen? That was all new, and it felt like you couldn’t control anything, especially your body. But you couldn’t even control the way you’re speaking.

“Is that what you’re choosing for me to buy for you?” It is him standing there like a walking sin mixed with a brick wall, complete with a big beautiful smirk on his face as he lifts up the pack. “Or are you just needing new panties?”

Your eyes go wide as you look at the floor, and shake your head. Heat radiates all over your body, pooling in your cheeks, and your panties. Every time you get around him there’s definite heat streaming from your belly to your nether regions.

“Surely these aren’t the type of panties you wear under there?” You shake your head no, still refusing to look up at him. Ari grimaces. He’s not used to being around a woman so timid. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. But do you really think you should go with thongs? And a pack of them? If you want panties I can order them for you online, no one would have to know.”

“Online,” you respond dumbly for reasons you just don’t understand. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t want people to know you wear these kinds of underwear?” You shake your head no again. His boots are dirty. That’s all you are learning from where you’re looking. Dirty boots. “Can you look at me? I won’t bite,” it feels like you’re swallowing swords as you gulp, and lift up to look at him. “There, now are these the panties you want me to buy you?”

You nod your head, eyes flitting around the store, and thankfully there still wasn’t people around. “Are these what you really want?” You shrug. You really had no clue. Anything had to be better than the non elastic nonsense you are wearing. “Do you need them right now?”

“Not really, but…”

“Okay, I’ll get some here, and if you want me to pick you out some to have delivered to my house, I can do that.”

“I can’t take them home,” Ari grins, and turns to walk back to the packs of panties, while you nervously watch around. “What are you doing?”

“I feel you jumping into thongs, while they’d be very sexy on you, especially if I was the only one who knew what you have hiding under that dress,” Ari clears his throat, drifting through the selection before grabbing a pack. “Thongs are a big step. Let’s do baby steps with bikinis, yeah?”

“You won’t say anything?” He shakes his head no, tossing them into your cart, and yawns. “We should be getting back, um…”

”You go onto the truck. It’ll be our secret,” you are getting a lot of secrets between you and Ari. You’re not even sure if this is a good or bad thing. But you like having secrets with him. And you know you shouldn’t.

“Shh, don’t tell anyone,” he grins as you trot away. He feels slightly guilty. Only a little teeny tiny bit. He’ll buy you every pair of panties that you want him to, as long as you show him. Maybe even one day have you modeling them for him. Or even better, let him push them into your mouth, so you don’t get to loud when he’s fingering you.

“Sir!”

Ari looks up at the cashier. How did he even get here? He was just in a world of his own thinking about you being all submissive and wet for him. So wet. So incredibly soaked for him. “Yeah, sorry.”

“Didn’t you come in with that Amish woman?”

“No,” he answers too quickly as she scans the pack of panties. He would never be buying you anything here again. You deserve the best. Silk, satin, lace. Not those. She starts scanning again, continuing to focus her eyes on him. You deserve specialty panties. Always the best.

“You know that they don’t integrate people like us into their world, right?”

“You know you should really mind your fucking business and just ring up my shit,” the girl looks back down at the items, shocked that Ari was so blatantly rude. But she is the one that was rude. How dare she ever say something about you. She didn’t know you at all. So far you had shown to be timid, yes. But you are different.

She could say what she wants about your community, but not you. You are perfection in a too large frumpy dress that he couldn’t see your curves, and he salivates knowing that nobody has seen those curves. Touched those curves. Kissed those curves. Gripped them so tightly as you come undone for the first time.

You were just looking at panties. You had a curiosity that was going to end up killing him, and he didn’t care. He wanted to nurture that side of you. Keep you growing with secrets that are just for him. Plus you are sweet, so so sweet. You probably taste sweeter. You didn’t belong here, but as long as you were here, he would respect that. And he would be here with you.

“Thanks,” he says, handing her his card. “And next time you should really think about things that you say to people. Don’t act like people’s differences aren’t beautiful.”

“Ari!” You giggle, turning back around from the sink as he walks in again. Smiling ear to ear as he walks past the kitchen. “Quit coming inside. Do you not trust me?”

“Oh, I trust you. I just have to make sure you’re doing your job right, and,” he presses a finger up against your mouth, shushing you in the process. “I need some water. So carry on,” he keeps his eyes on you as he fills a glass with water. His mouth continuing to keep a smile, while you try and give a stern look towards him.

“Darling, you have so much work to do,” he says playfully, but you don’t want to take your eyes off the tall man. “Or, we could make it an early day.”

“And do what?” He is always saying things like that, not realizing that you didn’t grasp exactly what he means by that.

He shrugs, leaning back against the counter. He puckers his lips out, and looks up at the ceiling contemplating. “What do you do for fun?”

“Fun,” you awkwardly laugh a second, but it falls quickly. When was the last time you actually had fun? What are your hobbies? Something that made you, you. The bigger question is when were you allowed to have an identity that didn’t fit the mold of everyone in your community, “Hmm…”

“It should not be this hard,” he doesn’t make fun of you, he stares at you gently. It’s comforting that he isn’t judging you by decisions that were made for you, “Do you not get to have fun? Do you read? Go cow tipping? Swimming? Anything?”

“I read the Bible,” his thick finger scratches his beard for a second, staring out in thought. “We don’t tip the cows, and when I was little my dad took me fishing, but I didn’t really have friends. And there’s always so much to do on the farm, not a ton of time to do leisure activities.”

“Oh, honey,” he stands up straight, walking over to you with his arms spread out, and you gaze up at him confused. What is this gesture? “Come on, give me a hug,” you shake your head no, trying to busy yourself with the lunch dishes. “Yep. Bring it in. You now have a friend.”

“Men and women shouldn’t engage in suspicious behavior inside a house. People could think we’re being unpure.”

“And what would you know about that?” He cocks up an eyebrow, and suddenly you feel so small. You know nothing, only what you have just said. What exactly did men and women do together that is unpure? “Darling, if we were being unpure, you would not be as quiet as you’re being right now. Our clothes are on.”

“What?” You glance up at him quickly, brows furrowed. He’s such a strange man. You couldn’t quite figure out if he was joking or being truthful the majority of the time.

“Sweet summer child, if you don’t want a hug, you can say that. But if you do, and you’re just worried about what other people will say, let me know. I’ll know when to back off. They’re out on the east field and on the other side of house if that makes a difference,” it kinda did. You look towards each of the windows that are in the kitchen before very awkwardly pressing up against Ari. Another secret.

“Omph,” his arms pull you in closer. Holding you in both a soft, and still dominant way. His head rests on the top of your head, and even though he’d been outside working, he smells nice. Too nice.

“Now, isn’t this nice? Do you want to read? I could get you some books and…”

“I couldn’t take them home,” he pulls apart from you too quickly as he stares at you curiously again. It’s summer and hot, and still you want his warmth, but his curiosity is too cute to look away from. It’s a habit he has, and you don’t know how to feel about the way he observed you. No one has ever done that. Does he understand the way that he makes you feel? There are always so many questions rummaging through your mind when you’re around Ari.

“Hmm, I have a bookshelf here. Built it myself. And you could keep the books you can’t have at home there, and we can make this a fun little morning routine,” what is this man going on about a morning routine? “You’re here to fix my breakfast, shouldn’t you eat, too?”

“Oh,” you hadn’t thought about that. Would it be proper? No, but it is the polite thing to do, so he’s not alone. He isn’t how you expected him to be. “Are we…is this a friendship?”

“This is exactly a friendship!” Ari snaps, and you take a timid step backwards. “Sorry, no, I’m just excited you get this. We’re friends, right?”

“Well you did buy me underwear,” he purses his lips. Staring at oddly, and you start giggling. You have a sense of humor, and it’s one thing he honestly admires. Every now and then little jokes weasel their way into your conversations.

“You just made a joke,” still laughing, you nod your head, missing his face going serious. “Do they fit? If you need me to check and see if they fit, I can.”

“Are you asking to see my panties?” He is an odd man indeed. “Is this a normal thing where you come from? And if I show you mine, are you going to show me yours?”

His hand wipes across his forehead, and you think he’s feeling the uncomfort that you have felt around him. Not an uncomfort that makes you want to run away, but one that makes you want all the things he talks about. Even if they scare you. “I wouldn’t say it’s something that everyone does out on the streets, but friends can become very close. And sure, if you want to see my underwear, I can arrange that for you.”

“So yes, you want to see my panties?” He nods his head, and you’re unsure how to respond. You like being around Ari. Love it actually. He is very odd, and yet entertaining. He actually talks to you instead of averting his eyes. He cares about what you think of things, and wants you to have fun and have hobbies. Men in your life weren’t like him, or look like him, “Maybe another time though?”

“Is there something wrong?” You shake your head no. There isn’t anything wrong currently, but the longer he stares at you the more you feel that weird creeping heat bloom in your belly.

“Your farmhands are outside. They’re not my friends,” you hope he understands what you’re saying because everything inside of you is screaming that you don’t want them to know what you are wearing under your dress, or worse, see it. You’d be ruined, and your family.

“Ahh! How could I be so stupid. Okay, I will buy you some books, okay? Fill up the bookshelf. I’m sure my sister has some recommendations for you to read, and we can — I don’t know, have a regular routine, yeah?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that. Our secret, right?” Add another one. But breakfast with Ari, both of you reading, and conversation is minimal sounds nice. Domestic even.

“Right. Our secret. I’m gonna just go — you know, go work,” he really needs to. He’s been in here for far too long and people will wonder exactly what is up with him being around. Friend. Friend Ari. You like it.

He is going to get you books to read, and you could have a real hobby. Learn things about his world. It sounds fascinating from what little you have heard from him. You liked him. He makes you smile, and laugh. Sometimes you forgot what it was like to laugh. You were out at the general store all alone, and left to listen to those girls talk about your lack of a husband. This is comfort. And he didn’t care that you are single.

You’re unsure of how you were able to make this situation comfortable, but you did. Hmm, you have something to look forward to, and make more money. And you have a friend. Even if he is odd. He’s nice to look at, and he makes you feel…

He just makes you feel. Feeling in a world where you’ve been taught to repress all of that. It’s freeing.

Ari takes a look back at the house, and then to the horizon. It is hot. Too hot. And he can see your silhouette as you do something in the house, and he isn’t there with you. He has this pull towards you. You need teaching. He is the perfect teacher, even if he is struggling to pull the reins. He enjoys you. He didn’t dislike Jacob and the other two that he can’t be bothered with knowing their names.

But you are a completely different thing. You encompass every part of his thinking, and he is excited to wake up knowing that you are going to be here, and he gets to see you! It’s amazing to think about the fact that he has you everyday. Here in his home.

