#that's some fucking final destination shit

[daechwitatamic]

You Think You Might - Chapter 5 || csc

(banner by @itaeewon)

You Think You Might (masterpost)

Seungcheol x fem!reader angst smut fluff fake dating!au, kind of sort of exes to lovers?

NSFW - minors DNI

Summary: Seungcheol agrees to be your fake boyfriend at your sister’s destination wedding, under the condition that it “stays there”. You didn’t expect it to hurt when he holds you to that promise.

WC: 54k across 5 chapters; this chapter 8k

Status: complete; this is the final chapter

Warnings: language, excessive drinking and drunkenness, i did make seungcheol cry just once and i'm not sorry, reader continuing to go thru it, angst, kissing, oral (f. receiving), piv sex, the teeeensiest tiniest bit of barely there ass play do not even LOOK at me i dont know who wrote that, reader says if you demand to be on my island then i am getting OFF the island and we all should have seen it coming

A/N: thank you to @sailorsoons and @eoieopda for beta-ing and to @kkaetnipjeon for naming almost every background character for me

October

When your phone rings at 1:20 in the morning, it feels like a stone sinks through your stomach. Some instinct knows what this is before you even read his name on the screen. Like part of you has been waiting since early summer for him to break, afraid of your own reaction, afraid you’ll do the wrong thing and let him.

“What’s up?” you answer, which strikes you as funny, because it’s the middle of the night and you’re half-asleep. Nothing about this is casual - this isn’t going to be a call about grabbing extra beer for Soonyoung’s house. 

“Come drink with me.”

Four words, and you know everything you need to know. The background noise is deafening - thumping, shattering club music and the cacophony of dozens of conversations being carried at a volume meant to rise above the music. 

The words are also slurred nearly past recognizability. 

He’s fucked up. 

Going to him would be a mistake.

But you want to. You want to. 

You’re already moving towards your closet in the dark.

“Where’s your girlfriend?” you ask sarcastically, even as you reach the lamp on your dresser and switch it on, casting your room in a low yellow light. You pick out a pair of jeans and a sweater - you won’t be staying at the club with him, you don’t need to dress up. You’ll tell security you’re just getting someone home - they’ll let you through.

“Wish I knew,” he says darkly. “Actually, no I don’t. If I did, I’d go there. Promised my mom no more fights.”

He sounds so gone. Your heart wrings itself out like laundry fresh from the wash, water and blood pouring from it. You ache for him, want to pull him close, want to soothe the hurts. You pull the sweater on quickly. 

“Did you argue again?” you ask, mostly to keep him talking while you get ready. You poke around your room for a wayward sneaker.

He laughs, once, no humor in it. “Worst we’ve ever had. She took her shit this time.”

“Seungcheol,” you say, all pity. “I’m sorry.”

“Come drink with me,” he answers, more firmly this time. He sounds a bit more lucid, like answering your questions tethered him back to now. “I hate being alone.”

You tuck in your laces and grab your keys. “I know you do,” you say softly. “Send me your location.”

As expected, you tell the bouncer you’re just here to get your friend out of there and he lets you inside, even asks if you think you’ll need help.

“Nah,” you say easily. “He’ll come with me.”

It takes some effort to move through the crowd until you reach the bar, but Seungcheol is there, an empty glass in front of him, and his chin propped up on his hand, his eyes unfocused.

You slide in the seat next to him - miraculously empty - and order yourself a beer and a water for him. You don’t talk to him until they’ve arrived, until you’ve watched him down a third of the water.

“Why am I here, Seungcheol?” you ask him, finally, quiet. You’re not sure how much of him is present right now, not sure what kind of answer you’ll get.

But he seems to have come back around since he first called you, because his answer is, “Aren’t we supposed to be friends?”

“Is that why you called me? Because you needed a friend?” you ask. It’s a dangerous question; it’s a dare. It’s a challenge, it’s a first expression of this fucked-up limbo the two of you have tried to maintain. It’s a mistake that you can’t stop yourself from making, the inertia carrying you even when you know you should swerve. 

You’re lucky - he’s not too far gone to know exactly what game you’re playing, and to remember he’s not supposed to play. 

“I called you,” he says, dark eyes flashing up to yours, “because I didn’t want to sit here alone. I wanted to be… with someone good. Good to me.”

The words are unsteady, wobbly, but you think they might still be a version of the truth.

There are a lot of things you could say back to that, and they all jump into your mouth at once. But you’re supposed to be staying off the boat, right?

“Drink your water,” you tell him, and something in your tone must tell him not to fuck with you, because he listens. When you’ve both finished - you, your single beer, and him, the entire glass of water - you tell him, “Let’s go home.”

He rises without a fuss, and you lead him by the hand through the noisy throngs of people and out inside the silent, chilly night. His hand in yours is warm, clinging to you so tightly it almost hurts.

You drive him back to his place in near silence. He only speaks to mutter two-word directions at you - turn left and next exit and this one.

You take his keys from his hand and lead him across the parking lot to his building’s door, realizing halfway there that he’s stopped following you. You turn, finding him standing in the middle of the parking lot, unmoving.

Hesitantly, you make your way back toward him. 

“Cheol?” you venture, and when he turns to you, his face is twisted, a storm in his eyes. 

His voice doesn’t even sound like him - choked and raspy and loud - when he asks you, “Why does she do this to me?” He swipes a closed fist across his eyes, the picture of misery.

You close the space between you and gather him in your arms; drunk and broken, he lets you. You hold him steady as he cries into your shoulder, his own hands coming to clutch desperately at your back, like you’re the only thing holding him down in the face of a hurricane.

You hold him as long as he needs, the two of you alone in the middle of the pavement, the night expanding silent and blue around you. 

When he gives a final shaky exhale and loosens his hold on your back, you let him step away, your hands falling to your sides. You watch his face carefully as he roughly scrubs at his cheeks with the heels of his hands. 

“Sorry,” he mutters, embarrassed. 

You shake your head, don’t be, but don’t speak. You don’t know the right thing to say; you don’t know if he’s in the right place to hear you.

You’ve never been to his place before, so he leads you inside, taking an unnaturally long time to get his key in the lock. You don’t offer to help, knowing he doesn’t need you to baby him right now, doesn’t need you to make him feel like he can’t do it.

Inside, he clicks on the lights and stumbles through a dark doorway that you assume must lead to his bedroom. You look around for a second - it’s neater than you expected, but looks lived in. There’s a hoodie thrown over the back of a kitchen chair, and a lone mug in the kitchen sink waiting to be washed. You open a few cabinets until you find glasses, and you fill one with water. Then you follow the sounds of thumps through his still-dark bedroom and into the brightly lit en-suite.

Seungcheol looks at you like he’s not sure where you came from, the toothbrush stilling in his mouth.

“Water,” you explain, needlessly, and he nods, still looking a bit baffled. 

You wait in his bedroom until he flicks off the bathroom light and stumbles out and straight into his bed. You set the water down on his bedside table and back away.

“You good?” you ask. You mean, mostly, are you going to throw up in your sleep, or can I leave? 

He pulls the blankets over his head, then pushes one eye out and looks at your blearily.

“There are three of you,” he says seriously, his low voice muffled by the thick blankets.

“All three of us will be on the couch if you need… help, or anything,” you deadpan.

He’s too drunk to appreciate the joke. That one visible eyeball just stares at you, and then he mutters, “Is it fucked up that I missed you?”

You huff a tiny laugh.

“Goodnight, Seungcheol,” you say, instead of answering. “Yell if you need me.”

He only hums, not really an answer, but you’ll take it. You close his bedroom door behind you and survey his living room. You turn on a low lamp and then cross the room to turn off the brighter overhead lights. You get comfortable, scrunching up the throw pillow under your head and pulling a blanket from the back of the couch. 

You thought you’d have trouble sleeping here, alone in a place you’ve never been, but the blanket smells like him, and you feel safe knowing he’s on the other side of the door, and it doesn’t take long at all before you’re drifting off.

You’re woken up mid-morning by a body draping itself heavily over your side, then sliding behind you to slip between you and the back of the couch. His arm rests on top of you, his hand on your shoulder.

You giggle before you even open your eyes. “Hello?” you ask, trying to peer over your shoulder, but Seungcheol holds your shoulder tight, stopping the motion.

“You can’t look at me,” he says seriously, his voice sleepy and soft. “I’m too ashamed.”

You laugh again.

“I am seriously so sorry,” he says, still hiding behind you. He’s warm and solid against your back, and you relax against him, smiling despite yourself. The room is lit up brightly from the morning sun, the lamp you had on last night now turned off. “For calling you… for making you come out in the middle of the night… for everything I said… for…”

For breaking down. You hear it even though he doesn’t say it.

“You don’t need to be sorry,” you tell him quietly, reaching up to rest your hand on top of his where it rests on your shoulder. “If I didn’t want to come out, I wouldn’t have. And you don’t need to apologize for… feeling how you feel, or for letting me be there for you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“This is very embarrassing for me,” he mumbles against your head.

You roll over so you can face him, and he lets you. You look up at him, trying to reconcile the sheepish man in front of you to the broken one you saw last night. It occurs to you, as you lay chest to chest with him on the couch, that this is the closest you’ve been since you slept together in July.

You hate how right it feels - no awkwardness, no uncertainty.

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed,” you whisper.

His mouth twists like he doesn’t quite see it the same way. “Thanks for getting me home,” he says, instead of arguing or agreeing. “At… two in the morning.”

You shrug one shoulder, very aware of how dangerously close to cuddling you are, as he places his arm over your back, his hand resting near your shoulder blades. “It makes me happy that you felt comfortable calling me when you needed someone,” you tell him. “I’m glad I could be there for you.” It might be the most honest thing you’ve ever said to him.

It had - it had made you happy to take care of him the way he’d taken care of you at that resort. It made you happy to be the one that he let in, who got to see him when he wasn’t put together.

It might be complicated, but it’s still true. You’re happy to be here.

You lay there - yes, cuddling, technically - for a little bit, and then you look at him again. His gaze is warm this morning, full of affection and gratitude.

“Hey…” you say, unsure if this is the right move, “I know you asked me to, like, stay out of it. And I’ve been trying to. But… can I ask you something?”

He sighs a little, pressing his hands to his eyes for a moment before looking at you again. The movement cracks the cuddle, and you push yourself up to sitting. He does the same, so that you’re side to side and upright again. 

“Yeah,” he relents. “I guess you have the right, after last night.”

“Why stay?” you ask him earnestly. “Why keep trying, when all of us - including both of you - know how it’s going to go?”

“Because,” he says darkly, averting his eyes.

“Because isn’t a reason,” you point out.

He huffs, frustrated, but you wait him out. “I just… want to prove that… it could work. That I’m not… so fucked up that it can’t.”

You put a hand on his knee, and his eyes flick to yours.

“I can solve that one for you: you’re not. And it sucks that she made you feel like you are.”

“It’s not all her fault,” he mumbles.

“No,” you agree. “It really isn’t. But, Seungcheol, if a couple works, it’s not about their worthiness, it’s not the universe deciding they’re good enough. It’s about the two people involved, and their willingness to put pride aside and try - to communicate, and make sacrifices, and fight for it. And I know you’re capable of all that - because when you were pretending, you were perfect. More than perfect.”

His face softens, those flickers of anger and defensiveness falling away. You sit in silence, looking at each other, the air between you charged and full of tension so thick you could sink your fingers into it like a ball of dough.

The ugliest part of you, hidden way down deep, rises up and whispers, choose me. 

You hate this selfish voice, hate yourself for wanting this even after everything, but you can’t silence the part of you that’s pleading for him to realize he’s been chasing his tail in circles, to realize that he has an option in front of him that could be great if he gave it a chance.

You force yourself up, breaking the spell, going silently to find your keys and your shoes. 

Still, even as he watches you go, the want claws up your stomach, through your limbs, into your fingertips. 