He has never been a man that cared about domestic life or having one woman or children. But even he has to admit the appeal to seeing a beautiful woman in his home on a regular basis. You have only come for a couple of weeks, and it’s a nice touch to his home. Even if there’s a small part of him that loathes the way that the women are treated here.

You thought that what you are doing right now was what you were designed to do. You had no hobbies of your own, but thanks to him, you enjoyed reading. He even caught you reading instead of ‘doing what you’re supposed to be doing’. He wants you to have a fulfilling life. And he suspects with you slightly pulling away from the life you were brought into that you feel the same way. And if he has to be the one that helps you, so be it. He’ll do what he needs to. Maybe more hobbies.

Ari stands up straight, wiping the sweat off his brow as he looks towards Jacob who steadily works. “Boys, let's call it a day.”

“Work’s not done,” Jacob continues to sow the seeds, and Ari grimaces. He didn’t care. He wants the day with them here to end. He wants private company with you, “We need the money.”

“Your pay won’t reflect the early time off,” all three of the young men stand up, gawking at Ari, and looking amongst themselves. “It’s too hot. We’re ahead of schedule. Take the rest of the day off,” they linger. Unsure if what Ari is saying is a test. He wants to shout for them to leave, but that approach didn’t seem to help.

“Do you guys go swimming somewhere? Or do anything for fun?”

“I went to a barn raising one time,” now Ari is the one that gawks at his employees. “No. We don’t.”

“Okay. Here,” reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a hundred dollar bill each handing it to the boys. “Go spend some money. This is a bonus. Just go home. Have fun. Go. Leave,” the youngest one, Joseph or Daniel or Jedidiah, walks off first, and the others join with him. “Thank you,” he whispers before turning towards the house. You could have the rest of the day off with him, and he could learn some more things about you.

Waiting for long enough for the workers to leave, he walks into the house. Slinging the door open wide, and you yelp. Running to the front door and see him smiling. “Are you okay? What happened? Is everything okay? Why are you smiling? Ari?”

Slowly he closes the door, but his smile remains. “Do I need to get you something? Are you coming down with anything?” He shakes his head no, removing his work boots. “Well, I haven’t even started your dinner, so if you could go back outside and work, I can get started.”

“Don’t worry about dinner,” you didn’t understand. He called you in to do a job, and now he isn’t allowing you to do your job. You ponder that thought a moment, watching as he walks towards his bedroom. “It’s very hot today,” you agree. It is stiflingly hot. It is days like this that make you thankful that you are the woman. “And you are in here all alone.”

You like it that way. It has given you time to think, and with your current predicament you need that time to think. His books he’s given you have left you with more thoughts, and imaginations. Oh. You gulp as Ari steps back into the main area of the house. Gone are his work clothes, and now he’s showing his legs. Long and toned, and you bite your lip trying to keep any unwanted sounds from appearing. He has that effect on you.

“About dinner.”

“Don’t care about dinner,” he is too quick for you. The men in your community didn’t look like him, and they didn’t behave like him either. They never searched for a friendship with a woman. They just have them to expand their legacy with children. Secretly hoping for a male heir so their family name lives on. “We can pick something up in town later.”

“We?” The idea is scandalous, but not unwanted. There are very few times you wished you were a woman of the world, but there’s something appealing about riding around in the truck with Ari. There has been the idea of asking him to buy your normal clothes, so maybe nobody would recognize you. You had random imagines about being a girl he actually wanted, and one that looked like she belonged in his truck. That had to be where the funny feeling in your — belly is coming from. Those imagines of his hand holding yours.

“It’s hot,” you give him a nod, he’s already said that. You had heard about the English speaking in round about ways, and right now you wish he would just be completely honest about what it is he wants instead of beating around the bush. “There’s a swimming hole way back behind my house. Care to join me?”

“I can’t swim.”

“I can teach you,” he could teach you a lot of things, but maybe swimming is a great place to start. Ari doesn’t care about the rules, the two of you have broken so many, so he just wants to see how far he can go.

“What would someone wear swimming?” preferably nothing, but that would take things way too far for you. He doesn’t even know how to respond to that because all he can envision is you in those panties he bought you that he hasn’t given you, and a bra. Again, he hasn’t given them to you, and he thinks it might be weird if you knew that he’s bought you various kinds of lingerie. “Ari?”

“There are suits. All the important parts would cover you.”

“Important parts?” Dammit. He needs to start thinking before he speaks. “So what is exposed?”

“Legs, arms, and,” you shake your head no. You couldn’t possibly show so much skin especially around a man. “Okay, how about you just go to the swimming hole with me, and I’ll swim, and you can decide what you want to do from there?”

It didn’t sound too bad. In fact sticking your feet into cool water, while you sit down and enjoy the sun makes you smile. You read about kids that played around a river. Maybe not in it. Being able to just be present and enjoy a moment of nothing never happens. You don’t really slow down in this life. “Okay,” this could be a big mistake, but you want to do it. You want to spend extra time with Ari. “I would like that,” he smiles, and you feel fuzzy again, but nowhere that you have ever felt before. Well, before Ari.

You’d noticed he really likes it when you voice your opinions to him. In this world you didn’t get to have an opinion, your husband did. But he cares about what you like, and what you don’t like. Seeing him smile makes it all worth it, and still you wonder what is happening to areas much lower than your belly. Being around him you always have that fuzzy feeling in your stomach, but when he smiles it's in unmentionable areas, and you just don’t understand. But you didn’t hate it either.

“Amazing,” he extends a hand out towards you, and you’re too tempted not to grab it, and he leads you out the back door.

“You’ve done amazing work out here,” his hand pulses around your own, and you look up at him, and he’s smiling again. He likes simple praises, you’ll do it more often, “You’re much taller than the men here.”

“I hope that’s a good thing, Darling,” that name. The name that makes things nearly unbearable. The name that you hear in your head throughout the night, and a need to do something. It’s like a scratch that needs itching, but you just didn’t know what scratch could fix this feeling, and…who would you even ask about this?

“It is,” he smiles again, and you seriously want to melt. The temperature must be getting hotter because you feel sweat beading around your hairline, and your throat dries right up, while other things start to — you can’t even mention it. It’s confusing. How does a smile create a fiery need in — areas?

The swimming hole comes into view, and Ari drops your hand. He grips the bottom of his shirt, and pulls it off in one movement, and you spin around immediately. Cheeks steaming with embarrassment, but other things…it’s so hot. He’s so — he’s so something, and you are a mess. Ari yanks down his shorts before he walks over to a deep part of the river, and jumps in.

“Darling, you can look,” he’s absurd. You can’t look at a naked man. But you want to, just because it’s an experiment. He’s a man, you are a woman. What is different on him than you?

“You’re naked, Ari,” his chuckle is so deep and haunting that you peek over your shoulder. “Ari, I can’t be around you when you’re naked.”

“I’m not naked. I’m fully clothed,” you peek more, and notice the swell of his chest poking out of the water. His hair on the amazing pillows of his chest is dripping into the water, and you whimper. He most certainly is not fully clothed. Hair pushed back off his face, and that stupid smile. And heat that you’re sure is from the pits of hell.

“Ari! Your clothes are right there,” he wades to the edge of the river, and gets out, and you spin around again. You feel so weak. He is more broad with no clothes on. Legs and arms sinewed with muscles, and his body is dripping in almost the same way as your own. “You are naked.”

“I promise I’m not. This is what the English wear to swim. You’re not seeing something other women haven’t,” oh that doesn’t sit right with you. Be brave. You spin around and fully take him in. Other women didn’t need to look at his body. He’s your employer, and if anyone deserves a right to stare, it’s you. You don’t just stare, you gaze. Taking in every part of his body. Tracing every line with your eyes, and he stands there looking like the worst temptation.

Like the time you snuck a bite of the pie before it was cooled down, and you smoothed it back out, so no one would know. Keeping that secret still to this day. But you don’t want anyone else to have him as a sin. You want him as your sin. What does that even mean? You need to ask for forgiveness, because he is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. You could write books and poetry about him. And you want to take your time as you discover each vein that follows along his arms, and every hill and valley that makes up his stomach and chest.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” you squeak out, walking past him. It’s hard to do that, but you have to sit on the edge of the river bank. Pulling up your skirts and kicking off your shoes, you let your legs dangle enough into the water, so your toes get refreshed. Your entire body needs it. Squeezing your thighs together seems to help a little bit. But still there is an emptiness, and you want to ask him about it, but what could he possibly know?

He goes back into the river, swimming about a bit. His eyes are constantly drifting to your legs, and then your ankles, “So this is what you English people do for fun?”

“Uh huh.”

“And what does a woman wear?”

“Depends on what she’s comfortable with. Some only cover the same as panties and a bra, and some go completely nude,” what? Women swam completely nude? With other people present. “Usually that can be a fun little date.”

“Date?” You’d heard the word before, but didn’t know if you fully understood it.

“Two people just hanging out getting to know one another. Usually it’s when they’re sexually attracted to each other.”

“Sexually?” There is that word again. “What exactly is sex?” You know you’re attracted to Ari, he is perfect and beautiful, but what is sexually? Or even sex?

He takes long slow blinks, while his eyes transfix on your legs again. That stupid heat gets higher, and you rub your thighs together. This helps more than squeezing them. Your heart rate is everywhere. You’ve never felt it in every part of your body, but also…in the worst place.

“Well when two people like each other…”

“Like you and me?”

“Yes, Darling. Exactly like us. We can use us as an example,” he looks like the devil and an angel all at the same time. “When two people like each other their bodies react. Weird things happen. Heat, pulsing you feel in places you never considered before,” he looks right at your stomach. No, not your stomach. He knows. He knows exactly what your body is doing. You should ask him. You should tell him exactly what is going on.

“And…ugh, this feels almost inappropriate,” he deeply breathes, looking away so quickly you think he had to have hurt his neck.

“Just tell me.”

“For us, at least, a man and a woman, in that scenario man, me, enters into the woman, you.”

“Oh. Oh!” Okay, that makes sense. So you mate like the animals. Hmm, “On all fours?” He cringes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t…” you’re saying all the wrong things. How does one receive a man if not on all fours?

“Humans have a plethora of options,” he doesn’t want to embarrass you, but he also doesn’t want to feel he’s completely corrupting you either. He knows how many lines are being crossed right now.

“Are you big like a horse…everywhere?” That feels more than mildly inappropriate, but you’re the one that brought it up. Adorably you look towards the water, below his waist, and that when it hits him. His own curiosity about you builds up so hard, steel hard. His cock twitches in his boxers, knowing that you are trying to figure out his size.

“Not quite like a horse, but arousal does change things,” hmm, quite like they’re changing him now. He couldn’t show you. That would be going too far, but he knows eventually you’ll ask. You still haven’t averted your eyes away from his crotch. He wonders from your angle if you could see how hard he is. “Why are you asking?”