You pause in the entryway, looking back at him. For a long moment, his eyes stay locked on yours, pinning you to the spot.

You clench your jaw to shove down the words, but they flow through your gaze straight to his anyway.

Choose me. Choose me. Please, choose me. 

From the way he sits still on the couch, you think he must hear your plea. You think he must be considering. You finally break eye contact, giving him a tight nod and turning away. Then you close the door behind you, leaving him alone with the choice.

The next weekend at Soonyoung and Chan’s, Seungcheol isn’t present.

The realization goes through you like ice, your heart skipping and galloping with all the implications of it.

“Ah, yeah,” your brother says, when you ask. “He and Jieun went away for the weekend. He’ll be back tomorrow.”

You turn away as casually as you can, trying to school your features. The news hits you like a punch.

He and Jieun. He picked her. 

He picked her, and took her away for a romantic trip to solidify it. It makes you nauseous. You’d been trying to accept this truth - that she would always win - and yet somehow you’re still surprised. 

Stupid. Stupid.

Fine, you think, taking a slow breath in to calm your systems. It’s fine. You wanted him to choose, and he did. Now you know for sure. Now it can be over.

And it has to be - over. You can’t do this again. You can’t open up and let him in just to watch him slip back to her again. Not again.

It sucks, but you don’t feel like you can talk to Soonyoung about this. Not because he wouldn’t hear you, or support you. But at the end of the day, Seungcheol has been his friend for a long time - you don’t want to put him in the middle, or in an uncomfortable spot. 

You sit on it for a few days, and then you crack and do something you’ve never done in your whole life.

You call your sister. Just to talk.

“Hey!” she greets you brightly, like she’s pleasantly surprised to hear from you. Which is fair. “What’s going on?”

“Not a lot,” you lie. “How about you?”

“Same ‘ol, same ‘ol,” she sighs, not unhappily. “Jeongwoo is on a work trip until tomorrow night, so I’m sitting here having a sleepover night by myself - painting my nails, binging some Real Housewives, and drinking wine.”

“Sounds amazing,” you say.

“Feel free to join me,” she says, and you hear the smile in her voice. You wonder if you could ever get there - to the point where you’d even consider that offer from her, to the point where you’d want to go hang out with her.

The idea of it sounds kind of nice.

“Maybe next time,” you say, and you almost mean it.

“What’s going on with you?” she asks.

“Seungcheol called me drunk from the bar at one in the morning on Saturday,” you blurt. It bursts from you, unbidden, though you know that unburdening yourself of this was the whole reason you called.

“Oh my god, what?” she breathes. “Did you answer?”

You laugh. “You don’t even know what a silly question that is,” you say, and it doesn’t occur to you that you’re just saying ‘you don’t know me at all’, but you are. “Not only did I answer, I went to pick him up and drive him home, and then I slept on his couch to make sure he didn’t die of alcohol poisoning.”

Nayoung swears. “You two are messy messy,” she says, and you laugh, because - yeah. “Where’s his girlfriend?”

“Oh,” you say. “Yeah, that’s an important detail. They had a fight and she turned off her location, which is why he went off the rails at the bar in the first place.”

“Okay,” Nayoung says, and you can almost picture her holding up a hand to stop you. “Back up and start at the beginning. Tell me everything.” 

You do, starting with his phone call that night, ending with his absence at Soonyoung’s last Friday, the indication that he’d taken Jieun on a romantic weekend away, that he’d heard what you’d said and made his choice definitively.

“Oh,” she says as soon as you’re done, the word rushing from her, “he wants you so bad.”

“What?” This is not the reaction you’d expected. This is also the opposite of how you see the situation.

“He got sad and called you,” she points out. “He needed comfort and he turned to you. To me, that says a lot.”

You hum. “I don’t know. He called me because he was drunk and the girl he wanted had him blocked.”

“I don’t think so,” she says. “I think some part of him knew you were a safe place to turn to.”

Someone good to me. 

You let out your breath, frustrated. “What does that do for me?” you demand. “He chose her!”

“I don’t know,” she says. “He’s gotta figure it out sooner or later, that you’re what he wants - right?”

“You’d think,” you mutter sarcastically.

“He’ll be back,” she says, sounding sure. “He’ll figure it out.”

“I don’t think I care, though,” you say. “Even if he did… he’s picked her over me too many times. I don’t want to be his second choice, I don’t want to always wonder if he’d rather be with her.”

“Well,” she says, “I know I haven’t been married that long, but my advice as someone with a very solid relationship - if I do say so myself - is to just ask him how he feels about it… and trust what he tells you.”

You don’t respond, your lips pressed tight together. Because you don’t - can’t - trust him to mean it when he says he’s done with her. He’s switched up on you too many times. He could tell you day in and day out that it’s you, but you will always feel Jieun’s shadow hovering behind you. There’s no way around it.

You think you might hate her, and that makes you sad, too - because it’s not even her fault.

It’s pouring on the night that Seungcheol shows up at your door - the kind of rain that comes down only sideways, soaking your feet, hair, and even through your jeans in some spots in the short time it takes you to dash from your car to the building’s front door.

You’re still wiping water from your face, shaking it from your sleeves, trying to tame your damp hair when you round the corner to your hall and spot him outside your door.

Your stomach sinks immediately, instinct and past experience telling you that he and Jieun fought again, that the merry-go-round has brought him to the come to you for comfort phase of the cycle once again. 

You’re tired - tired of fighting how you feel for him, tired of feeling guilty for wanting someone that’s not yours, tired of feeling pathetic for wanting someone who doesn’t want you, tired of picking him up every time he comes crawling to you low and angry. 

But you approach him anyway - what else can you do? It’s your apartment.

When he turns to face you, you’re so surprised that you actually falter in your steps, tripping over nothing and having to right yourself.

He looks happy - he looks good, and somehow himself in a way you haven’t seen since Nayoung’s wedding over the summer. There’s no storm behind his eyes, no crease in his brow, no heavy weight to the corners of his mouth, no tightness to his jaw or heaviness on his shoulders.

“Hi?” you venture.

His smile crawls across his face, dimples deepening by tiny degrees at a time. It takes your breath away - you hadn’t realized it, but you haven’t seen him happy like this in so long. He’s beautiful. You miss this version of him. 

“Hey,” he says, dimples deepening. “Can we talk?”

“Sure,” you say, digging out your keys. “Is everything okay?”

“Very,” he says, emphatically but cryptically. 

You raise an eyebrow at him and cross your arms.

He laughs, like you’re being cute. It makes you scowl, but it also makes your stomach flutter. “Can we talk inside? This isn’t really a… hallway conversation.”

You give him a wary look and move past him to unlock the door. He follows you inside and hovers behind you as you flick on lights and set down your things. You’re still water-logged from the rain, and you cross into your bedroom to change into something dry. Seungcheol hangs back in your living room, patiently waiting for you to emerge.

“Okay,” you say, “what’s up?”

He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again. Something crosses his face - uncertainty, maybe. He steps closer, hands reaching for your elbows. You let him draw you closer, into the circle of his warmth, his smell, his solidity. You look up at him, a question in your eyes.

“I have to just say it,” he says, almost to himself, almost like a reprimand. Like he’s giving himself a pep talk. “I want to try with you. I want to do it for real.”

You stare at him, eyes wide. Whatever you were expecting, it wasn’t this. 

“Seungcheol, what?” You’re almost convinced that you heard him wrong, or that you’re misunderstanding what he’s saying. Your brain whirs as it tries to process, to find the slip-up.

He shifts closer, your bodies almost touching, and you tip your head up to keep his face in your line of sight. 

His voice lowers, softens, turns into something private and pleading. “I know we could be good together. Give me a chance to prove it. I didn’t think I could do it, before. But.. I can. I will.”

Somehow his hands have gone from your elbows to your upper arms, your bodies inching closer and closer like drifting continents, coming closer so slowly it’s impossible to see the movement.

You manage to speak, your words stumbling over each other. “But - Jieun?”

He shakes his head. “Gone,” he says firmly. Your stomach swoops, but the feeling of elation is chased immediately by a dark wave of doubt. “For good. I’m not doing that shit anymore. I’m not…” he trails off, thinking, then calls back a conversation you’d had months ago, on a sandy beach hundreds of miles away - “…accepting an ending that’s less than what I want.”

“I don’t understand,” you breathe. 

“I want to really try with someone who will actually try with me. I like you. So, please. Let’s try.”

Your heart races so fast that you feel a little dizzy as you consider his offer. You’re afraid of him hurting you again, changing his mind again. You’re afraid of accepting him and then letting him down, making him regret it all. You’re afraid of him becoming just another person who gets tired of you and walks away. 

But your feelings for him haven’t dissipated at all over these months, no matter how firmly you’ve tried to store them away. You want to feel close to him again. Very little in your life has felt as safe as being close to Seungcheol feels. 

You want to feel good again, too.

Your bodies are touching now, his arms fully around you, your faces so close you could kiss him without reaching. 

“Give me a chance,” he murmurs, his eyes tracing your face.

“I’ll give you a night,” you breathe, nearly against his lips. “We can go from there.”

His arms close around you instantly, his mouth finding yours - this was all the permission he needed. You melt into him, hands sliding up his back, already beneath the hem of his shirt, seeking skin, seeking warmth, seeking him. 

The way he clings to you as he kisses you makes you wonder if he’s been missing this, too - if you aren’t the only one whose single dose failed as a cure, only left you wanting.

You peel his shirt over his head slowly, reveling in every line and ridge of muscle as they are exposed one by one. You feel possessive of him, suddenly, want to carve your name across his ribs, want to make sure no one forgets that you were here, that at least for this moment he was only yours.

He does the same, making quick work of the hoodie that you’d just pulled on, tossing it towards the couch. He smirks a little when he spots the lacy edges of your bra - thank god, thank god you’d picked a cute one today - and remarks, “Pretty,” before pinching the clasp open with one hand and discarding it in the same direction that your hoodie and tshirt had just gone.

He kisses you again, hot and deep and seeking, as his hands find and knead your breasts firmly, something possessive in his touch - like, once again, you match. Your knees go a little weak and you lean into him, a wanting sound slipping up your throat and disappearing into his open mouth. 

His thumbs brush your nipples once and the sound turns into a whine. He breaks the kiss long enough to tease, “What? Not enough?”

Never enough, you think. You’ll always want more of him.

“Feels nice,” you tell him, in a whisper.

You kiss him again as your hands fumble with his belt buckle. His jeans drop to the floor and he steps out of them, his eyes closing on an audible sigh when you palm him over the black briefs he’s wearing. He’s hot under your hand, a small patch already damp beneath your palm.

“Get rid of those,” he instructs as he steps away from you, pulling at his own socks. He nods at your lower half as clarification and you pull off your leggings, leaving only the matching bottoms to your bra. You hook your thumbs under the edge of the lace, but he reaches out to stop you.

“Leave that,” he says, his eyes shining and devilish. 

He lays you back across the couch and settles between your thighs, all mischief and anticipation, and then he licks a warm stripe up the center of the lace. You reach over your head and clutch at the arm of the couch, trying desperately to keep it together as he hooks a thumb under the lace and pulls them gently to the side, exposing you to the cool air of the room and his own hungry gaze. You moan loud, eyes squeezing shut, as he dives back in.

He slides two fingers into your heat and your back arches as his name slips between your lips. He returns his tongue to you as his fingers open you bit by bit, whimpers and gasps replacing the silence in the room. He grunts when you lose control and buck once, then uses his free hand to splay his fingers across your lower belly to hold you still.

The snap happens before you expect it, almost without warning. The heat blossoms from your stomach down to your toes, and you chant his name as the waves roll through you, demanding your attention. 

“Shit,” he growls, fingers still moving, his mouth an inch away from your pulsing center. “Fuck, I feel you, baby.”

When you finally unclench, the room spinning around you as you gasp for breath, he slips his fingers from you and crawls up your body, his mouth seeking yours. You barely register that you can taste yourself on him; all you can process is the need to cling to him as you come back to earth, the need to know he’s surrounding you, solidly between you and the rest of reality.

“Please,” you hear yourself say, though you didn’t make the decision to beg. He obliges, doesn’t tease you for it, just lines himself up and slides into you in one slow, unfaltering motion. 

Your hips tilt on their own, taking him just slightly deeper; you gasp against his mouth, fingers scrabbling at his shoulders, trying to hold on, trying to hold him still, trying to climb inside him. 

He presses his forehead to yours, both of you panting, his arms caging you in as he fucks in and out of you slowly, letting you adjust to the stretch. It’s a lot, but it’s so good, and it isn’t long before you’re moving with him, meeting each thrust, your legs tangled behind his waist to pull him in closer.

You let go of his shoulders and cup his face with both hands, pulling his mouth back to yours tenderly. 

You think you might be halfway in love with him. That’s been your whole problem all along.

“Touch yourself for me,” he murmurs, lips on your jaw.

You pull back and slip two fingers into your mouth, eyes on his as you wet them. You smirk when his face twists, his stroke faltering for just a second, and then bring your fingers between your legs.

“How are you real?” he groans, his pace quickening. You feel yourself shake slightly each time he pushes back into you. 

When he stops, pressed so deep inside you that it steals your breath, you look up at him inquisitively. Sweat beads on his forehead, and he reaches up to push his hair back from his face.

He doesn’t answer your unvoiced question, just slides out of you and stands, reaching for your hands to pull you up after him. He kisses you messily, hungrily, pulling you tight against his body. His cock is trapped between your bodies, hot and slippery against your lower stomach. He ignores this, holding you desperately, holding you like he’s afraid you’ll get ripped away. A detached part of your brain wonders what fear is behind the tightness of his grip.

Then he’s moving with renewed energy, turning you by your shoulders and pressing between them, leaning you over the arm of the couch, one hand sliding down your spine and resting on the small of your back. You cry out wordlessly when he slides into you again, the new position bringing him deeper than before, stars sparking before your eyes. 

He grips your hips tightly, using the leverage to pound into you with a force he hadn’t earlier, or back in July. All you can do is take it, eyes screwed shut, wailing wordlessly and trying to press your face into your arms to muffle the noise. 

“Too much?” he manages to ask you, the words slipped between breaths, his voice tight with effort.

You can’t form an answer, can’t make your mouth shape no, it’s perfect, so you shake your head wildly. You think you might die if he stops.

Seungcheol slows anyway, soothing a hand down your back again, giving you a chance to relax your muscles and take a deep breath. He sets a steady pace, far less brutal than a moment ago, and you reach back to run a hand up the back of his thigh, just wanting to touch him. He reaches down with one hand and tangles his fingers with yours, giving a single reassuring squeeze before dropping them again.

Your thighs are shaking constantly now, and your voice comes out thin when you try to warn him you’re close.

“Yeah?” he croons, and then you feel the gentle pressure of his thumb ghost over your rim before circling it more firmly. 

You lose it entirely; you think you scream. Everything goes white and then staticky. You’re dimly aware of Seungcheol growling your name, pulling out, splattering your ass with strings of hot cum.

You cooperate when he maneuvers you back onto the couch, laying on his back and pulling you onto his front, your hearts both beating wildly against one another, like they’re both trying to break through your ribs and reach the other. 

“Shit,” you whisper, when you feel like you’re in your body again. He chuckles warmly beneath you, reaching up to run a hand down your arm affectionately. 

“You good?” he asks, voice gravelly. 

“Mhm,” you manage, though you’re already starting to feel soreness everywhere - in your hips, between your legs, even in your lower belly. “You wanna shower?”

“Definitely,” he says, and helps you up, follows you into the bathroom. Soaps you up gently, kisses your head while you rinse. It’s frighteningly tender, and you find yourself struggling to look directly at him.

Something inside you feels like you should run.

When you’re dry, he asks you tentatively, “Should I go home?”

Probably, you think. Before I get in even deeper. 

But you’re already in so deep. You haven’t slept next to him in months. You crave it just as much as what you’ve just done. So you tell him, “I don’t mind if you stay. If you want to.”

In the dark, you lie facing each other, your head resting on his mountain of a bicep. 

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he whispers.

That I’m not going to be enough to make you stay, you think.

“That I’m going to need to soak in a hot bath tomorrow,” you lie.

You wake up between his arms, your room bright with early morning sun. You let yourself revel in it for only a moment, and then you slip out of the bed as quietly as you can. Silently, you start dressing. 

You’re hunting for your shoes when he wakes, squinting at you adorably, a pout on his face.

“Come back,” he whines, and you almost cave. You don’t answer, and this seems to be what alerts him that something is wrong. He’s fully awake, quickly, his eyes sharp on you as he throws off your blanket and stands.

You step back as he comes closer, and you hate that you recognize a flash of hurt crossing his face.

“I need to go,” you say quietly, and you can hear the cornered-animal fear in your voice, hate that it’s evident.

“Why?” he asks, his voice just as raw as it had been the night he’d cried over her, less than a month ago.

You shake your head, the words in your head scrambled and unfocused. 

“Talk to me,” he begs, trying to step closer again. You let him, this time. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” you manage, but your voice is choked, and the second you hear it the dam inside you cracks. You blink away tears and step back from him again as he tries to reach for you. “I just can’t do this. I can’t let you in and then watch you leave for her again.”

His brows scrunch with confusion. “Leave for - who? Jieun? That’s not -”

“You just ended things with her,” you point out, interrupting. “You were away with her on a romantic little trip last fucking weekend. You’re not over her, and every time you think you are you just go running right back and I can’t be the collateral damage even one more time, Seungcheol - please, I think it’ll kill me to lose you to her again.”

“I went away with her last weekend to tell her goodbye,” he says, voice hushed, like he doesn’t want to spook you. “She and I talked for a long time about… us. We agreed - we put that part of our lives away for good.”

You shake your head again, letting this speak for you, because you feel like it would be cruel to say I don’t believe you… even if it’s true.

He steps closer again, finally within reach. He places one hand on your arm, gingerly, like he wants to root you to the spot but knows to tread lightly. “It’s not you or her,” he tells you earnestly. “It never was.”

A scoff escapes you without permission.

“Please listen to me,” he says again. It occurs to you that he could be angry, could be flying to the defensive, could be turning this into a fight. Instead, he’s being gentle - hearing what you’re telling him and talking about it. A tiny part of you is proud, knows this takes effort on his part, knows he’s had to unlearn how he once would have reacted.

“I’m listening,” you whisper. It’s all you can give him right now.

“She and I haven’t really loved each other in… a long time. That’s one of the things we talked about last weekend. We were both just… trying to keep a dead thing alive, because that hurt less than admitting it wasn’t going to wake up. I’m not going to suddenly realize I miss her, or that being with her was better. There’s a zero percent chance of that - less than zero.”

“Less than zero percent can’t exist,” you croak, just to be contrary.

“Well it does in this case,” he shoots back, lips starting to pout a little. “I’m not saying you and I will be magically perfect, but I can promise that if we don’t work for some reason, she will not be the cause.”

You want to believe him - you ache to believe him. 

You wipe under your eyes, trying to get yourself put together. Seungcheol watches your face carefully.

Then he says, very quietly, “We work. You know we do.”

“We worked when it was pretend,” you rebut. 

He says your name, a demand hidden in it - a demand to listen, to hear him. 

“You’re what I need,” he says firmly. “I need someone who won’t rise to the bait if I slip and fuck up and say something stupid. I need someone who wants me to be happy, not just someone who wants me to make them happy. And I want so many things for you - I want to make life easier for you, I want you to feel loved and valued, I want to do all of that for you. I want to do shit for you that I never did before, like double text and call first and apologize even when I don’t think I’m wrong.”

He’s teasing a little by the end, and you laugh through your tears despite yourself. 

“Seungcheol, I don’t know,” you tell him. “How can you be sure?”

He takes your hands, grips your fingers tight. “I want to do this right with you,” he says plainly. “I want you, and I want to really try. The way I feel about you… it makes me want to believe in happily ever after and all that other shit. Being with you makes me feel like maybe it’s not totally impossible.”

As gently as you can, you pull your hands away. “I don’t know,” you repeat hollowly. “I… I need some time to think about it.”

You step away and he lets you, his hands falling uselessly to his sides. 

“It’s not no,” you tell him, the only comfort you can offer him, nothing more. “I just… please, I need to think.”

You leave him in your apartment, don’t even wait to let him out. With shaking hands, you unlock your car and get in, scarcely breathing until the apartment building has disappeared from view.

Then, you drive to your sister’s house.

–

Her husband answers the door, the first time you’ve seen him since the wedding. He looks surprised - understandable, because you’ve never been there before, never ever just showed up, and also it’s probably very clear that you’ve been crying.

He greets you by name, but the shock in his voice makes you feel so guilty that you whisper, “I can come back another time, I can give her a call first -”

“No,” he cuts you off. There’s something you can’t name in his tone. “I’m - I think she’ll be really glad you came. Please come in.”

It isn’t a formal please, come in, that you’d give to someone as a pleasantry. He means, please, come inside and talk to your sister, please, come in so she can see that you came here for her. 

You hear it loud and clear. You wonder if Nayoung has felt as rejected by you as you’ve felt by her, over the years. 

Nayoung rises when she sees you enter the room, her face flashing from surprised to concerned.

“What happened?” she asks, as she rounds the corner of her couch, already coming to hug you.

And you let her. You open your arms and step into her embrace, because despite the way you’d grown up, she’s here now and she’s trying and you think you might like having her in your life.

“I slept with Seungcheol last night,” you tell her miserably.

Behind you, Jeongwoo says uncomfortably, “Um, I’m going to run to the store. I’ll get ice cream.”

Nayoung lifts her head to make eye contact with him over your shoulder and he adds, “And wine.”

On your sister’s couch, you tell her everything - almost everything. The way Seungcheol had disappeared, how you’d assumed he was choosing Jieun for good. How he’d shown up, had asked you to try, had laid his heart out for you.

How you’d run.

It makes you cry all over again. 

“I don’t know what to do,” you admit through your tears. “I know what I want to do. But there’s so many what if’s…”

“There always are,” she says seriously. “There are no guarantees with love. The question is, do you believe that he’ll really try - that he means what he’s telling you? Or do you think it’s just lines to get you to say yes?”

“Of course I believe he means it,” you say, almost surprised. But Nayoung doesn’t know Seungcheol like you do, doesn’t know how genuine his heart is. “I’m just scared he’ll… change his mind later, or something.”

“No one can promise you forever,” she points out, a little sadly.

“How can you say that?” you ask her. “You’re married. You took a vow in front of the whole family to love each other forever.”

“Sure,” she agrees. “But what I mean is that when you’re with someone… every day is a choice. You’re choosing them over the rest of the world every day that you wake up. The vow Jeongwoo and I took was to keep choosing each other, even if there are days that it’s hard.”

You drop your gaze and run your hands over the cushion of her couch absently. 

“If you’re asking me what I think you should do,” she says, “then I think you should let him try. I’m not telling you to marry him tomorrow. What could it hurt to try dating?”

“My heart,” you answer pitifully.

She reaches for your knee and gives you a playful shake. “But would that really be worse than walking away and wondering if you missed out on something real? Wouldn’t it drive you crazy not to know?”

You think about this question for the rest of the night, even after you’ve gone home again. 

When you let yourself into the apartment, you hold your breath. You know it’s ridiculous, but part of you wonders if Seungcheol will be waiting for you, waiting to make you talk about it.

The door swings open. The apartment is dark, and silent.

You think about calling him, or at least texting him - but what would you say? You’re still not sure what you want. 

Soonyoung texts you the next night - come over for pizza and movie??? pls pls??

You text back, idk. who’s coming over?

He understands the real question, sends back, he’s already here. please come anyway, noona :( chan misses you.