“I have always thought it hurts the mares. I understand it’s a part of life, and she’s only doing what she’s born to do naturally, but it just seems so invasive. And humans do this to get babies?” He shrugs, it’s much more complicated than that, and that’s not the only reason. “It just looks painful.”

“Well, look at it as it is the way it’s intended. We’re created to be made to fit together, you know?” Okay, that makes sense. “People are meant to — mate with people. I suppose not all humans are meant to fit together.”

“How do you know that you found someone that you fit easily with?”

He gets a mischievous smirk on his face, wading closer to your body. His eyes focus much too low again before he makes eye contact. “Sometimes you just have to make it fit. The first time things are a bit tighter. But with prep and time I can make it fit. The woman’s body is amazing. When she’s ready to take a man, your body preps itself. It heats up, it gets so wet and sticky, making it easier for me to enter into you.”

“Does it hurt?” You are missing all the moments he’s actually saying ‘you and him’ because you are trying to figure sex out. In order for him to mate with you, you’d both have to be naked. He is almost naked. You pull your skirts even higher, all the way up to your knees, and he looks very quickly, enjoying the lower view. And a quick glimpse at the panties he bought for you.

“You’re very curious today.”

“That means it does hurt,” he’s ignoring your question.

“So I’ve been told. I wouldn’t know from experience because I’m entering into you, but I have been told it does sting,” he’s been told. Some other woman told him it hurt, and it wasn’t you. It actually makes you angry to think about the fact another woman has seen him naked, and felt him. You should be the one feeling him. What? What are you saying? New feelings explode in your body, mixed with the anger you feel.

”Why would anyone mate for more than having children if it hurts?” And why did another woman get to see him like that? And feel him? Did she get the fuzzy feeling? Did he look at her the same way? There is no way another woman feels the same way you do about Ari.

“There’s more to sex than mating,” how is that even possible? You only saw the animals mating to procreate. “It brings two people so close, both physically and spiritually,” oh now it hurts. Another woman was not only physically close to Ari to have him inside her, but they had a spiritual closeness, too? This isn’t even jealousy anymore, this is painful.

“Not to mention the amount of pleasure that happens will bring you to your knees,” you wonder if she felt the way you did. If she had this heat coursing through her entire bones, while she got to feel him. Got to have him in a way you couldn’t even comprehend.

“It sounds like a sin, Ari. It almost sounds like you are worshiping…”

“Worshiping at the altar between a woman’s legs is like a religion,” you sigh, looking at the water instead of Ari. Worshiping idols is a sin, but you’re more concerned with the fact he was worshiping a woman that wasn’t you. He finally said it. Whatever is happening between your legs is because of Ari, and he would worship you. But he worshiped someone else, and it pains you more than anything you’ve ever felt.

You push your skirts back down, giving Ari a final goodbye nod for the day. “I should go, Ari. I’ll eat dinner at my parents’ tonight.”

“Wait,” he climbs out of the river, walking after you. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” lying is a sin. He pulls you tightly against his body, hugging you, and this hug feels different. He feels…bigger. “Ari?” His hard rod pushes up against your stomach, and you feel an odd need to roll your body into his. This is so very confusing. Everything is happening at once, and it nearly blinds you in thoughts.

“Ignore it,” how can you ignore whatever is pressing up against you like that? Pulsing to the same rhythm as whatever is happening between your legs. “We’re okay?”

“It’s just a lot. And…that…” what you really want to say is crude and outlandish and you just can’t say it. You can’t let him know that you’re more scared of him now than ever. There is no way that thing would fit. And he’s worshiped between another woman’s legs, so he did fit. What if you weren’t made for each other? But he was with another woman. “Ari, I can’t.”

“Forgive me for being so outright, but not every woman makes this happen to me,” if he wasn’t holding you, you’d have sunk to your knees. Everything is so weak. There’s so many emotions and feelings, and you just want some alone time or time to explore whatever part of his body is touching you. The pulse between your legs is intense and you have a desire to ask him to help.

“It won’t fit.”

“I’m not asking to make it fit,” of course he’d say that because he has another woman. He doesn’t need you like you need him. Why are you so conflicted with everything? It’s physical and mental, and apparently spiritual.

“I’ve gotta go,” he lets his arms fall, and you dare to look. That didn’t help the feelings in your body. You have more questions. And you can’t ask any of them.

“You’ll be here tomorrow?” You give him a nod, realizing that everything feels hard on you. Even on your chest. What is happening to your body? The sweat is everywhere, and the residual water from him presses your dress around your skin, and somehow makes it feel nice. And your body is showing proof of its own changes as your nipples poke through your dress, “Okay, I’ll have some more books for you on the shelf okay? I don’t work too hard, and enjoy reading, okay?”

“Is it a sin?”

“It’ll be our secret, okay?” This is more than just the books, he’s talking about whatever this is currently happening between you two. You shouldn’t want it, but you crave it. You crave just coming to his house, and seeing him. But the idea of seeing him fully naked and pressed against you, takes your breath away.

“Our secret,” your secrets with him were adding up.

Next

Masterlist

@tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @peaches1958 @seitmai

@smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989

@pandaxnienke @rogersbarber @buckybarnesisdaddy @theinheriteddutchess @patzammit

@theolivia-1

[wildernessuntothemselves]

Jealousy, Jealousy... | Part 4

A/N: don't even have a summary for this. oc is in love with gyu and gyu is in love with another girl but both are virgin losers and gyu is a horndog who would let oc do what she wants to him just as long as he gets to cum.

Word count: 4.9k

Genre: Smut, angst

Warnings: fem!reader, public sex, blowjobs, dom!yeonjun, sub!reader, mentions of morbid games lmao

You haven’t had a chance to talk to Beomgyu about what happened at the party, mostly because you don’t know what to say. You don’t want to ask him about Haeun because you don’t want to hear that they’re together now. And you don’t want to talk to him about Yeonjun and admit to him that you are not actually together when he clearly has someone else. 

As for Yeonjun, you start becoming closer and closer to him–you’re not actually dating but Beomgyu doesn’t need to know that, and the fact that he thinks you are and it’s pissing him off beyond belief is just the cherry on top. 

But due to all this messiness, things become awkward between you and Beomgyu. There is this unspoken tension that neither of you will acknowledge. Even just him coming home and stepping into the living room where you’re at feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room. 

Live with your best friend, they said. It will be fun, they said.

You focus intensely on your phone, determined to ignore Beomgyu until he retreats into his room like the virginal creature he is. But to your dismay, he heads straight to you. 

“Hey, are you okay?” Beomgyu asks, rushing to your side and you look at his concerned face with confusion. “What is it, did Yeonjun hurt you?” 

“Huh?” You hum, completely lost. 

“Your face. You look like someone ran over it.” 

You glare at him, showing him your phone pointedly. “I’m just stuck at this game.” 

He rolls his eyes, shoulders relaxing. “Damn, I thought it was serious.”

No shit. It looked like he was ready to scratch Yeonjun’s face off at the mere idea that he hurt you. Which is kinda sweet, you guess. 

“It is serious. This game is kicking my ass.” You complain, brushing past it once again, choosing to focus on the escape room game you’re playing. “I feel like such an idiot. Why can’t I figure this stupid puzzle out?” 

“Let me see.” He sits beside you, plucking the phone out of your hands. 

“Hey!” You protest loudly but he shushes you. “Let the genius do his thing.” 

You bark out a laugh at that. “Now that’s hilarious.” You mock him, but let him try anyway. If only because he looks the prettiest when he’s concentrating on something. 

What? It’s not like you’re going to get over your undying love for him in a day. 

Beomgyu flounders around just as you had expected, clicking all over the screen to try to unlock some hidden clue to no avail. Soon enough, his frustration reaches your level/ 

“What the fuck do you want me to give you, you stupid man?” Beomgyu yells in frustration, repeatedly tapping on the man who won’t give him the phone number he needs. 

“Is the genius struggling?” You mock and though he doesn’t mean it, he gives you the most heart-breakingly adorable pout you’ve ever seen. It takes the combined strength of every single cell in your body to not swoon on the spot. 

“Shut up. It’s a stupid game.” He mumbles and you raise an eyebrow at him. “Or maybe dialing random numbers on the phone isn’t the best strategy when there are like an infinite number combinations possible?”

“Like I said, stupid game.” He asserts, “It’s impossible to solve.” 

“No, you’re just an idiot. Give me back my phone.” You try to take it from him but he refuses to hand it over, insisting, “I’m going to solve it.”

“Beomgyu, come on!”

“I’ll figure it out!”

“No, you won’t, dumbass!”

“Okay, now you’re really not getting it back.” He says and you huff, crossing your arms over your chest. He sighs and tugs on your arm, pulling you onto his lap, “Come here, let’s work it out together.” 

How can you when his breath hitting the back of your neck lights your nerves on fire and the warmth of his body pressed up against yours fries up your brain? 

Still you valiantly push through, coming up with ideas together to solve the puzzle, equally stupid ideas that don’t work, but you don't even care about the game anymore, just enjoying being in his arms, leaning back against his shoulders, surrounded by his warmth and his scent. 

“Okay, that’s it. I’m cheating.” He announces after a long, frustrating stretch of inadequate gameplay, and you grunt. “Yes, please.”

You watch as he looks up the answer to the puzzle you’re stuck on online, practically melting in his embrace. 

“That’s the answer? What the fuck? It doesn’t even make sense.” He grumbles once he finds the answer, the vibrations of his deep voice like a cat purring against you. 

“I know. This is so annoying.” You mutter, no heat behind your words, as he enters the code given from the walkthrough. “Or maybe we’re both idiots.” 

“Nah, nah, it’s the game that’s stupid. We’re so smart.” He denies dramatically and you giggle.  “The smartest.” 

Once he dials the number given to him by the man, a distorted voice answers, giving you a cryptic message before hanging up. 

"Look into the eyes of the bird. What does that mean?" Beomgyu wonders, and a sudden realization hits you. "Oh, oh, there was an owl statue back there!"

"You're right. Good thinking, babe.” He compliments mindlessly, oblivious to the fact that he so casually sent your heart into overdrive. Yes, he has called you that before, but never in a non-sexual context. This whole thing feels so domestic, so relationship-y, and it’s seriously messing with your tattered heart. 

Beomgyu goes back to the owl and taps on its eyes. They turn white and the statue shakes, causing your anticipation to rise… but then nothing happens. 

"Wait, what?" Beomgyu wonders dumbly, and you frown. "Let's look around again. Maybe that did something."

"Okay." His head moves ever so slightly to the side and he takes a deep breath through his nose, frustrated, but if you didn’t know any better, and if your wishful thinking had its way, you would think he was taking your scent in. 