You sit on the edge of your bed, your phone in your hands, and hang your head, wracked with indecision.

You do know what you want. You’d said as much to Nayoung yesterday. But just because you want something doesn’t mean it’s good for you.

Your sheets still smell like Seungcheol. You want to bury yourself in them, breathe him in. You think just his smell is enough to make your head clear, your pulse calm, your pain ease.

It is this that tips you into making a choice. 

This was never about deciding if you want him. It’s been about deciding if you can trust him to take care of you.

With a sigh, you swipe back to the conversation and tell him, i’ll head over in a bit. 

The scene at Soonyoung and Chan’s is as familiar as your own home. The television screen flashes with whatever game Wonwoo and Vernon are playing, the blue LED lights lining the ceiling’s edges. Your brother’s and Chan’s voices float from the kitchen, bickering. And Seungcheol sits in his usual chair, his dark eyes on you, still and serious.

You freeze in the doorway, caught in his heavy, unwavering gaze. 

The moment stretches. He’s asking you a question without speaking, without moving, and you know that whatever you do next is an answer - definitively yes, or definitively no. 

It’s like the whole world stills around you, waiting to see… what will it be? If you shake your head or turn away, you know it means losing your chance with Seungcheol forever. He gave you grace and time to process but if you turn him down now, he won’t be crawling back.

And maybe that’s the safe option - maybe that’s the option that keeps your heart nice and swaddled, alone on your island.

But you’re trying not to be like that anymore. You’re trying to let people in. You’re trying to give others a chance.

He deserves a chance - and so do you.

You take a bracing breath and cross the room. As soon as he can tell you’re heading for him, a smile lights up his face, and his hands are ready for you, reaching to help you balance as you climb up and side sideways across his lap, your arms looping around his neck.

You hear one of the controllers hit the floor - either Wonwoo or Vernon has dropped it in shock - and then the whole room explodes into protest as you lean in and press your mouth to Seungcheol���s, as his arms wind around your back and pull you in closer.

You hear your brother shout, “Not in my living room!” and Chan’s horrified, “That is my sister!”

You tune them all out; you don’t even care. You want him to know you mean it, that you aren’t scared, that you’re in this as much as he is - for as long as he is.

He’s smiling against your lips and it’s infectious - you’re fighting your smile too, so filled with happiness and hope that you can barely hold it in. 

You break away, beaming at each other.

“All right, all right,” Seungcheol says, flapping a hand at your brother, unphased. “Calm your ass down, we’re done.”

“We’re not done,” you murmur to him, and he laughs, loud. The sound lights you up.

“Okay, we’re not done, but we’ll leave,” he concedes. You stand unsteadily, still laughing, and he leads you by the hand towards the door. You wave an unapologetic and cheerful goodbye over your shoulder and let him pull you into the hallway. 

His hand fits yours, secure and sure, large and warm, as he pulls into a future where you don’t have to be alone to be happy. His hand squeezes yours to punctuate his smile, dimples popping, promising you a wild kind of love - with time. With him.

You think you might want your hand in his forever.

<- Prev

ahhhhhhhhhhhh it's overrrrr!!!! :(

thank you so much for joining me for this series and i hope i'll see you at my next!!

[fuckyeahsnackables]

So do you think they figured out the snap- back zone just by using math, or...?

<googles snap-back zone>

<hammers the back button furiously>

Ah.

i get so freaked out by like. pictures of really big rope

[ghoul--doodle]

Why does instagram keep showing me shitty over gorey superhero cartoons go away

[garbagequeer]

like fr in 2019 when my friend took me to see it parts one and two i just went in knowing the basics of it's a horror movie where gay kid from stranger things becomes gay adult comedian bill hader who shares my birthday and michael cera's. so i got through like all of the stupid ass movies squinting because surely. something scary was going to happen at any point. but it didnt i just squinted at a summer action movie for like what 4 hours. because movies labelled horror movies arent even always horror movies no matter how much unnecessary stress that puts on us bitches who have to squint if something really scary is going to happen on a big screen in a dark room full of strangers who dont care if you live or die. unbelievable

[fingertipsmp3]

Had a dream last night where I found out this girl was going to be murdered the next day and I was told “do not interfere with the timeline” but I couldn’t stop myself from telling her dad not to take her on vacation to the place she was going to be murdered, and why, and then he died and several members of her family also died in quick succession and I was basically on the run from supernatural beings that wanted to kill me for fucking with the timeline

[elliewithcellie]

Girl, Interrupted

summary: Eddie crashes by your home when you least expected, but everything happens for a reason, right?

wc: 1.8k

cw: PURE SMUT (MDNI 18+), basically no plot, friends to fwb?, oral (f receiving), Eddie is a tease, fairly bold reader lol, fingering, talk of p in v sex, hair pulling, orgasms idk let me know what else

a/n: my bestie bought me slutty pajamas for my birthday, and since I'm a hypothetical whore, this has been on my mind nonstop. Finally took a break from my spn series to write this down. This is the filthiest thing I've written to date but definitely short and sweet

Eddie’s jaw fell slack as the door opened before him. He knew he shouldn’t have shown up to your place uninvited. Sure, you were his best friend, and of course, you had said he could come over whenever, but that never truly meant unannounced. He was already kicking himself for showing up as late as he did when you opened the door.

Your oh so short pajama shorts were the first thing that caught his eye, how your thighs spilled out beneath them, the cotton begging for relief. His eyes trailed higher to your tank top one size too small. The hem rested just above your midriff, the outline of your hips more prominent than he had ever seen. Your face was flush, pinks and reds lining your cheeks. He fought the urge to pinch himself, scared that he was dreaming, scared that he’d wake up to the absence of you and very real feelings emerging.

“Eddie? What are you doing here?” you asked, your arms crossing over your chest. “I thought you had a date.”

Date, what date? Eddie’s mind was going numb. His brain was flatlining at the mere sight of you, more exposed to him than he’d ever seen you. Fight or flight kicked in, debating on whether to say something or just turn around and leave. He was almost sure he was not supposed to see you in this state.

“I—uhh—it didn’t go well, so I cut it short. But I know you love the place, so I figured I’d bring over the leftovers.”

“Oh, sweet. Thank you.”

Eddie hesitated, scared to ask, but his interest piqued. “Is someone—you’re alone right now, right?”

Your eyebrows pinched together. You exhaled a dry laugh. “Please, I’m always alone. Come in. Tell me about your date.”

You ushered Eddie inside and settled into your couch. You pulled a blanket over you, and Eddie released a sigh. He couldn’t believe the hold you suddenly had on him. It was like he was in high school again, ready to combust at the sight of a shoulder. At least with your legs covered, he was less inclined to think about spreading them.

“Was it really that bad?” you asked, drawing Eddie from his thoughts.

“She was just so boring,” Eddie complained. “Like, there’s nothing wrong with her, but it was like we were from different planets! She didn’t know Metallica! How am I supposed to bond with someone when there’s nothing to relate to?”

“Did you think of showing her?”

“Showing her what?”

“Metallica!” you laughed. “Wouldn’t that be kind of romantic, you know, to introduce that to her? Maybe tell her you’re in a band? It’d be like showing her a whole new world. And maybe you’d get a groupie out of it.”

Eddie swatted at the air. “It’s not worth it. We were both bored. And it was clear she wasn’t looking to rock with a guitarist.”

“Oh, I highly doubt that.”

“You didn’t meet her. She’s pristine, a Chrissy Cunningham type. Meant to be with a lawyer or some shit.”

You leaned in closer to Eddie, your blanket sliding down your thighs. “Those are the girls who fantasize about guys like you the most. Those girls on the straight and narrow, the ones who seemed destined to be sweet stay-at-home moms or perfect career women, those are the ones who dream of just one night doing something they never thought they could. Something so wild that when they’re taking their kids to soccer practice, or their ‘perfect husband’ is asleep on the recliner while they're doing the dishes, they can think back to that wild night when they fucked a rockstar.”

Eddie’s lip trembled as chills coursed through his body. You leaned back against the couch and shrugged like what you said was nothing. You had to be on something, he decided. Never had you been so frank when the topic of sex came up. Your face was still flushed with color, and you couldn’t seem to find a comfortable position on the couch, shifting yourself from one side to the other to no specific rhythm. Heat radiated off of you, though you weren’t known to be the furnace between the two of you. Something struck Eddie as so foreign but so familiar as he took you in.

“Would you fuck a rockstar?” Eddie found himself saying.

Heat rose to your cheeks. “Do I seem like one of those straight-and-narrow girls to you?”

“That’s not what I asked,” Eddie said, a newfound confidence overtaking him. “You came up with that way too fast to act like you don’t think of it, too. So, would you fuck a rockstar?”

You bit your lip and shifted in your seat. You huffed into the couch. “Wouldn’t anyone?”

“Why so shy all of a sudden?” Eddie asked, egging you on. “You’ve been squirming since I got here, sweetheart. Is something on your mind?”

Your eyes trailed from his eyes to his lips, then back to his eyes. “Tonight is not the night to ask me that.”

“Why is that?” Eddie chuckled. “Were you in the middle of something? Was something left unfinished when I so rudely interrupted? And now all you can think about is the ache between your legs?”

You shuddered at his words. “Eddie,” you said, your voice shaking.

“I could help you.” Eddie leaned closer, his words almost a whisper. “Because I may not be a rockstar, but I’m sure I could give you the night of your life.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. “Don’t tease me. It’s not funny.”

“No one’s laughing.” Eddie pulled the blanket back, his hands resting on your thighs. Your legs slightly opened on instinct. “What kind of friend would I be, huh? If I didn’t at least offer?”

Eddie didn’t know where this bravado came from, but he didn’t care. All he knew was the longer you looked at him like that, the harder he got.

You grabbed him by his shirt and forced his lips on yours. Nothing soft or sweet came from your lips. You were needy and desperate, clinging to him like he was the air in your lungs.

The urgency shocked Eddie, but he quickly found your rhythm. He smirked against your lips as he pulled his jacket off. His hands snaked from your thighs to your hips to your ass, lifting you onto his lap. You groaned into his mouth as he rolled you against him.

He was sure he was dreaming now. Only there did he ever picture you above him, grinding your hips into his. Only there did he imagine you moaning from his touch. But never were his dreams this vivid, this real, this fucking good.

He pulled you from him and pushed you back onto the couch. You whined at the loss of contact. He’d never seen your eyes so dark, so lustful, so hungry for him.

He slid down to the floor onto his knees and pulled you to the edge of the couch. “You still want my help, sweetheart?”

You nodded emphatically.

“I need to hear you, baby. Say it.”

“Please help me, Eddie. I need you. Please.”

“Atta girl.”

You lifted yourself up as Eddie pulled your shorts down your legs. Eddie’s cock jumped at the sight of you. He bit his lip to maintain what little composure he had left.

“Aww, your poor little pussy’s just as needy as you, isn’t she?” He spread your knees apart, the cold metal on his fingers sending chills up your spine. The throbbing between your legs only intensified, a small whimper escaping your lips.

Eddie couldn’t wait any longer. There was no time for teasing, no time to explore. You needed him, and he was going to deliver.

He dove into your aching pussy like a man starved. You jumped at the contact, your hands flying to his hair. His tongue worked overtime, kitten-licking your clit before diving in for more.

“You taste so good, sweetheart,” he said, smiling against you. You moaned in response, grabbing a fistful of his hair and pulling him closer.

Your sounds turned him on even more, searching for his own release as he rubbed himself against the couch. His mind was in a daze, in utter disbelief that anyone could look so perfect for him with your legs spread and your back arched. Your chest rose and fell to the rhythm of his tongue, and your lips formed a perfect ‘o’. Oh, how Eddie wanted to feel your lips around his cock. How you’d sink down on him, your perfect innocent mouth being completely sinful just for him.

He placed a finger at your entrance and pumped in and out, his thumb now circling your clit. Your head fell back. “God, yes, Eddie. Just like that.”

“I need you to do something for me, baby,” Eddie said as he added a second finger.

“Wha—what’s that?” you asked, breathless.

“I need you to tell me what you think of when you get off. Tell me what you were thinking of before I showed up at your door.”

“I—I oh god,” you shouted as Eddie’s lips found your clit. “I—I thought about you on your fucking date.”

“Oh fuck,” Eddie groaned into your pussy, the vibrations shooting up your spine.

“I pictured you fucking her from behind, her skirt hiked up to her hips, her panties to the side as you fucked her in front of the bathroom mirror.”

“Fucking C—Christ,” Eddie stuttered, his hips rutting into the couch faster. “Keep going.”

“Then it was me you were fucking. You grabbed me by the hair, so I could watch what you were doing to me,” you said, your voice shaking with every word. “Eddie, please. I’m close. Please.”

“Come on, baby. You can do it. Tell me what I was doing to you.” He was past dreaming at this point. He was sure this was heaven. Hearing your words had him reeling. He didn’t want to stop, didn't know how to stop. He just knew he needed to see you come.

Your lip trembled. “Your hands were all over me, playing with my tits, your lips on my neck, and—and your big cock pounding into me over and oh-ver and—and Fuck! Eddie, don’t stop! Please, please, please!”

Your orgasm crashed down on you, expletives and Eddie’s name on your lips. Eddie continued to pump his fingers in and out of you like a madman as he lapped up your cum.

“Oh god, oh fuck!” he moaned against you.

You pushed his head off of you and caught your breath. Eddie took a breath, too, leaning back against his heels. You pulled him back up to you and kissed him, tasting yourself on your lips.

“That… was so hot,” Eddie said, releasing a breath.

“Can it be my turn to help you?” you asked, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

Eddie’s cheeks rouged slightly, his eyes trailing to the growing wet spot on his jeans. “I had a turn already,” he said, guilt painting his words. He leaned in toward you, a devilish smirk joining his features. “But I’m not done with you. Not yet.”

[rhaeheartzsquirrelz]

Defy Her

Toxic Sevika x Reader

Summary: Going out without your girlfriend; she hates when she can’t protect you.

Warnings: Sex: ass slapping/gripping, degradation, choking, hair pulling, strap-on, and crying (r! receiving)

A/N: GUESS WHOS OVULATINGGGGG 😛😛😛 I wrote this in 4 hours cus I had a dream abt it. (Don’t ask)

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Fuck it.

You thought, grabbing your clothes and quickly slipping them on. Black mini skirt with a matching black crop top, your outfit was finished off with a red cropped jacket and a pair of black boots. Hair tied up into a half-up half-down style, you put on your jewelry. Long black necklaces with a few bracelets. Not to forget your dangling earrings, you made sure everything was perfect before grabbing your keys and heading out. You were finally free, able to walk out the door without your girlfriend dragging you back in.

Rule number one: you can’t go out unless Sevika agrees or goes with you.

Bullshit ass rules. They were all made to keep you latched onto your girlfriend, to keep you dependent on her. She didn’t like not being around you to keep everything in-check, make sure no one got too close, and even to prevent you from talking to anyone but her.

Your destination was The Last Drop, where Sevika, you hoped, wouldn’t be. She was probably doing some work for Silco, maybe even with Jinx trying to keep her out of trouble. Either way, you weren’t having her shit anymore. So, with a confident push on the doors, you enter the bar. You were immediately met with a crowd of people who were dancing, drinking, making out, and, most importantly, having fun.

Making your way to the bar to grab a few drinks, you looked around to find you being stared at. Up and down, either checking you out or judging you.

You decided to ignore them and sat on a stool, ordered yourself a sweet treat, and tried to forget about Sevika; for now. You ordered lemonade, getting drunk wasn’t on your list. The place was dimly lit with the telbum lights brightened it up with colourful lights. The speaker blasted upbeat music, causing everyone to dance, you silently admired the way the crowd was able to be carefree and loose. As excited you were to have some freedom, your main concern was if Sevika would find you and drag you home. Maybe yell at you or something.

Something would be fucking you senseless.

Though it wasn’t a bad idea, it sure scared you to see her angry. Ripping you open and making sure you were twitching after the first few rounds.

Sipping on your drink, you turn your attention to the man who was now shifting to sit beside you. He looked friendly enough, even though he was staring you down with those black eyes of his.

“Saw you come in, wanna dance?” His voice smooth even though it held a hint of nervousness. Hale leaned closer to you with his drunken breath. For a second you considered his invitation, dancing would be nice. But with a stranger?— who was probably just trying to get in your pants?. It felt like going behind Sevika’s back.

“I uhm.. I’m alright..” Forcing a smile, you turn your head to your drink. Your answer was simple and sweet, you hoped he’d take it and leave. At the corner of your eye, you saw him scoff. “C’mon, it’s just dancing?”

Was he fuckin’ stupid? “I said I’m good.” Was your response. You’d learned that from Sevika. Thankfully, you he fucked off. With a grumble under his breath, he walked away with heavy steps. You, yourself, grumble to yourself in annoyance before taking a few big sips and finishing your drink. Could a gal really not enjoy one night alone?

Maybe the night would be more enjoyable with Sevika. Having her glare away any men, letting you dance as you pleased? It was a nice thought. Even if she’d hover and fuss over a simple glance, you secretly wanted her to be there now.

May the universe heard your wish because as you were about to get up, you felt a tug around your waist before you were pulled against someone. “The hell are you doing here?” The familiar gruffed out words hit your ears and you realized it was your girlfriend. Her flesh arm around your waist, she tightened her grip which let you know she was upset. Maybe even pissed. “How many fucking times do I have to tell you not to come here alone? You deaf or something?” Sevika would groan out, her voice raising and tense. “I can handle myself, I don’t need you all the time.”

You guessed she didn’t like that answer because as her prosthetic arm hit the wooden counter with a fist she scoffed. “Don’t fuck around with me. God knows how many assholes are waiting to push a stick up your ass.” With that, she turned you around and gripped your wrist. “We’re goin’ home. End of discussion.” You clearly couldn’t say no to that, to her authoritative tone. She’d drag you home whether you liked it or not, pull you over her shoulder with her muscular arms and force you with her. Mumbling under your breath, you let her lead you away towards the exit.

An hour of freedom was all you got.

Reaching your shared apartment, Sevika locked the door behind you with a slam. Her expression irritated, she didn’t let go of your wrist. “I don’t even get to do anything. I barely go out by myself.” — “For a god damn reason.” She shot back, towering over you and making you have to look up. “I saw the way those ‘fuckers looked at you, as if you were some piece of meat.” Of course she noticed, that’s all she did. Look around and force everyone to look away. “I can’t help that? You were looking at me the same way when we started dating!” Raising your voice was a bad idea, the way Sevika’s grey eyes glared at you made you quickly fix yourself. “You’re mine. Got that? I do what the hell I want with you, no one else.” Tugging on your wrist she pulled you closer and gripped onto your hair with her mech hand. “Even lookin’ at you is a privilege.” Gasping at the tug on your hair, you let slip a shaky moan.

Her voice was low, dangerously quiet, as she leaned down to crash her lips against yours. Sucking on your bottom lip, Sevika bit down until you were sure they were bleed. Tilting your head back with her grip from your hair, her flesh arm came around to grip your ass and pull your body flush against her tense one.

If Sevika couldn’t keep everyone away from you, she would just have to keep you locked up and all to herself.

Soft whimpers left your lips as she kissed you deeply, tongue exploring every inch of your mouth. Tasting you, she found it satisfying to see you breathless and, already, vulnerable . Pulling back to see your red cheeks, she took hold of your face, squishing your cheeks together, and smirked with cockiness. “Fuckin’ whore.” Was all Sevika said before raising you and carrying you towards the bedroom. Her muscular arms then threw you— yes, threw you— onto the bed. Grunting, you give her furrowing brows. “Quit doing that, what if I hit my head?” Sevika only chuckled as she grabbed her strap. It was the largest one she had, one you could barely take halfway.

Approaching you, she tossed it beside you before ripping your clothes off. “Surprised you care more about bumpin’ your head on a wall than me ruining that hole of yours.” Voice unserious as she had you bare and on your back. “You couldn’t give a damn about the way I stretch-out your cunt. Want it so ruined I need a bigger one’a these.” Motioning to the strap, she crawled onto the bed and sitting infront of you and pulled you by your wrists. She turned you around to positionyour back to her front and your ass to her strap. Face burried your freshly done hair, she took a deep inhale. Both of you were on your knees with heavy breaths. You knew where this was headed.

With her flesh hand on your clit, she rubbed it to get the desired reaction. She succeeded when you couldn’t help but softly sigh at the teasing motion. One finger was enough to cover your bud, that’s just how big her hand was. And she took advantage of it every single time. With a bite on the back of your shoulder, she pushed her cock inside and kept it there for a good second. It was the first time she’d went all in. It left you to gasp and whimper. “Since I haven’t made myself direct with what I want, let me show you.” You braced yourself as you held your breath, heart pounding in your chest as she pinched your clit. A soft “fuck..” left your lips. “Don’t.” A hard pound hit your cunt. “Go.” Another hard pound hit with a grunt. “Out. The third pound went deeper than the first two. “Without.” You were still adjusting to the thickness when the blow hit, it caused a shaky moan to escape your lips.. “Permission.” With the last pound, she grasped onto your neck and squeezed enough to where it was hard to breathe. You could feel the pressure as your face went warm, you were red. “Got that, you dirty whore?”

Slamming into you, she went all the way in and made sure you were feeling all of it. Head tilted back with the help of Sevika’s grip, your back arched into her cock as she rubbed it against your walls. She was enjoying this, punishing you for being stubborn enough to go against her rules. “Look at you, already a slutty mess.” She was taking her anger out on you, “Tell me how much you want this cock. And don’t cum ‘til I fuckin’ tell you.” The sound of her strap making contact with your cunt was all that you could hear, all that could focus on. Phwap Phwap Phwap. You were fucking loving this.

“Sev, Baby..” You said shakily, “Don’t stop— fuckkkk, please.. it’s too good..” Your voice was strained from the grip around your neck, even moaning was difficult. “I.. I’m close.. it’s too much— it’s too fucking good.” Practically pleading your words out, you kept still for your girlfriend as she pushed into you. “Already? Can’t even last a few minutes.” Tugging at your hair and letting go of your neck, she pushed your face into the sheets and gave you the ‘back-shots’ you deserved. Head tilted to the side, you could barely handle her. “Sevika— baby, I.. I want you— holy—make me cum…” Words a breathy moan, you groan out at every sensation that rose from your drenched pussy. Sevika’s flesh hand came to play with your pulsing clit, pinching and rubbing it like some toy. “Yeah?.. you want me, baby? You want me like the little slut y’are?” Hips rolling deep blows into your cunt, you were holding on for life. Hands gripping the sheets in order to ground yourself as you bit onto your lip, causing them to swell up.

Sevika fucked you like a sex toy, never slowing her pace and hitting all the juicy spots that got you crying out. Tears ran down your mascara smeared cheeks from the overwhelming pleasure. Your girlfriend didn’t seem to care over your sobbing, because she only grew rougher. Evident in the way she slapped your ass multiple times with her heavy hands and left behind red handprints. You whined everytime. “Hope you’ve got your shit together, ‘cause you were a dumbass for going to that shitty bar without me.” Legs twitching, your voice was beginning to strain from all the moaning you were doing. All the humms and whimpers were getting to you. “I’m close.. please— please I need you..” You’d breath out, shutting your eyes and letting every sensation soak in. “I’ll.. I’ll listen— please, baby I won’t.. won’t go out. Alright?” You were desperate for the orgasm pooling in your core, which needed to escape. Even your voice was cracking, from, both, moaning so much and and crying. “Let me cum, I.. I can’t hold it in..” Sevika, as usual, was memorizing ever moan, ever twitch, and every reaction that you gave. The slight tremble in your hands, the quiet whimpers you let out at every touch, and the heavy breathing. She loved it all.