"Oh, there it is. It opened this thing." He says excitedly, jolting you out of your fantasies. "That’s the code!"

"Come on then, open the suitcase!" You gush, joining the excitement. You just love to see him so giddy.  

"Right." 

You watch his eyebrows furrow as he looks around for the suitcase, and you do your best not to bend forward and kiss his pretty nose. 

Damn it. Get yourself together. 

"It's a camera. Let's try to take pics with it." You tell him once he opens the suitcase. 

"I have a bad feeling about this." Beomgyu says, trying to take a picture of the mother character but it doesn’t work.

"Try the child." You grab onto his arms, feeling nervous yourself. 

You click on the child but instead of taking a picture of her, she takes a picture of you. Then the scene turns dark and she starts screaming.  

"What? What is happening? Pull back." You tell him urgently. 

He moves around frantically, stopping at the scene with the mother and now there is a monster behind her. The monster speaks in the same distorted voice, saying it’s taking the mother and leaving the child to you. 

“What the fuck?” Beomgyu asks, creepy music playing in the background. “Bring her back!”

“Oh, don’t feel bad for the mother. She fed her brother urine and dug up the corpses of her family members for a sacrifice.” 

“She did what?” He gives you a look of disgust.

“But even that’s not surprising. I mean she’s the product of the semen her father ejaculated into a jar and combined with the egg he extracted from her dead mother who he killed because he was obsessed with her.” 

“Why do you play these games?” Beomgyu groans, horrified. 

You shrug. “I am fascinated by the morbid. And if I recall correctly, I didn’t ask you to play.”

“I know. I just missed hanging out with you. Even if it’s playing creepy games or just you ranting about your day.” He says sheepishly, turning his head to face you, and you suddenly realize fully how close you actually are. You gulp. “Yeah. I missed hanging out with you too. I guess we’ve both been… busy.” 

“Yeah with the gigs and the parties and all, I guess I’m not around much.” He trails off, running his fingers up and down your forearm, making you shiver. Then looks up at you with a grin. “Hey, remember back when we were so lame no one ever invited us to parties so we would just spend our weekends at home watching movies and playing video games?”

“Remember? That was only like a couple of months ago. You may have forgotten your roots Mr. I’m-in-an-up-and-coming-band but it will always be the loser lifestyle for me.” 

You're joking but you do miss it. You miss when he was your Beomgyu and not Haeun's. Even if it was just in your head. You miss your best friend and not the asshole he became. 

“Yeah, right. You’re such a loser, you’re dating the lead singer of that band.” He mutters challengingly, staring you down. You’re so close, you only have to lean in a tiny bit to meet his lips, and by the way he’s looking at you, you think he wants it too. 

But then his phone rings and the moment is over. You snap back to your senses and quickly get off him, glancing at his phone. It’s Haeun. Of course. You feel so stupid. You’re not his girlfriend. You’re just his dumb friend who thinks she has a chance with him when he never expressed any interest in her and has in fact been in love with another woman–a woman who is now his girlfriend. 

“Baby–”

“Your girlfriend is calling. Answer her.” You tell him harshly, and he flinches, taken aback. He is silent for a second, searching your face for something, before he sighs. “Fine.” 

“Hey, baby.” He answers, looking at you as he uses the exact same nickname he just called you. You roll your eyes, starting the next phase in the game, trying not to let it show how hurt you are as you pointedly ignore him. “I’m good. Heading for bed.”

He pauses for a second during which you pretend you’re actually playing the game as he listens to what she’s telling him, before he says. “Baby, I can’t come over now. I’m tired… yeah, i’m just not feeling that well–No, no, don’t come over. I’m okay. It’s–” 

He shuts up abruptly and you look up to him to see him staring at his phone in frustration. 

“She’s coming over?” You raise an eyebrow and he sighs. “Wants to make sure I’m not sick.” 

“You’re so lucky.” You gush sarcastically. 

“Don’t start.” He warns.

“No. No. I’m really happy for you. Your love with Haeun is so special. So special in fact that you probably only share it with like five other men.” 

He laughs at that. “Oh yeah, it’s not like you’re dating boyfriend of the year either.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You frown, hands on your hips. 

“It means that you’re not the first groupie he’s had. You’re probably not even the only one. Hey, maybe if you stick around long enough, he’ll even introduce you to the others.”

“Fuck you, Beomgyu.” You hiss, grabbing your things and heading to your room.

You know you shouldn’t have goaded him. Things were going well. You were finally spending some quality time together, just the two of you, just like you did before. But then you had to open your mouth and let your ugly jealousy show. 

Doesn’t matter. It would’ve been ruined anyway when she arrived.  You’re not really in the mood for a live sex show. 

______________________________

But if you thought hiding in your room would shield you from it, then you were dead wrong. You can hear them even from under your pillows. You would put on some noise-canceling headphones but Beomgyu owns those and you really don’t want to go to his room and give your worst nightmares form.   

All you have to distract you now is your phone and your frantic messages to Yeonjun. 

You: Junnie. I’m seriously going to kill myself. 

Yeonjun: Are they that loud? 

You: Her mostly. It’s like she’s intentionally trying to make me vomit. 

Yeonjun: Maybe she is. Maybe she feels threatened by you. 

You: Threatened? That’s crazy. 

Yeonjun: You’re right. It’s not like you hooked up with him before or anything… oh wait. 

You: You’ll be my 13th reason. 

Yeonjun: I’m sorry. If you’re so upset, why don’t we go out? 

You: It’s 2 am…everything is closed.

Yeonjun: So? The streets are open. We can walk around. It’ll be fun.

You: I don’t know. Isn’t that kinda dangerous? 

Yeonjun: That’s the fun of it. But if you’d rather stay home and listen to her fuck the guy you love then be my guest. 

You: I’m getting dressed. 

____________________________

“Do you take these late night walks often?” You ask Yeonjun, hugging your jacket close to your body to fight against the chill in the air. 

“Sometimes. When I have time to.” He shrugs, his breath making visible vapor trails in the air. “There is just something so magical about that period of time between midnight and dawn, when everyone else is asleep and it’s just you and the stars. Feels almost magical, you know?” 

“Yeah. I know. It’s like you could say anything and everything and it would be safe from the light of the morning.” 

You know all this too well because you used to spend that precious time with Beomgyu, cuddled together into the late hours of the night watching movies or talking about nothing even when you knew you had an important lecture in the morning or band practice to go to. 

During those moments you thought that Beomgyu could almost feel how you feel. No two people could share what you shared without being in love, right? 

But it was just the spell of the night talking. There was nothing there. Not from him at least. 

You stop for a second, taking a look at the slumbering city around, looking into windows and wondering about the occupants inside–Are they happy? Are they with their loved one? Do they feel the magic around them? 

Does Beomgyu feel the same way you felt about him with her?

You feel arms wrap around you from behind, and Yeonjun rests his head on your shoulder. “It’s so peaceful, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah.” You relax against him, shutting your eyes and willing yourself to stay in the moment, willing the night to work its magic. 

“How cute.” You hear a gruff voice cut through your attempted peace, and your eyes snap open to see a man holding a knife out at you and Yeonjun. 

“Whoa, whoa.” Yeonjun pulls you behind him. “No need to get violent.” 

“There will be no need if you quietly pass over your phones and wallets.” The man gestures with his knife. 

“I can give you the wallets but I have very important files on my phone.” Yeonjun attempts to reason with him but the man gets closer with the knife. “Hand everything over.” 

“Okay. Okay.” Yeonjun tries to calm him down, while you do everything in your power not to shit yourself. You’ve never been held up at knifepoint before! This is what you get for listening to Yeonjun. The man has orange hair! No good ideas could come from him.

“That’s the fun of it.” You mutter under your breath as you get your stuff out, repeating Yeonjun’s earlier words. “Yeah, this is so fun.” 

You shoot Yeonjun a glare before reaching out to hand over your precious belongings, but as the man goes to take them, Yeonjun suddenly smacks his arm, causing the knife to drop out of his hand and onto the floor.

Both men lunge towards it, attempting to recover the knife, and for the few seconds they fight, your heart stops probably a couple of times. If the mugger gets the knife, you’re sure he’ll send you and Yeonjun off with a few new holes in your bodies. 

Thankfully though, Yeonjun manages to swipe the knife in the end, and he holds it out threateningly. Well, as threatening as you can be with your arm shaking. 

“Aha!” He screams at the mugger, who in turn raises his hands up in surrender. “Get away from us.” 

“That’s my knife.” The man says dumbly. 

“It’s mine now. That’s how it works, isn’t it?” Yeonjun counters, sounding a little crazed. “Now get the fuck away before I return it to you somewhere you wouldn’t like.” 

“You wouldn’t.” The man doubts Yeonjun. 

“Yeah? I was crazy enough to wrestle it from you. You don’t know what I would do.” 

“Fine. This isn’t worth it.” The man turns and runs away. 

You and Yeonjun stay frozen for a good few minutes.

“Holy shit.” He breaks the silence, “I can’t believe I did that!”

“I know! I almost passed out. You’re fucking crazy.” You smack his shoulder, “You could’ve gotten us killed!”

“I know. I wasn’t thinking. It all just happened so quickly.” He breathes in shock, then looks around. “We should probably clear out of here in case he comes back.” 

“Right.” 

You quickly walk away, hurried steps accompanied by the occasional disbelieving exclamation until you deem you’re far enough away. Finally, you stop, looking around to make sure the coast is clear and to gather your bearings. 

You don’t know what comes over you, maybe it’s the stress of nearly dying, but you suddenly burst out laughing. “Fuck, I still can’t believe you did that! We could have died.” 

“But we didn’t.” He tries to argue, grinning madly, “And now we got this cool trophy.” He brandishes the mugger's knife, happy with his conquest before a frown takes over his face. “Do you think he stabbed anyone with this before?” 

“Probably.” 

He lets go of the knife and it falls to the ground with a clang. “Ew.” 

You both burst out laughing again, letting the high emotions runs themselves dry. But as your crazed laughs die down, Yeonjun pulls you close and kisses you, expressing that passion in a different way. 

"Junnie…"

"Did the near death experience turn you on too or is it just me." He jokes and you blush. "Maybe." 

You feel his hands fiddling with the button on your pants, but you grab them to stop him. "No, let me do it this time."

“What do you mean?” He cocks his head to the side. You know he knows what you mean but that he just wants to hear it from you. But instead of answering his question with your words, you get on your knees in front of him instead.

He cups your cheek gently. "You don't have to do this, doll."

"I want to." You undo his pants, taking his cock out and giving it a kiss. "Teach me?"

“That is so fucking sexy.” He hisses, gathering your hair in his hand. “Start slow. Don't overwhelm yourself. Just get it wet first."

“Okay.” You lick his cock, gathering your spit as you go and using your hand to spread it over his entire length. Bit by bit, his cock becomes more hard and slippery, letting you easily slide your hand over it, your tongue licking him everywhere from his shaft to the small opening on his head. 

“Okay, that’s enough teasing.You can start taking some of it in your mouth now.”  

“But I like teasing you. It’s payback, baby.” You grin, refusing to pull back, and starting to suck gently on his balls instead. You don’t know where all this confidence was coming from. You’ve never done this before. In fact, before Beomgyu, you didn’t have any sexual experience at all to speak of. 

But Yeonjun is not Beomgyu, and he doesn’t take your brattiness. He tugs on your hair pulling your head back until you’re completely off his cock, then he grabs your face with his other hand and pushes his thumb into your mouth, opening it. “Don’t make me punish you, doll. I want your first time to be nice so be good now.” 

He pushes you face towards his cock and this time you open up, obediently taking him in. “That’s it… no, no go slow.” He cautions when you take in more than you could, gagging a little bit. “I’m not going to fuck your throat. Not tonight, at least.”  

You moan around his length, squeezing your thighs together in need. 

“Aw, doll. He hasn’t been taking care of you, has he?” He purrs and you pull back, shaking your head. “Didn’t let him.” 

“Good.” He breathes, pushing your head back on his cock, encouraging you to take more and more of him, but being careful to not push you too far, always pulling you back when you start gagging. 

To be honest, you’re not doing much. You’re just letting him fuck your mouth, going along with the pace he sets. But he won’t let you slack. 

“Suck on it, baby.” He purrs, hand getting tighter in your hair, and you pucker your lips, sucking his cock every time you pull back. “Ah, that’s it. You’re doing so well.” 

You look up at him, seeing how he’s starting to struggle a little bit, the pleasure getting to him so you double your efforts, bobbing your head as far as you can go and sucking harshly as you go up. 

As you do that, you inadvertently pull off him with a pop, but before you can put your mouth on him again, he holds you back. “Spit on it. Get it all wet and sloppy.” 

You bite your lip, doing everything to not put your hand between your legs right now. You gather some spit in your mouth, grabbing his red, hard cock in your hand before spitting on it, immediately using your hand to spread the saliva over his length. 

“Use both hands. Twist them as you go up. Makes it feel like you’re milking my cock.” He groans, throwing his head back, and you stare at him, amazed. You never thought you’d actually have a guy feeling like this before. 

I mean, of course, if it was Beomgyu, he would’ve gathered a crowd around you because of his moans by now, but that’s Beomgyu. He’s a virgin and he thinks everything you do is sexy. But Yeonjun has had a lot of experience. So much so that he probably had more than a couple dozen girls blow him off before. 

Oh. You really shouldn’t have thought about that. Now you’re overthinking it, wondering if he actually likes it or if it’s just alright.  I mean, with Beomgyu he’d be babbling all about how good you’re making him feel and begging you not to stop and–

“Are you okay?” Yeonjun snaps you out of your thoughts. 

“Oh, I’m fine.” You squeak, quickly going back to doing that twisting motion he told you about and attaching your mouth to the tip of his cock, sucking on it as if you wanted to drain him. 

“Ah–it’s just–you were kind of–holy shit, that’s good…” He trails off, losing track of his thoughts. “Squeeze your hands as you do that. You’re not gonna hurt me.” 

You hold onto him tighter, letting your tongue prod at his slit as you suck him off and jerk him with your hands, determined to keep his mind off your little slip. 

“Okay, okay, I’m close. Gonna cum, doll, so unless you want it in your mouth then get off.” He tries to pull you away by your hair but you refuse, sucking on him harshly until you feel a warm fluid filling your mouth. “Oh, shit.”

You whine around his cock as your mouth fills up with his cum. You only pull back when he has no more to give, keeping his seed in your mouth for a second before hesitantly swallowing it down.

“Fuck, swallowing on your first time? What a dirty girl.” He purrs, gently smoothing your hair down from the mess he made of it.

He’s very gentle. He really took it slow with you. You should be happy that your first time was so positive, right?

But as you look up at him catching his breath, the strong taste of him on your tongue brings up an ugly feeling of regret. Oh god, if Beomgyu finds out about this, he’ll be so pissed. 

Why are you even doing this? Just to piss him off? Do you actually like Yeonjun? Do you think you can love him the way you love Beomgyu? And does he like you? I mean, he did tell you that he does, but what does that mean? Given his history and all, how many other girls does he like? How many other girls is he doing this with? 

Suddenly you feel dirty, and the pavement burn isn’t helping you feel less like a slut. 

“You okay?” Yeonjun asks again and you shake your head. 

 “Yeah! It just… tastes weird.” You deflect, and Yeonjun laughs, putting his cock back in his pants and helping you up. “I warned you.” 

“I was curious.” You shrug, throat closing up. “But now I really need water.” 

“I’ll get you some water. But first–” He pushes you against a wall, “Let me repay the favor.” 

He tries to lean down to kiss you, but you put a hand up to stop him. “That’s okay. Technically this was me repaying the favor.” 

“Well then owe me one more.” He suggests, trying again but you turn your head to the side. At that, he finally steps back, sighing. “What’s going on?”

"Are you… are you messing around with other women?" You ask uncertainly. Beomgyu really messed with your head. 

"Did you want us to be exclusive?" He asks, and you step away from the wall. "Oh."

Right. Of course. He’s the lead singer of the band. Of course he’ll have a dozen other women after him.  

"I just figured with you and Beomgyu–"

You’re stupid to think he’ll sit around and wait for you. "No, I get it." 

"I swear I am not as much of a manwhore as you probably now think I am." He insists, “It’s just… we’re not dating, right?”

“Right.” You confirm. 

“But if you want to. We can try.” 

You give him a smile with some effort. “We’ll see.” You look up into the sky. "The sun is coming up. Let's go home."

______________________________

By the time you reach home, all the stars have disappeared, drowned out by the oppressive sunlight, and you hope to god Beomgyu is fast asleep. 

"Want me to come inside?" Yeonjun suggests but you shake your head. “No. I’ll just go to sleep. You should too.” 

“Right.” He sighs and moves to leave but then stops abruptly in his tracks. "You didn't say you wanted–"

"Just let me think, Yeonjun." You interrupt, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek when he still looks unsure. “Good night.” 

You don’t let him say more, stepping inside and shutting the door behind you quietly. You look around to make sure the coast is clear before treading lightly to your room. 

"Welcome home.” Beomgyu’s voice stops you in your tracks, and you wince as you turn towards him, seeing him standing in the door of the kitchen holding some coffee. “I suppose you were with Yeonjun again."

“It's not what you think." You don’t know why you’re lying. You don’t know why you even feel guilty about this. Haeun must be sleeping in his bed right this moment. 

"So you didn't go out and hook up with him?" He asks and you stay quiet, making him scoff. “Of course.” 

You let out a heavy breath. "Beomgyu, I can't deal with this right now. I’m tired.”

“Do you like him?” He ignores what you said, tone serious, and you have to stop and think about it for a while.

“Maybe. What’s it to you?” You say at last, feeling lost. You don’t mean to goad him. You just don’t understand his behavior and it’s time he made some sense of it. 

“I just don’t want you to fuck up my band.” He says simply and you stare at him, even more lost. “What?” 

“If you date him and then you break up, it’ll make everything awkward between me and him. This sort of thing has broken up bands before and I just didn’t want that to happen. I don’t want to lose what could be my future because you wanted some dick.” 

You let out an incredulous laugh, tears stinging your eyes. Is that all he cares about? So it’s not about Yeonjun or even about you. It’s because he’s worried about his precious band.  

“Well, that’s not up to you. Is it?” You ask bitterly, but that just riles him up more and he gets all up in your face. “Like hell, it is. This is my future.” 

“Well, this is my future too. Yeonjun could be the one for me.”

He staggers back. “What?” He breathes, stunned. 

“I don’t know!” You exclaim, feeling completely overwhelmed by everything that has happened today and just needing to retreat back to your room and curl up into a ball until you’re able to push the bad feelings away. 

“I need to rest.” You turn around, running to your room and leaving a shell-shocked Beomgyu rooted to the floor. 

______________________

A/N: feedback keeps me going so drop a message about what you think of the new chapter to motivate me to get the next chapter out faster 😂

and once again

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[lucygxybaird]

12 days of Christmas - Day One

“Mama!” 

You feel a little tug at your sleeve, and you look down to see tiny fingers grasping the cotton, your daughter’s face obscured by the wreath she’s holding up with her other hand. A halo of evergreen boughs, studded with bright red berries and delicate white blossoms, and you can spot a few pinecones tucked in for effect. If you peek through the center, you can spot your little girl’s hopeful expression, and you know there’s no way you can refuse her. 

“What do you say?” you prompt, figuring that you might as well drive an important lesson home if you’re giving in so easily. 

“Pleeease!” 

Your arms are already full with other decorations — garlands; Christmas lights and candles; an exquisite set of baubles in red, green and gold that, according to the shy but proud clerk, he made himself; candy canes that may or may not actually make it onto the tree. And then there’s the things you actually need, like a bolt of cloth for curtains, a sack of flour, and perishable items that you know for a fact won’t have a chance to go bad before you eat them. Your girl is growing like a weed, and eating enough to make you believe you gave birth to triplets instead of just one child. 

“Can you carry it yourself?” you ask. 

You hear a dubious little hum from amongst the greenery, and you can’t blame her. It’s almost as long as she is, and certainly wider. “I can try,” she says. 

The two of you manage to get everything to the counter, and everything is crated up for you to take home — except the wreath, which is simply too large. Both you and your daughter look at it uncertainly, and you realize, as you cast your eye over your purchases, you have no clue how you’re going to get all this home.

You live close enough to the general store that you and your daughter walked here, with your little girl’s wagon in tow to get everything back. The problem is that your eye, so to speak, was bigger than your transportation. Your little girl could barely carry the wreath up to the register. The wagon is nearly full, and you still have things to add in. You certainly don’t want to risk breaking those pretty little ornaments— 

“You need a hand, ma’am?”

There’s time to register your daughter’s little gasp as she ducks behind your skirts, a flash of her white face peeping up — and up, and up — at the young man who has appeared next to you. You have to look up yourself, tilting your chin back to gaze into a face that is, frankly, apart from being open and friendly, rather handsome. 

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to startle anybody,” he says, a hint of chagrin creeping into his expression. “I just thought I could carry some stuff for you, if you’d like.” 

You reach back to rest a hand on your daughter’s golden head. “It’s not you,” you say. “She’s just shy.”