“Cum for me, baby.” Was your girlfriend’s ‘yes’. And cum you did. Closing your legs you fell onto your chest and cried out at the intensity of the pressure your body was releasing. Hips writhing, legs shaking , and body heating up, your face was burried into cool sheets as you whimpered from the aftermath. “I just fucked the prettiest slut in Zaun.” Sevika proudly gruffed out, slapping your ass as she lowered herself. Knees on either side of the back of your thigh she brushed your soft hair aside before pressing hot kisses on your back, her strap rubbing against your back as she did so. Coming back from your orgasm, you collect your breath. “So.. you know other.. pretty sluts?” You murmured, eyes fluttering with the softness of her lips. Sevika only chuckled with amusement. “No, I don’t. Even if I did, you’d be the only slut I’d wanna see like this.” Her words a heartfelt scoff as she rubbed soothing circles on your back with her big palms.

“I’m still mad at you.” Sevika brought up, lips grazing the back of your neck before she bit down and claimed you. “I know..”— “Don’t do that shit again. Next time I won’t fuck you like this.” You knew what that meant.

Before, when the two of you started dating, she’d often ignore you, make you feel like shit, everytime you disobeyed her. But, luckily, communication helped and she stopped. But, would she really do it again? Start ignoring you?

“Don’t..” You whispered out, opening your heavy eyes as Sevika bit around your body. Shoulder, neck, arms, she wanted to mark you everywhere. You could only hold your breath when she did so, giving her the chance to do whatever she needed. “I don’t want you to ignore me..” And maybe your words sounded too.. sombre because, afterwards, Sevika pulled back and cleared your face from any strands of your disheveled hair and met your eyes. Her gaze stared into yours as she ran her hand over your flushed cheek and wiped off your smeared mascara. “You already told me not to.” Tone softened, she shifted to kiss your reddened lips. “I listen, unlike your stubborn ass.” You scoff at her response, “I do listen! You just make it hard to.”

With your sassy response, she laid down beside you and took off her strap. Throwing it somewhere onto the floor bedroom her mech arm came to wrap around your body. With another press on your lips, that you reciprocated with, she smirked out a soft…

“I’m pretty confident whatever I say is right.”— “Yeah, sure.” You shot back, grinning at her silent forgiveness.

[yieldtotemptation]

CRASH ft. Wonyoung

wonyoung x male reader smut

11k words

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

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

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

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

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

-

“Sorry boys, my ride’s here!”

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

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

It’s a view, that’s for sure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s Wonyoung.

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

It doesn’t even begin to cover it.

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

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

You know exactly how much it’s worth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You glare at her. The gall on this woman.

“What are you waiting for? Drive.”

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

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

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

“You’re an asshole.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It doesn’t smell bad at all.

In fact, it smells sweet. Too sweet.

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

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

“Let it go, Wonyoung.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s probably why you do it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I never said that.”

“Wony—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Was she even good?”

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

And you know the answer: How could anyone be?

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

“Everything’s a competition.”

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

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

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

And then she does it again.

And again.

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

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

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

What drives you fucking wild.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So you drive faster.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t own me, Wonyoung.”

To that, Wonyoung raises a carefully sculpted eyebrow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And maybe she should be.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

“Not a fucking chance.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now who’s a bad liar.”

“Go fuck your—”

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

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

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

Turns out, she’s right.

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

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

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

And it makes her smile around your cock.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swerve again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And she takes it, takes all of it.

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

Wonyoung takes and takes and takes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it’s hard. So fucking hard.

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

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

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

You’re not going to last much longer.

Neither is she.

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

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

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

You’re almost there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, Wonyoung,” you somehow manage to choke out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wonyoung laughs.

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

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

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

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

It’s just the way she is.

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

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

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

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

“What makes you think you have a choice?”  

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

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

“Wait, wait—fuck—”

And then you slam into her.

“Daddy!”

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

You’d do anything to hear it again.

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

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

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

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

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

“Then say it.”

“Fuck you, daddy.”

“That’s fucking right.”

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

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

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

And fuck, she’s tight.

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

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

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

You laugh, “I fucking hate you too.”

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

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

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

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

But you’ll try.

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

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

(It’s never that simple.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then you get an idea.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Smile for the camera, Wony.”

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

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

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

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

You’ve got her, and she knows it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jang Wonyoung—always the performer.

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

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

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

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

“The feeling’s mutual.”

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

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

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

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

“And do what?”

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

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

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

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

And then waking up and doing it all again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I fucking hate you—”

“Hate you too—”

“Hate how good your cunt feels—”

“Hate how big your cock is—”

“Hate how perfect you are—”

“Hate how much I want your fucking cum—”

“Fucking slut—"

“Daddy—”

“I’m going to—"

"Please!"

And that’s it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.”)

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

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

[leilakisakabiri]

Caught In the Act (LN)

Summary: Having your relationship outed on a live stream.

Warning(s): None.

A/N: Requests are open. Writing for Charles or Lando for F1.

Word Count: 700+

Masterlist

You always thought secret relationships were taboo, something destined to end in disaster, something you couldn't possibly fathom being ok with - that was until you ended up in one.

You're not even quite sure how or when you both silently agreed to keep your relationship under wraps, but slowly it became custom to always sit with at least one person in between you when out in public, and leave in separate cars to the same destination.

You both had your own reasons for not wanting to go public. For you, it was losing the normalcy you had in everyday life, being able to work a normal job without people prying into your private life. For Lando, it was to hide you from the onslaught of hate you both knew you would receive for even being spotted with him. He was in high demand these days, especially with the rise of F1 in the last few years, and he wanted to keep the relationship as normal and healthy as possible without the additional pressure of everyone else.

He had seen so many relationships - even his own, end that way, and he would be damned if he had to let you go because of it.

So hidden it was.

You joked with Lando that it was private, not secret, but at the end of the day you both knew that there was only a handful of people who knew and some of them didn't know if it was official or something more casual.

It was good that way. But lately, you were starting to get a bit more antsy, and a slip was bound to happen. Especially since your relationship was long distance, with you living in London, and Lando out in Monaco.

However, since it was summer break, he was back in London for a bit, and you were staying over at his place.

Since you still had to work during the weekday Lando had started streaming again, passing the time till you were back.

You came home earlier than expected today and wanted to surprise him with a pastry from his favorite bakery.

You silently closed the door as you entered, heading in the direction of the bedroom. You peeked your head inside, seeing him playing a video game with his back turned.

You tip-toed behind him, cringing when the paper rustled against your clothes loudly, thankfully he couldn't be less aware of his surroundings.

Which maybe was an issue.

You leaned over his shoulder, closing his eyes.

"Guess who?"

His arms reached out behind him to grab you as you let out a giggle, dropping to pepper his cheek with kisses.

"Hi baby," He smiled at your affection.

He spun around, pulling you closer by your waist, forcing you to put a knee between his thighs so as to not lose balance.

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, the croissant getting crushed between the two of you, as he deepened the kiss.

His hand traveled to your cheek when suddenly he froze. You pulled away confused, seeing him look at you with wide eyes.

"What?" You questioned, at the same time he let out a, "Holy shit!"

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." He quickly moved you away from him, turning back, hands flying across the keyboard.

"What's wrong?" You asked again still confused.

It was only once you saw the screen switch from the game to the display of the Twitch stream that you realized.

Your hand immediately shot up to your mouth in disbelief as you gasped, making eye contact with a panicked Lando.

You thought it over for a second, and you were less angry than you assumed and it was probably bound to happen anyway so you sighed, "Well it is what it is," with those final words the stream ended and you were left with the revelation that you had both just outed yourselves.

He turned to face you slowly, brain still not processing what just happened, as he ran a hand through his hair, "Fuck I'm so sorry y/n I forgot I was on stream."

You looked at him shrugging, "Honestly, I'm not as upset as I thought I'd be. At least it's out there now."

He groaned, "This is not how I wanted to go about it."

"Maybe they'll think it was friendly?"

"Sure cause I kiss all my friends like that." He deadpanned.

Your hands went up in defense, "Hey, they don't know what you get up to."

He only continued to slide further down his chair.

You laughed, tugging him closer, "It's fine, I'm sure we can still soft launch on Instagram if you want."

[sunshinehaze1]

Sizzlin’

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

Summary: Your friend convinces you to attend a BBQ at her boyfriend’s friend’s house. The last thing you expected was meeting Frankie.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI. meet-cute, drinking (beers), slight dubcon (both reader and Frankie have had 2 beers, Frankie checks in), f!oral (it is Frankie, duh!), protected PiV, no use of Y/N

a/n: This was written for @yxtkiwiyxt’s NHIE Challenge. I received the prompt, “Never have I ever slept in someone else’s bed.” I LOVED this challenge and this was so much fun to write. I hope you enjoy! Thank you to my beautiful beta reader @80ssong 🥰

word count: 5,176

ao3 | ml

"Come on, his friends are really hot!"

Sabrina has been bugging you to attend a BBQ with her boyfriend's friends this weekend. They've been dating for over a year, and you've hung out with him a few times, but his golden retriever puppy energy can be overwhelming. He's a great guy, though, and he makes her happy. You're thrilled your closest friend has found someone who treats her right.

You roll your eyes. "I'm not looking to date right now."

"Who said anything about dating?" your friend counters. "You could just have some fun."

You brush her off at the suggestion. "Please, will you just come? His friends are a lot of fun."

Finally, you relent. "Ok, fine, I'll go. It's not like I had any plans this weekend anyway."

Sabrina lets out a delighted squeal and wraps you in a bear hug. "Perfect, I'll send you the address and meet you there at 3."

"Should I bring anything?" you ask as you walk your friend to the door.

"They're simple guys. Beer will do just fine." Sabrina waves goodbye and closes the door behind her.

—

With the address in the GPS and a couple of six packs in the passenger seat, you begin your drive. You're nervous about being in a new place and meeting new people, especially those who are "really hot." It's early fall in Florida, so you can still get away with wearing a sundress. The heat won't take a break for at least another two months, so you wear your favorite one to boost your confidence. "Fake it til you make it," right?

You pull into a quiet neighborhood. The streets are lined with older homes shaded with mature trees, dripping in Spanish moss. The GPS pings as you approach your final destination, and you park on the street in front of a one-story brick home with a driveway full of pickup trucks and Jeeps.

Before you exit the car, you take a final look in the rearview mirror to adjust your hair and ensure your makeup hasn't melted off. Taking a deep breath, you grab a six-pack in each hand and head toward the house.

—

"Pope, for fuck's sake!" A broad-shouldered man, who fills the entire door frame, swings the front door open just as you reach for the doorbell. Your arms flail in surprise, and you fumble to keep the beer from crashing onto the pavement.

"Oh, shit." the man startles. "Sorry about that; I was just going out to get something from my truck. Here, let me help you with those." His calloused hands brush over yours to grab the cartons from your hands.

"Um," you stammer. "Thank you." Sabrina definitely wasn't exaggerating. Benny's friends are hot—at least this one is.

You take him in, starting with broad shoulders covered in a washed-out maroon t-shirt underneath a chambray button-up. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, showing off his sinewy forearms. You notice a small bullseye tattoo on his hand resting between his thumb and index finger. A ballcap with an unfamiliar logo sits atop a mop of brown curls, which peek out in the back. His eyes are a rich brown; crinkles form at the corners when he smiles wide, dimpling his right cheek.

You follow him inside the house. He sets down the beers and extends his hand to greet you. "I'm Frankie. You must be Sabrina's friend."

"It's nice to meet you, Frankie." His strong hand wraps around yours, and you introduce yourself.

Frankie quickly excuses himself and heads back outside to his truck.

—

"HEEYYYYYYYY!!!" you hear Sabrina sing-song as she walks into the house from the backyard. "You made it!" She greets you with a kiss on the cheek and a warm hug. She whispers in your ear teasingly, "So, I see you've met Frankie."

Shyly, "Yeah, we met. Almost lost a few beers in the process."

"I'm so glad you made it!" She drags you behind her toward the backyard. "Let me introduce you to everyone else."

You were surprised to see only Benny and two other men outside. This was a more intimate gathering than you had realized, immediately putting you at ease.

Sabrina introduces you to your host, Santiago, or "Pope," as you soon learn. Benny is two for two on the handsome friend count. He's shorter than Frankie, has dark hair and features, a broad smile, and a gregarious personality.

Next, you meet Benny's older brother, Will. Blonde hair, blue eyes, much more reserved than his brother. A strong, silent type. He seems content to be in his own world while he attends the grill.

You hear the grind of the sliding glass door behind you. Frankie walks through the threshold, waving a stack of folders in the air. "Got 'em!"

"My man!" Santiago slaps him on the back, "Thank you."

With his mission accomplished, Frankie finally has a chance to take you in fully. His gaze travels the length of your body, taking in your soft features and plush curves and admiring the cut of your dress, which perfectly accentuates your breasts, hips, and ass. The short length leaves your bare legs on full display.

—

The backyard is beautifully appointed with sable palms, hibiscus bushes, and a well-manicured lawn. There is a jacuzzi to the right of the grill, which doesn't surprise you; Santiago seems like a lady's man. No bachelor pad would be complete without a jacuzzi. Adirondack chairs encircle a small fire pit in the back corner of the yard. You reckon it only gets used during the short window when it is cold enough in Florida to have a fire and not melt.

"Food's almost ready," you hear Will call out.

Sabrina looks to you. "Come help me get the sides?"

You follow her back inside to the kitchen.

"What did I tell you?" Her eyes widened. "They're all hot, aren't they?"

You respond with a shy smile, "Yeah, you weren't lying."

She nudges her elbow against your arm while holding a bowl of potato salad. "I saw Frankie checking you out."

"You…" stammering out skeptically, "…no way?!"

"Yes, way! You look hot in that dress; why wouldn't he check you out?!"

You attempt to conceal your smile by focusing on the tiled floor. "He does seem nice."

"Oh, honey, he's not just nice! He's sweet, funny, and gorgeous," she whispers conspiratorially, "And it looks like he's packing some serious heat."

"Sabrina!" you scoff, playfully smacking her. "You're not supposed to be checking out your boyfriend's friend's package!"

"Says who? I can look, and you can touch to prove me right." She leaves you speechless, holding a tray of crudites, as she walks back outside, cooing to the boys that it's time to eat.

You make your way to the table with bench seats on either side. After you set the tray on the table, you take a moment to contemplate how to sit without exposing yourself in your short dress. Slowly, you lift your leg to straddle the bench, but your sandal catches, and you're thrown off balance. You brace yourself for an embarrassing fall until you feel strong forearms wrap around your waist to hold you steady. Frankie walking by at just the right time.

"Whoa, you alright there?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine." sheepish and embarrassed, "Thank you."

He grabs your hand and says, "Here, let me." You begin your second attempt at climbing over the bench, flattening the back of your dress underneath you before you sit down.

Frankie looks down at you. "Would you like a drink?"

"That would be great, thank you." Anything to wash down the embarrassment and cool off from the heat of Frankie's touch.

He fishes out a bottle of beer from the cooler. Out of your periphery, you ogle him as he's bent over. His shirt stretched across his back, rugged khakis taut over his ass. You're suddenly much thirstier than you thought.

He returns to the table and sets the bottle before your plate. You feel the warmth radiating from his chest against your back, his bicep less than an inch from your face. A slight turn of your head and your nose would be in his armpit. You hold your breath, afraid that if you let yourself breathe in his scent, you'd succumb to the physiological response. That and the fear of getting caught sniffing a man you just met in front of his closest friends tempers your impulse.

Frankie sits across from you while the rest of the group sits around the table. Serving platters are passed around until the plates are full.

Frankie finds himself distracted by your sweetheart-necklined dress as everyone begins to eat. The hem curving over the top of your breasts, meeting in the middle at a point, which draws his attention to the tease of cleavage. He's completely ignored the clamor of conversation around him. Suddenly, a baby carrot lands in his lap, and he's brought back to the present. "Hermano, did you hear what I said?"

Frankie stumbles a response, "What's that?"

"Malo." Santiago shakes his head and huffs a laugh, "Pretty girl in front of you, and you lose all sense."

You feel the attention of the table shift to you and quickly avert your gaze, picking at the food on your plate and fixating on the pattern that outlines the rim of the dish. Your cheeks heat from the eyes burning into you. You're cautious about looking up to gauge Frankie's reaction; you don't want to become even more flustered.

Frankie flings the carrot back at Santiago, "Shut the fuck up, man!" But he's quick enough to bat it away before it hits him. The rest of the table erupts with laughter, allowing the awkwardness of the moment to dissipate, and you and Frankie join in.

Will asks, "So, how long have you and Sabrina been friends?"

You're thankful for the segue. "We lived on the same street growing up in Orlando. She followed when I moved to Tampa a few years ago for work."

Sabrina chimes in, "Yeah, you wouldn't make it here without me!" You both giggle.

"Sabrina tells me you all served together in the Army?" the men nod in unison.

They briefly share how Frankie, Santiago, and Will met in basic training. Benny joined their unit a couple of years later. They share minimal details about their deployments, not wanting to dredge up too many memories of that time, especially with new company present.

They've all retired from the Army and returned to civilian life. Will tours the state, speaking with personnel considering retirement from service. Santiago runs a security firm where Benny works. Benny is also an amateur MMA fighter, which Sabrina isn't fond of, but even she can admit he's really good. She's even told you that watching him fight does turn her on.

Lastly, you learn that Frankie has transitioned to civilian piloting and leads helicopter tours of the Bay. He has a four-year-old daughter, Lila. When he talks about her, his eyes sparkle. Clearly, she is the light of his life.

You hesitantly ask about her mom. You're nervous that this guy you've developed a crush on in a short period isn't single. "We split up over a year ago. It wasn't working, and we can be better parents to Lila this way."

You're impressed with Frankie's maturity and self-awareness, which enable him to have an amenable relationship with his ex. As a child of divorce with parents who were unable to put their grievances aside, you know how vital co-parenting is for a child. "I'm glad you could figure out what works best for you both and Lila."

Frankie nods before he takes a swig of beer. You watch as his thick fingers wrap around the bottle's neck. You're fixated on his throat; his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows the bitter IPA—the prominent vein on the side of his neck, with moles that dot along his tanned skin.

You and Frankie have been in a bubble. The friends surrounding you have been long forgotten as your conversation flows naturally. He has a calming presence that makes you feel comfortable and at ease. He's confident and funny, with a raspy laugh that takes over his whole face and radiates through him and a smile so broad that his eyes disappear.

Subtle flirting has become more overt. Your hands brush against his when you reach for the bowl of chips at the same time. You accidentally bump into him when you stretch your legs in front of you underneath the table. But he doesn't pull away, the rough sole of his shoe brushing gently against your bare leg. You glance at him with a sheepish grin, and he returns with a toothy smile. Fuck, he is handsome. Your eyes remain locked on each other, heat coiling within your body, and you sense the same in Frankie.

"I'm going to grab more ice for the cooler from the garage." Frankie stands up from the table, his eyes silently communicating to follow his lead.

As you get up from the table, you take his cue and ask, "Do you need any help?"

"Yeah, that would be great." A sly grin emerges. "Thanks!"

Frankie follows you through the door, his hand brushing softly against the small of your back. The contact sends shivers down your spine, and your pulse quickens as you feel his warm palm against the thin material of your dress.

"Garage is this way." Frankie guides you down the hall to the right of the kitchen.

When you turn the corner, Frankie is immediately on you. He is unable to hold back a second longer. He has you pinned against the wall, his arms bracketing you above your shoulders. Hunger swirls in his eyes, and you feel his breath against your cheek. He's so close to you that you're sure he can hear your heart beating.

"You are so god damn pretty." his finger trails along the strap of your dress and loops underneath, "And you're fucking killing me with this dress. I needed to get you alone."

A sigh escapes your lips, overwhelmed by his closeness and his touch on your bare shoulder. Unable to speak, Frankie fills the silence. "Can I kiss you?"

All you can manage is a nod, your bottom lip held between your teeth in anticipation.

He leans forward until his plush lips connect with yours. A moan escapes you both at the contact. What begins as a sweet, chaste kiss quickly becomes more intense.

He licks at the seam of your lips, seeking permission to enter. The bill of his hat hinders him, but he quickly flips it around to devour your mouth fully. It's a flurry of tangled tongues as he licks into your mouth. A groan escapes him when you grab his bottom lip between your teeth. A gentle nibble quickly soothed by the swipe of your tongue.

With his arm around your waist, he pulls you closer to him, the weight of his bulge pressing against your thigh. You feel wobbly even though you're sandwiched between Frankie's solid frame and the wall, forced to grip his shoulders for purchase to remain upright. Your fingers map the sinew of muscle along his traps and deltoids as he dives in for another kiss. Which somehow leaves you even more breathless than the last one.

The feverish kiss continues as he pulls you further down the hall. Twisted limbs tripping over each other, bumping into the walls, leaving picture frames askew. Spurts of laughter echo through the hallway as you fumble around, fingers tangled in the fabric of each other's clothes. His wide palms rest against your hips before snaking around to grip your ass cheeks. You can feel the slick arousal pool in your panties.

Emboldened by the drinks you had earlier and Frankie's attention, you suggest finding somewhere more private.

Frankie growls and grips your wrist, taking you further down the hall until you reach a threshold with a closed door. His arm reaches behind you to turn the knob, and you both fall into the dimly lit room. Dark curtains are draped in front of large windows, and the setting sun peeks through the gap in the fabric where they meet. You and Frankie stumble your way further into the room, hands groping manically over each other's bodies.

You slide Frankie's button-up shirt off his shoulders and let it fall to the ground. Then, you tug the T-shirt underneath from the waistband of his pants. His hands travel under the hem of your dress, his fingers dimpling into the supple flesh. He shuffles you toward the bed and tosses you against it, giggling as you flail backward onto the soft mattress.

"Fuck, I could get used to that sound." he huffs.

Propped up on your elbows with one leg crossed over the other, you give him a coy smile. Frankie's eyes burn with lust as his gaze trails up your bare legs to your core. "I'm going to need you to open up, baby."

You slowly uncross your legs and spread them into a wide v. Frankie watches you intently, eyes focused on the pull of your dress up your thighs exposing the gusset of your panties, enraptured by the blooming wet spot caused by your arousal.

He hums as he falls to his knees. Leaning into your center with a deep inhale. "Fuck!" His palms warm on your thighs, his eyes pleading, "Can I?"

"Can you what, Frankie?" you tease.

"Can I taste you?" a desperate tone to his voice, "Please?"

You nod, and he's on you within seconds. His fingers slip into the sides of your panties, and you lift your hips so he can pull them off. Your slick folds glisten in the soft light of the room. "Fucking gorgeous cunt."

"Frankie, please."

"I got you. I got you."

The swipe of his tongue through your folds emphasizes his reassurance, and you cry out with relief. The whiskers of his beard brush against the sensitive skin. Frankie moans into your core as the sweet, musky taste of your arousal dances across his tongue. A sample is not nearly enough to satisfy him; he dives in for more.

Desperate for better access, he spreads your thighs further apart, pushing your legs up until your thighs meet your stomach. He holds you down with his palms flat against the back of your thighs. He leaves a wet trail along your skin as his arousal-soaked lips slowly kiss up and down your thighs. A gentle bite on your ass cheek sends a jolt of surprise through your body that you can't help but squeak out a laugh.