It’s the easiest way to explain your daughter’s behavior, but you feel a little stab of guilt, like you’re betraying her somehow. There’s more to it than that. But you can hardly countenance divulging such information to someone you don’t even know, regardless of the fact that his eyes are an extraordinary shade of deep blue, with charming crinkles at the corners which deepen as he smiles at you. 

“Aw, well, there’s nothin’ wrong with that,” he says. “Besides, how is she supposed to talk to me when I’m all the way up here? You might as well ask a little rabbit to chat with a bluebird up in a tree.”

He curls his upper lip so that his front teeth poke out, and he wriggles his nose in a bunny-like way. Unbelievably, you hear a giggle from the folds of your skirt. The young man kneels down so he’s closer to your daughter’s eye level.

“I’m Bunny — I mean, Billy.” He looks up at you, and you have the most absurd urge to lay your hand on his head, tangle your fingers in the dark curls catching a surprising amount of the faint winter sun. “It’s a pleasure to meet two such lovely ladies.”  

You introduce yourself and then your daughter. There’s a moment of silence, and then your daughter surprises you by peeking up at him and saying, “You could carry my wreath. But you have to be careful, okay? I really like it.” 

You open your mouth to remind her to ask more politely, but Billy just straightens up and nods solemnly. “I promisee, ma’am, I will take very good care of your wreath.” 

He ends up carrying the wreath, dangling from the crook of one arm, and a few of the smaller crates, freeing up room in the wagon for everything else. His legs are so long that he has to shorten his stride so that you and your daughter can keep up. You watch his face of any sign of strain, ready to say you could take something. But he doesn’t so much as wince. 

Instead, every time he catches you looking at him, he just smiles at you. You try to ignore the fluttering feeling in the pit of your stomach whenever he does this, but it’s easier said than done.

“Okay,” he says, rather matter-of-factly, as you tell him the house just up ahead is yours. “Do you have your tree up already?”

“Well — yes,” you say. 

You’re mystified as to why he wants to know, until he says, “Okay, good. That’s the centerpiece of everything. Now we can hang everything else up around it.”

You haven’t even considered the idea that he might want to stay and help decorate, and you’re about to say that you can handle this part yourself — but your daughter surprises you once again. She catches Billy’s sleeve and gives a little tug. She’s clammed up again, but she does lead Billy into the house, and points to the the wall above the small fireplace.

“You want it there?” Billy asks, and she nods. 

Before you can open your mouth, she adds a soft, “Please.” 

You start to tell Billy where your hammer and nails are, but he’s walking toward the kitchen where you keep them in a drawer by the stove, as if he’s been here a thousand times before. Upon catching your bemused look, he smiles once more and shrugs. “It’s where I keep ’em at home,” he says. “I just took a guess.” 

By the time you’ve unpacked the foodstuffs, he’s hung the wreath to your daughter’s specifications, delivered partially by small, barely audible sentences and hand gestures. 

He helps you put up the nails on which to drape the garlands, until the mantlepiece is hung with red and green. Your daughter carefully places the candles on the hearth, although she knows that she is under no circumstances to light them herself.

By the time everything is hung up or situated just so, your cabin has been transformed into Santa’s very own workshop. Your daughter is beaming, clinging to your skirts, and you can’t help but throw Billy a grateful smile.

“Thank you,” you say. “You really didn’t have to do all this. It’s very sweet of you.”

He smiles back at you. “My pleasure,” he says. “I know my ma never would have forgiven me if I’d walked on by without offering to help.”

The next thing you say falls out of your mouth before you can even think to say it. “You should stay for dinner,” you say. “It’s only fair. You deserve a square meal after all your hard work.”

In part, you really do believe this. Your little cabin looks beautiful, and you can tell your little girl is delighted — Billy’s kindness went a long way toward making that possible. For making her smile like that, dinner is the least you could offer him. 

But —

Quite simply, you also don’t want him to leave. There’s a warmth about him, a charm, that not only draws you in, but makes you feel safe. You haven’t felt like this since the early days with— 

You push the thought away before it can take root. Instead, you focus on Billy, who rewards your proposition with another smile. 

“I would love that,” he says. “Thank you.” 

From the corner of your eye, you see your daughter beam. It seems that she’s also taken a shine to this good-natured young man.

“Now,” you say, turning to her, “your job is to make sure that Billy doesn’t lift a finger to help me make dinner. He’s done enough. Do you think you can do that?”

With a firm mmmhm, your daughter doesn’t waste any time. She marches over to Billy and takes hold of his sleeve, leading him to the corner where her dolls are nestled in a wicker basket. Billy tosses you a look over his shoulder that has you biting your lip to keep from laughing. 

“Sit,” your daughter says, and then pauses, with a quick glance at you. “Please.”

Billy folds his long legs so that he settles on the ground beside her, and she hands him one of her dolls. While you busy yourself at the stove, simmering beef broth and vegetables to start on a stew, you can hear the two of them — though, in truth, it sounds like it’s mostly Billy — constructing a rather elaborate scenario. 

“Now, see here, Miss Pennyfeather—!”

Your daughter softly corrects him, “Miss Pennyweather.”

“Oh, sorry — ” Billy clears his throat. “Now, see here, Miss Pennyweather! I think your cat has been steee-eeealing my chicken eggs!”

Your daughter dissolves into giggles. “No, Miss Featherington!” 

“Oh, no? Wh00o-000, then?!”

More giggles. “A fox!”

“I ain’t seen no fooo-oox around here!”

As you cook up beef to add to the stew, you can’t help but overhear that, no, Miss Pennyweather’s cat didn’t steal Miss Featherington’s chicken eggs, but it turns out that another doll has been dressing up as a fox to steal the eggs — because she wants them to argue — so she sneak into their houses while they’re distracted and take their prettiest ribbons and baubles from their dressing table.

(The concept of a dressing table is something your daughter has recently discovered, and for whatever reason, she’s absolutely obsessed with it.) 

“I hate to interrupt,” you say, and you really do, because you kind of want to know how this ends. “But dinner is ready.” 

Billy gets to his feet and offers his hand to help your daughter up. She smiles and puts her tiny hand in his, and he lifts her up so easily that her feet leave the floor, making her squeal. He carries her to the table and plops her down in a chair, where she sits, a little disheveled from her journey, but flushed and giggling.

Digging into his dinner with gratifying gusto, Billy asks, “How long have you been livin’ in town?  I figure it can’t be too long.”

You smile. “Why?” you say. “Because I should have known better than to just bring a little wagon for my groceries? I didn’t expect Tunstall’s to have so much in the way of holiday decorations.”

Billy chuckles. “No,” he says softly, his eyes trained on yours. “Because I definitely woulda remembered seein’ you before.” 

You feel heat rise in your cheeks, and you drop your gaze to your bowl of stew, fiddling with your napkin. “We’re new here,” you say. “We only arrived just last week.”

“Just the two of you?” Billy asks. You sense something underneath the simple question, something almost…hopeful. 

You open your mouth to respond, but your daughter beats you to it. “It’s just me and Mama,” she says, concentrating on sopping up the last of her stew with a piece of bread. “Daddy went away.” 

You look up at Billy again, and he flicks his gaze heavenward. You shake your head and give the smallest tilt of your head toward the door.

No, your husband didn’t die. He simply left. The two of you had been fighting for months, mostly over money. You’d seen the toll it had taken on your daughter — the way she would bury herself under her covers whenever your husband started to yell, the way she would pick at her food and peek nervously at her father whenever he lapsed into sullen silence at the dinner table, the way she talked less and less. It was as if she was trying to make herself smaller. 

You didn’t realize she was taking a page from your book until your husband finally left. You woke up that morning to find his possessions missing, and you realized, after the shock had worn off, that it didn’t hurt. It just felt…freeing. You didn’t have to worry about his anger or his rebukes anymore.

But your daughter stayed inside the shell she’d created for herself. Around you, she was more like herself, but strangers — especially men — made her clam up again.

Except for today.

Except for Billy.

After dinner, Billy and your daughter go back to their dolls, while you clean up before sitting down with a pile of mending. You aren’t even surprised anymore that he doesn’t take the opportunity to take his leave. Honestly, the longer he stays, the more it feels like he’s always been here. 

It doesn’t take long for your daughter to start nodding off with Miss Pennyweather still in her arms. Billy gently pries the doll away, while you scoop your daughter up in her arms and tuck her in. 

When you turn around, you find Billy by the hearth, feeding more logs into the fire to keep the cabin warm. He straightens up and turns to look at you. 

For what feels like an eternity, the both of you just stand there, locking eyes from across the room. You walk toward him and touch his arm. 

“Can I say something?” he asks. He hasn’t taken his eyes off you.

You nod. “Please.”

“Your husband was a fool,” he says, so matter-of-factly that you can’t help but smile. “Anybody who walks away from you and your sweet little girl ain’t got the brains God gave a gopher.”

You have to — absolutely have to — bury your face against his shoulder to muffle your laughter. His own chuckle rumble against your cheek. 

You lift your head. “Do you have anyone to spend the holiday with?” you ask.

Family? A girl? 

He shakes his head. “No,” he says softly. “I’m on my own.”

You smile at him. “Not anymore.” 

Over the next few weeks, one may be forgiven for thinking that Billy actually lives at your little cabin. He’s there more often than not, fixing things that need fixing — your door has never quite shut right, at least not before Billy got his hands on it — and helping you with chores, from chopping firewood to sweeping the front porch. He plays with your daughter, from dolls to jacks to hide-and-seek.

And when your little girl has fallen asleep, you and Billy sit up by the fire, just talking. You start sitting in chairs on either side of the hearth,  but his chair ends up getting closer to yours, and then you scoot yours over, and then his ends up a few inches nearer. By Christmas Eve, the two of you are sitting so close that your knees touch. 

“I brought my fiddle with me, so I don’t forget it tomorrow,” Billy says softly. “Does your little girl like Christmas carols?”

“She loves them.”

He leans forward, and so do you.

“And you?” he says.

“Oh, yes.”

He leans in further. You reciprocate. 

“And me?” he says.

You laugh quietly. “How am I supposed to know if you love Christmas carols?”

Billy smiles. “No,” he says. “I mean, do you love me?”

He’s so close to you now that you can catch the cinnamon on his breath, a remnant of the hot cider the three of you shared before your daughter went to bed. Your gaze drifts to his lips before meeting his eyes again.

“Tell me I’m not the only one,” he goes on. “There’s somethin’ between us, ain’t there? I’m crazy about you. The both of you.”

“You’re not the only one,” you say. “I…I feel like I’ve known you forever. And I’ve never seen my daughter this way with anyone, ever. She adores you.” 

You pause. Now the two of you are close enough that you can count the faint freckles speckled over the bridge of his nose. “Billy,” you say softly, “since — since you’re coming back so early in the morning, maybe you should just…stay.”

“Are you sure, darlin’?”

You nod. 

“Can I hold you tonight?” he murmurs. “We don’t have to do anythin’ else. But all I’ve thought about since the moment I first saw you is holdin’ you in my arms.”

“Yes,” you say softly. 

He kisses you. You can feel it from the brush of his soft, full mouth against yours, to the very soles of your feet, like a bolt of lightning racing through every vein in your body. When you break apart, he gets up and takes your hand, leading you to your small room.

You climb into bed and he follows suit. His arms slip around you and pull you flush against his chest.

“Good thing you already packed your fiddle,” you whisper, and he laughs softly against your hair. 

Billy had helped you wrap your daughter’s presents after she went to bed earlier that night, and you can spot the pile from where you lay with your head on Billy’s shoulder. “Just how early is she gonna wake us up to tear into those?” he asks, his voice falling into your ear.

You give a quiet little giggle. “Pretty early,” you admit.

He presses a kiss to your forehead. “So we should probably get some sleep, huh?”

You hum softly in agreement. 

It’s been so long that you expect to lay away for hours, adjusting to the now-strange sensation of a man in bed next to you. But Billy’s warmth, and the strength of his arms around you, lull you under in what feels like a matter of moments.

Your daughter does wake you up at just about the crack of dawn, and she doesn’t seem all that surprised to find Billy there. Although she’s rather focused on her gifts, gasping as she takes in the sight of them, wrapping paper glittering in the glow of the lights.

When the paper is cleared away, and your daughter is cooing with delight over her new toys, Billy fetches his fiddle while you make breakfast. It doesn’t surprise you to hear that his voice is rich and warm. 

“Love shall be our token, love be yours and love be mine…”

You can feel his eyes on you as if he’s standing right behind you, running his fingertips along your spine.

“Love to God and all men, love for plea and gift and sign…”

You leave the stove for a moment and lean down to kiss his forehead. “I never answered your question last night,” you whisper. “If I love you or not.” 

He grins up at you. “No, you didn’t,” he agrees. “And? You’re not gonna break my heart on Christmas mornin’, are you?”

You chuckle, smoothing your fingers through his hair. “I do,” you say softly. “I do love you.”

He reaches up and catches your hand, presses a kiss to your fingers. “Love to all men,” he echoes. He kisses your fingers again. “And I love you, honey.”

A small figure wriggles in between the two of you, your daughter popping up in Billy’s lap. “And me?” 

“Were you eavesdropping?” you gasp, your affront all false.

She giggles. “Yes.”

Billy grins and cuddles her close, making her giggle again. “Well, that’s alright,” he says. “You don’t gotta worry about Santa for a whole year.”

You swat his shoulder gently. “Don’t tell her that.”

He flashes you an unrepentant smile before tickling your little girl’s side. “Yeah, and you,” he says. 

Your daughter settles comfortably in his lap. “This,” she says, after a moment of consideration, “is the best Christmas ever in the world.”

Frankly, you can’t disagree. 

[liltumgrum]

There are two major things that are ripping me up about Kaladin leaving to become a herald.

And I don’t mean how it was predicable.

The first is the general lack of knowledge of what happened to him. Szeth doesn’t even know. His parents will never know how they lost their son again. Orodin will never know why his big brother he just met disappeared. What’s left of bridge 4 will think their Captain finally was beaten. No one knows he’s not actually dead. His body died and was all that was left behind as a clue. It looks like he *failed* almost. Kaladin has had a way of inspiring people to believe in the impossible since he was in his mid to late teens. And now when everything in their world has fallen, this almost divine figure has a well. He was such a symbol to hope to so many people only for him to seemingly die without anyone even awake to witness.

This is less sad to his character and more so for the population of human free from Retribution

Second, and worst of all in my opinion, is the people he left beind.

In this I’m not actually talking about Bridge 4 or his family who he did get closure with in some way. Specifically I’m thinking of Szeth, Adolin, and Shallan. He was what? Szeth’s first actual friend? For like 8 days? And Szeth buried his corpse. Adolin and Shallan refused to say goodbye. They haven’t out grown him in the same way others had. They saw him as he was, vulnerable, when others didn’t.

I’m not saying that it’s impossible for them to have that drink together, but unless Kal figures out how to do freaky shit in the cognitive realm or someone yanks the heralds back to roshar before their ready, it seems really unlikely. Ishar said that time passes significantly faster on roshar than where they are. Kaladin said the heralds have time to heal. He just…. Doesn’t seem to be planning on coming back in time for Adolin or Shallan to still be alive. He won’t get to be the friend to Adolin that Adolin was to him. He won’t get to joke and commiserate with Shallan with no weird feelings between them. He doesn’t get to be proud of them for what they’ve done while they were separated. And they know nothing but that this time. This one final time. He didn’t come back.

That hurts me.

That isn’t to say however that I think it was out of character or easy for Kaladin to leave. One crucial thing about his character that has always been true is this: Kaladin cannot, and will not walk away from someone in front of him that needs help. That moment and that need takes president over all else. He just has decided he’s going to deal with the consequences of his choice. No matter how steep. Being there for the people that had literally no one else: szeth, the heralds, Syl and every single spren was worth the loss. He chose it and he’s going to see it through.

On a side note I can totally see why people thought the therapy talk was a little hit over the head and clunky. I would have like to see him fumble his words more. Which maybe says something about me bc he fumbled a lot. But honestly I’m just impressed at him for pushing himself to talk so much. I mean can you image the grunting guy in WoR talking half as much as he does in WaT?

I think the message was prioritized more for setting him up as a herald than it was meant to feel super natural. Which is unfortunate but I don’t personally care that much. -_(o_o)_-

[kpopscruggles]

The Urge to Let Go - Anton

Genre - Smut

Word count - 3k 😭

Warnings - Mature Language, Sexual Themes, fembody, SwitchAnton, mentions of alcohol, footplay, cumplay, panty sniffing, receiving oral from both ends (in a car), anton is literally obsessed, jakesim is a vv small character, hint of cheating at the end(iguess),

Summary - Anton decides to stay alone at his family's vacation home for summer break away from college. Deciding one day too head and swim at the community pool he meets you. Holding back the filthy urges he has throughout those two days he soon has a chance to have you...he finally can't hold back the dirty things he thinks of.

lil sequel

He decided to go to the family vacation house instead of spending his summer with his family, and what did that get him? Nothing. Anton was already bored and if he would've gone home, he could've been bothering his brother or even his mom. An average person would just take the shit they had unpacked, repacked, and went home but Anton refused. Looking on maps he tried to find anything that could become a staple for the summer till he went back to university. Cafe? he did not want it, Greek restaurant downtown? highly uninterested, Community pool? He could go for a swim. Looked like the pool was his destination. 

Upon arrival, he paid the simple five-buck fee and walked in. He watched the lifeguards' changing spots so the recent ones could have a break he assumed. Placing his things down he peeled off his shirt before pausing, glancing a bit higher than face view he saw you, your bare back as you climbed up the ladder to sit in the signature strawberry red lifeguard chair. The sunscreen giving your skin glow, the matching red one piece you wore that showed your figure, the sunglasses you put on to hide your eyes from the sun allowed the uncomfortable look to leave your face, a simple anklet shining in the sun, and the gorgeous red that painted the most pretty feet he had ever seen. Letting out a sigh he caught himself and turned away before you could realize he was looking. 

Diving into the water, he felt a small refresh in his skin from how hot it grew under the summer sun and from how he started to blush once looking at you. Swimming around he thought it would relax him, though he could not bear but look at you again. He could feel his body growing warm again; he did not understand why you suddenly had such a strong hold on him. Was it the fact he had not found any female appealing in a while? meaning he had not gotten laid in a couple of months? Was it just the stifling air messing with him? How does the sun make you look? He had no clue. He wanted you; he knew that. 

He began questioning himself, why he was weak enough to think about you in such a way. How he wanted to taste the mix of your skin and sunscreen. Your pretty feet too just run against his now growing package, his cock. Oh god. Looking around he immediately reached for his towel and climbed out of the pool, he needed to leave if you were going to rest up there for a good while. He wished he could speak to you but had no courage to do so.  

He rushed himself to the restroom while drying his hair, he almost felt anxiety creep in as he questioned if you found him weird or seen him watching you. Getting in the opening of the pool he saw the restrooms, walking that was he noticed the cubby wall for the workers to put their belongings. Looking around he saw the concession stand was not open, so no one was in there besides him and anyone who could be in the restrooms. He felt disgusted with himself, but his cock was begging for him to do so, no. No! He was not going to do such a thing. 

"Are you wanting something from the stand?" Anton jumped only to feel his cock do the same when he turned to notice you "I noticed you've been standing here for a while". He nodded because no words could leave his lips, he took a whiff of your perfume as you walked by. The simple coconut perfume everyone uses smelt so different to you. Walking to the concession he looked around; he watched you up close now. Your breasts practically fell out of the one piece you wore. 

"Uhm just a lemonade" he muttered before hearing you chuckle then grab it for him. "Your voice is so quiet" you respond before he watches you take the two dollars from him. Oh, your voice, your giggles, he was already hooked deep. He just smiled back and took the drink, watching you close the stand then head back to the pool area he gulped, turning back to the cubby wall he lost it "Fuck this.". Walking to it he noticed the perfume...the yellow beach-themed bottle with the water-blue words "Tropical Coconut.". 

Once mumbling the words to himself, he snatched the bottle and tossed it in his towel's folds. Once wanting to walk away he then paused one last time, he wanted to take everything, but he could not bear to let himself do such a thing. Walking out he got in his car and left. His heart pumping out his chest, but his cock felt some relief that he had something of yours. The drive home was so peaceful yet the shameful pervert in Anton's head was not afraid to remind him, but it was too weak to change his mind. 

He pulled at the bit of chapped skin on his lips, his throat dry as he stared at the lemonade and then back at the perfume that sat dead center in the middle of the coffee table. His cock still begging to be touched but his brain was still too busy whirling around in circles to even think about how much ache he was in. A filthy pervert. That is what he was or at least what he was trying to call himself instead of a genius for the fact that once he smelt this perfume and stroked his cock, he would not have a care in the world. Holding the bottle now in his hands he looked at the spray nozzle, spraying it above him he took another guilty whiff. The smell now stuck in his nose, he chuckled, this was not a guilty whiff, it was a pleasurable one.  

He sprayed it everywhere, his pillows now drenched in the coconut scent, the kitchen, the hallway, everywhere! Even in the hit shower, it lingered enough for him to grow eager once again. His hands took his cock which caused a hitched sigh to leave him. He chuckled once again at how he finally was going to get relief. He was going to paint the shower walls. 

Stroking his length, he felt a tingle run down his spine, closing his eyes he let his imagination run wild "Oh baby~ that's it.". Moans after moans leaving him as his wrist allowed him to pick up the pace. His hips stuttered as he fucked his hand. "I-I'm going to cum..Shit I'm going to cum!". A whine left him with each rope of cum that left his cock. 

He thought that was the end but smelling it on his sheets could not help but go repeatedly. Loud moans echoing his room at how sensitive he got from overstimulation. Wiping the cum from his stomach he sighed "You return the perfume tomorrow then she won't know a thing.". He had to repeat this in his head before falling asleep. He was not going to let his cock rule out his mind.  

He wished doing such a thing was just as easy as speaking it, he once again faced to face with your cubby. Staring at where your stuff was yesterday, where were your things? For some reason he began to panic, he had to deeply think if he left it there would you think he took it? surely not. You'd think someone just borrowed it or lost it. Placing it in the empty cubby, he immediately turned on his heels and walked to the pool area.  

He felt a shocking pain between his legs as he bumped into someone, looking up that tingle from his dick was now satisfactory to him. It was you, I'm so sorry, I wasn't paying attention!". look at you, so sweet looking while panicking. Holding himself together he nodded "I-It's okay, just a simple accident" He added before looking at the tote bag that struck him. He had to hold himself together and pretend he didn't want to beg for you to do it again. 

"If you were going to the pool, they closed it because a kid got sick" you informed him causing him to nod "You could come with us though, we're going to the lake not too far from here". He couldn't lie, he was incredibly grateful for your friend and what he assumed you thought was her blabbering mouth. Seeing how you weren't too fond of this he felt bad at how needy he was for you and agreed. "Great just follow us." Fuck this was it. 

Anton was now quaking once he got in his car and followed you, he was now going to see you in your comfort and relaxation which didn't seem like much but for him, it was fucking exciting. Once you park, he notices it was a small get-together with friends, and two guys who were already there were pulling the alcohol out of their trunks. Once again though, for Anton, they weren't the main priority. You were his only goal, no matter what it was going to involve you. Getting out he followed you and introduced himself to the others. 

Immediately one person wasn't fond of him, Jake. Jake also was trying to get in your pants; Anton was far from intimidated though. If it was between him and Jake, then so be it. He wasn't going to lose when the prize was to swoon you over. "So, are you still going to be soft-spoken?" you chuckled making Anton smile "I'll try my hardest not to, hopefully, the alcohol will make me a bit louder.".  

Grabbing a beer from the cooler he saw you smile "I can make you loud if I have to" you whispered before taking a beer yourself. Anton was stuck by your words, once again he was growing warm. If only you knew how much you had affected him. Taking a huge gulp of his beer he then sat next to you "You really think so?" he smirked. "I know so.". 

The night went on and Anton could feel the tension between the two of you, the multiple beers you had before sharing a bottle was enough for him to get louder and more courageous for you. He could see on your face that you were enjoying him too. "So, do you stay around here?" the question caught him off guard a bit, Were you that curious about him? Was it a sign that you wanted to go home with him? "Yeah, I'm about ten minutes from here". 

He watched your eyes widen a little before biting your bottom lip. Fuck, you looked so sexy when you did that. "Maybe we should ditch?" his breath hitched at your words. Nodding at what you said he then got up from the picnic table and took your hand. The others were too busy drinking more that they almost didn't notice you two lefts till Anton got the view of seeing Jake pissed. Anton couldn't wipe the smirk off his face. 

"Do you live down here or just for the summer?" you asked as Anton responded with a nod "Yeah, just for the summer. My family has a vacation home down here, so I've been staying here.". He watched you nod as you listened to him, or at least he was. It wasn't until you ran your hand over his thigh "You seem like a sweet boy Anton...kind of wished I would've known you sooner." "You shouldn't let that stop you though, it's only the second day of summer and I could be yours all season if you want.". He meant that and he made it clear as he glanced at you one last time waiting for a response. 

"Yeah? You'd be my all summer? I could do what I want with you?". Anton nodded at every question that left your lips, a shiver running down his spine at your tone. The way you talked to him like a lost dog was enough to put him in shambles. That cute giggle left your lips as your hand was now placed on his growing bulge. "I don't know. You don't seem needy enough. 

Those words were enough for him to pull the car over, which caused you to glance at him like he was insane. Turning to you, he let out a shaky sigh, his eyes now glistening a little from needy tears "You don't understand how bad I want you, you don't know how much I've craved you since I watched you yesterday...I would throw all of my manhood out the door if that meant you'd touch me and treat me like your filthy mutt." This left you in slight shock and he could tell but didn't care. Taking your hand, he forced it to grip his semi-hard cock. "Please...I'll bet my life away.". 

He watched a smirk form on your lips before you leaned closer, running your lips against him he whimpered trying to lean in for a kiss. "If I knew you wanted me that bad, I would've fucked you then and there". "So, make up for it.". Now you both were in shambles once you pulled his lips in for a kiss. His cock now twitched in his swim shorts. 

Pulling away you chuckled against his lips before placing your finger at the corner of his mouth to try and wipe the lip gloss off, it being no use once he took your fingers into his mouth sucking on them while more moans left him. "I bet you love this. Knowing you're sucking the fingers that I fuck myself with." Anton immediately nodded as saliva now ran down the corner of his mouth. pulling your finger away you licked it up before pulling him back in for a kiss. Holding your leg, he brought your foot up to his clothed cock, a small whine leaving him "Please rub my cock~". The closest thing you had ever seen, you couldn't help but oblige. 

"My feet too? you must love everything about me" You chuckled only to see him nod eagerly. Using your hand to pull down his swim shorts you placed your barefoot back on his cock, the precum being smeared with each movement you made. Licking the fingers he was once sucking on you watched him lean back in the seat, brows knitted together, and fingers laced in your anklet before placing a small kiss on your knee. "I-I think I might cum.." Chuckling at his breathless moans I pulled my foot away. "Lick it up" you added showing him the precum on your foot, and he followed exactly what you asked. 

Licking up his precum he then kissed your ankle before you pulled away to crawl into the backseat. Your pussy dripping at how eager he was to follow behind you. Letting him sit you then pumped his cock "You want to cum? Hmm? You should cum down my throat. Would you like that baby?". Biting his bottom lip, he pulled you into a kiss while nodding "Mhm~ please let me cum~". You nodded before taking him into your mouth. 

"Oh shit!" a huff of air left him as you felt him run his hand down your back and slip into your bottoms. You felt his slick fingers run against your anus; he must have licked them. You couldn't help but moan around his cock once feeling him push two fingers in your tight hole. "Anton~" Oh god you were moaning for him, moaning for his fingers to fuck you. Anton was already getting fuzzyheaded at your moans let alone your warm mouth take all of him. 

His hips shuttered causing him to try and apologize but it was no use feeling the cushion of your throat against his begging tip. His stomach tightened, his breathing was uneven, his cock twitched from how much he was holding back. Anton knew he was going to cum at any moment. His eyes rolled back "D-don't move! Oh god!". the whine being the last spoken word before he filled your throat with cum and his bottom lip shivering with every breath he took.  

Pulling away he watched you swallow it before pulling him into a kiss, the taste of his cum and your salvia now sending him into overdrive. Removing his fingers he moved your bottoms to the side "Lay down...". He leaned closer to your pussy, a sigh leaving him as he felt the warm creamy substance swimming through your slit. Looking up at you he smirks before licking his finger only after smelling your sweetness. He was going to devour you finally. 

A gasp left' you once you felt his warm tongue against your clit, his soft eyes looking up at you while doing such sinful acts. He wanted you to know that he was here to please you and that anything you wanted he would easily do. Your fingers ran through his dark hair, tugging with each quick lap of his tongue. "Just like that... you're doing s-so good..." you sighed watching the windows fog as you tilted your head back feeling his tongue swirl around your clit. You felt a sigh leave him which only made you shiver due to his warm breath running up your soaked slit.  

"Please cum on my tongue, please, please~" you couldn't hold back much longer hearing his begs for your release, gripping his hair tighter and practically pulling on it you felt your stomach drop and your release rush from you. You could hear every whimper, whine, and slurp from Anton as he licked you clean. Gasping you slowly began catching your breath as you watched him lick his lips clean with a smile "Feel good?". The confidence on his face only made you drip more as you nodded. "Best I've had" Now this had Anton blushing extremely.  

----- 

The summer went by in a flash, Anton was growing eager to come down to his last week and still not being able to be inside your pussy. He'd text you every night praising you more than any man has ever done, but when Anton came to the pool there was just no courage to speak to him. You could easily say the alcohol helped by getting you both comfortable but at the same time drifted you apart once the alcohol was sucked up and put behind the two of you. You could tell it was killing him inside when you acted like what happened didn't at all. He wasn't going to stand for it. 

Waiting for you to close the pool for the day you turned to see him leaning against his car, trying to walk past him you failed as he stepped in front of you "Did I do something wrong? I didn't push you, did I?". You didn't answer and just looked at your feet before backing up at him "That's not it at all I just...It's an awkward situation at the moment.". "How is it awkward? We had oral sex, exchanged numbers, and still text like normal," Anton added while following you to your car, it was no use as he watched you just start the engine and drive off. He was fuming, he felt like he just wasted his time. Getting in his car he went back to his place. 

The rest of the week he was packing his things and pulling his hair out at the fact that he didn't know what went wrong. He also expected that once he tasted you that would be it but no, it was far from finished on his end. Putting the last few things in his bag he knew he was going to see you again; he could feel it. It was a gut feeling he knew he couldn't run away from. He wasn't going to run away either. 

Putting the last shirt away in his suitcase we looked at the swimsuit bottoms you had worn, he washed them and kept them for himself because you agreed he could. Taking them in his hold he sighed before smelling your scent on them still, he chuckled at how mind-boggling it was that was still possible. "I'll never get over your smell". Whispering those few words to himself he then zipped his bag up. Leaving the house he began his drive back to campus. 

Arriving, he was getting a new dormmate, not that it mattered, but he was intrigued. "You are again.", Anton turned to see Jake bringing his things in, rolling his eyes at Jake he went back to unpacking "Awe are you hurt that she left you behind?". Anton turned to him "She didn't leave me behind". Jake chuckled "But she did, Anton hates to spill the news so quickly but she came back with me...She's mine. Anton chuckled "Just because she came back with you doesn't mean she's yours.". 

Anton had no care what Jake had to say because as Jake was blabbering, he got a text from you. A text that made it truly clear who you wanted, and it was him. Anton knew you'd miss him too much just like he missed you. Jake may think he won but like Anton kept telling himself...When it came to you, he was always going to win. 

I'm in town, you should come by my roommate's place, she's gone.