You can't even recover before the tip of his tongue journeys across your outer folds, looping around to the other side before sliding through your seam again. Up, up, up until he reaches your clit. His lips wrap around your sensitive nub. Sucking it into his mouth, lapping kitten licks with the tip of his tongue. Your body writhes below him, pulsating need coursing through your veins.

You reach between your legs, eager to feel any part of him, and yank the hat off his head. You fling it behind you, where it lands on the floor with a thud. His gorgeous hair is now unencumbered, your fingers free to roam through his soft curls. You grip the brown locks between your fingers and pull him further into your pussy, his nose bumps against your clit as he eats at you. "Fuck, frankie, you're incredible."

And he is. He really is. The best head you've ever experienced. Somebody who was a stranger just a few hours ago. You can't recall the last time you've been with such an enthusiastic lover. Especially one that is so wanton, eating at you, bringing you intense pleasure, and not making you feel like its a chore or an obligation.

You practically had to beg your ex to go down on you, and when he did, he expected you to return the favor. It never was about your pleasure. Frankie is different. He eats at you like it's his only way of survival, as if he'll die if you don't come by his tongue.

He groans into your cunt, shockwaves pulse through your body, at the precipice of your orgasm, "I'm so close."

Frankie, seeking relief from his painfully hard cock, reaches down to unfasten his pants. He releases his cock from his boxer briefs with a sigh. With a swipe of his hand, he gathers the precum that has leaked from his tip to coat his cock before he begins slow strokes up and down his length while he continues to devour your pussy, suckling at your clit. You're near the edge, ready to tumble forward as your legs shudder, the grip on his locks tighten. Your pussy begins to flutter around his tongue as you tumble over the edge, coating it in your release. "Frankie. Holy shit." you try to catch your breath. "Oh my god."

You lift his head from between your legs, and he reluctantly pulls away with a disappointed whimper. "Too much." you pant, "You're too fucking good at that."

Between your thighs, a crooked smile appears through his slick lips and his glossy eyes connect with yours, "Fuckin hell, you taste good."

Frankie moves from the floor and crawls up your body. The weight of his cock resting against your worn out pussy. He leans down to kiss you, leaving a trail of nibbles along your jawline until he reaches that soft spot behind your ear. Licking and sucking down the column of your neck to where it meets your shoulder. His tongue swipes along your collarbone as he slips the straps of your dress down your shoulders to reveal the lacy cups of your bra.

His lips traverse the plane of your chest, hot breath hovers over the supple skin spilling out of the cups. He grips the fabric of your bra between his teeth and pulls down one cup and then the other to release your tits. He lathes over each nipple, pulling the hardened buds between his lips, flicking them with the tip of his tongue before a gentle bite and releasing with a pop.

You emit a low moan at the combination of his mouth on your tits and his dick sliding through your soaked folds, the tip brushing against your sensitive clit.

"You're so beautiful." Frankie shakes his head in disbelief. "Do you want to keep going?"

As if it were even a question. Of course, you want to keep going, but you appreciate Frankie's check-in. You grabbed his head between your palms and brought him closer, eyes locked on his, sealing your enthusiastic "yes!" with a feverish kiss.

With that, Frankie sits back on his haunches and searches the room. He knows he doesn't have a condom in his wallet. He hasn't needed one in a while. Even if he did have one, it would have expired anyway. As he becomes more acquainted with his surroundings, he slowly realizes where you are and breathes out, "Fuck!"

You sit up in bed, holding the top of your dress against your chest. "What's wrong?"

"We ended up in Pope's room." he runs his palm over his face, scratching the whiskers of his chin. "And I don't have a condom."

You push aside the inevitable embarrassment you'll face for fucking in your host's bed and suggest with a mischievous grin, "Surely, Santiago has condoms."

The distraught look on Frankie's face disappears with a broad smile, and he shifts on the bed to open the nightstand drawer. When he opens the drawer, a Costco-sized box of condoms greets him. Relief washes over him, and he's grateful he doesn't have to cut things short with you.

He reaches into the box and pulls out a foil pocket. You lean back, propped up on your forearms to admire Frankie as he tears open the package between his teeth while stroking his cock with his other hand. Sabrina will be happy to know she was right. His cock is beautiful. Thick, long, and uncut. Your mouth hangs open as you watch him roll the condom down his length. His eyes never leave yours.

"Don't worry. It'll fit; I'll go slow." He reaches up to the neckline of his shirt, gripping its back and pulling it off in one smooth motion. "Lay back, baby."

He positions himself back over you. The broad expanse of his tan chest blocks the view of your surroundings. Not that it matters anyway; all of your attention is on Frankie. Captivated by his gorgeous face and the moles that scatter along his neck and sternum. You've already forgotten you're in Santiago's room, about to fuck this beautiful man, on his bed. He leans down to press a chaste kiss against your lips as he notches his tip at your entrance.

"You ready?" You nod, eager to feel him inside you.

It's been so long since you've had sex and you've never had a dick as large as Frankie's. As promised, he took things slow, feeding his cock inch by inch. Allowing time for your body to adjust before going further. There's a pleasurable stretch as your walls accommodate his girth and length as he reaches the hilt, kissing your cervix. "Pussy is just swallowing my cock, baby."

"It feels so good."

"Yeah?" He searches your face for any sign of discomfort. "You ready for me?"

"Yes! Fuck me, Frankie!"

Frankie pulls out until just the tip rests at your entrance. You whimper at the loss of him inside you, but he quickly soothes you with a thrust of his hips into you, pushing you further up the bed. He pulls out slowly, repeating the motion a few more times before he lands on a steady pace that has you seeing stars. "Hnngh, she's so tight." he moans, "Fuckin hell!"

"Harder, Frankie." you pant louder than you anticipated, "I can take it! Please, fuck me harder!"

Frankie slows his thrusts and quickly closes his palm over your mouth, "Shh. Shh. You gotta be quiet."

You hear the din and laughter from the backyard. You had been so distracted by Frankie's dick, you forgot you weren't entirely alone. "If I move my hand, can you be quiet?"

You nod. Frankie reignites his pace with more fervor this time. The tension built up over the afternoon finally comes to a head. Low moans rumble through you with each thrust. Your legs wrap around his hips.

"That's a good fucking girl." He reaches between your bodies to thumb at your clit. "I feel you squeezing me. Need you to come for me."

You scramble to reach the pillow behind you and hold it over your face to muffle your scream as you begin to pulse around his cock. Frankie continues to fuck you through your orgasm, his own imminent. It only takes a few more thrusts before he's spilling into the condom before he collapses onto you, breathless.

Your fingertips trail along the plane of his back and shoulders as his cock softens inside you. He peppers feather light kisses along your cheek before he reaches your lips and seals it with a searing kiss.

He pulls away to scan your face. "How are you feeling?"

"Perfect. Fucking incredible, Frankie"

—

You and Frankie sit together at the edge of the bed in your half-dressed, disheveled, fucked out state. The two of you savoring the afterglow of an incredible fuck and also delay the inevitable for as long as possible. You rest your head on Frankie's bare shoulder and express your embarrassment at a whopper of a first impression with his friends.

Frankie reassures you that it isn't that big of a deal. He kisses you gently on the temple and encourages you to get up so you both can rip off the bandaid. He scoops your dress up off the floor, and you flit around looking for your panties and bra while stealing glances at Frankie as he gets dressed.

When you're finally presentable, Frankie opens the bedroom door, motioning for you to go before him. As you head down the hallway, you're greeted with a chorus of cheers and slow claps.

"So, where's the ice?" You hear Benny boom out.

The group erupts in laughter, and you bury your face into Frankie's bicep. Standing next to Benny, Sabrina catches your eyes. With her palms facing each other, she subtly moves them closer and further apart, eyebrows quirking up. You avert your eyes to avoid her silent inquisition. You won't be able to handle her smugness over being correct about Frankie's size right now.

Frankie turns bright red while he stomachs pats on the back from his friends. Santi grips Frankie's shoulders from behind with a shake. "'Bout time you cleared out those cobwebs, hermano. But did it have to be on my fucking bed?"

—

You head back outside with the group for one last drink. Sabrina approaches you with a smile and wraps her arm over your shoulder to follow the guys. Another round of drinks is passed around, and fortunately, the topic of conversation has shifted quickly from your dalliance with Frankie.

Frankie sits next to you at the table, his thigh pressed against your bare skin.. He rests his hand just above your knee, offering a gentle squeeze. When you look up at him, his gaze focuses on you, and he smiles warmly.

The sun set a few hours ago, ushering in chillier air. Frankie notices you shiver. He pulls off his button-up and places it over your shoulders, returning his hand to your bare leg. You lean into him, savoring his warmth.

A few hours pass before you decide to call it a night, and Frankie offers to walk you to your car.

"It was really nice meeting you." You catch him nervously rubbing his hand against the back of his neck.

You grab his hand and squeeze, "You too, Frankie. I had a great time."

He smiles at this. "I'd love to see you again. Take you to dinner."

"I would love that!"

When you reach your car, you exchange numbers. With your back pressed against the door, Frankie's arm propped against the frame, he leans in for one last kiss. He squeezes your hip before he pulls away to open the door for you and as you turn to enter your car, he teasingly smacks your ass.

Before he shuts the car door, he offers, "Drive home safe. Let me know when you get home."

"I will." You nod. "I'll see you soon, Frankie!"

Frankie waits until you drive off before he turns to go back inside. A wide smile stretched across his face. A smile that won't be going anywhere any time soon. He's excited to find out what the future has in store for him, especially if that future includes you.

Thank you so much for reading! I’d love to hear your thoughts. Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. 🫶🏼

tagging some folks who engaged in my WIP posts on this fic: @peepawispunk @burntheedges @joelmillerisapunk @baronessvonglitter @ak-vintage @probablyreadinsmut @goodwithcheese @almostempty (please let me know if you’d like to be removed)

[beenbaanbuun]

guard dog w/ jeong yunho

pt2

you live in a shitty apartment in a shitty neighbourhood surrounded by shitty neighbours who seem to make it their life’s work to make your life a living hell

the guy that lives across from you is an aspiring dj, emphasis on aspiring

unfortunately with him working the late shift at his supermarket job, it means he likes to practice late into the night

after the first 5 noice complaints, you just gave up trying to get a decent night sleep; part of you thinks he carried on just as one giant ‘fuck you’

the family that live upstairs aren’t great either

the son—timmy? tommy? who cares—thinks it’s fun to sit on the stairs with his buddies and smoke anything they can get their hands on

your air freshener is the only thing keeping you from losing your mind at them! well, that and the fact that quite frankly him and his friends terrify you

they watch you carefully as you make your way down the stairs, pushing through their congregation with a tight lipped, overly polite smile on your face

usually they don’t say a word, giving you little more acknowledgment than a hum as you thank them for barely making enough room for you to push through them

they make you nervous, you can’t deny that, and half of you thinks that’s the whole point

it’s like it’s some sort of strange power play to keep you from complaining to his parents, or worse, the landlord

not exactly a threat, but not not one

maybe it’s those nerves that made you open up to your friend one day

you’d met up with him at a local cafe, offering to pay for his coffee if he gave you half of the sandwich he’d brought with him

“they just spook me a little, y’know?” you mumble as a few crumbs topple over your bottom lip and onto your chin, “it’s a group of 10 over-grown teenage boys; it’s fucking intimidating!”

mingi just nods along, a small frown on his face as he listens to you complain about your living conditions for what seems like the millionth time

he gets it; moving is expensive, especially in the city, and you need to stay relatively close to where you work since you don’t have a car

it doesn’t mean he has to like it, though

“what about a guar—”

“a guard dog?” you cut him off, “mingi, we’ve had this conversation so many times before!”

it’s the truth; it seems like every single time you see him he brings up the same suggestion; scary dog privileges can get you very far in life according to you friend

“too mentally ill to look after another life, sure,” he reiterates the same point you make every single time, “but what about a hybrid?”

again, it feels like you’re in a constant loop of deja vu, destined to relive this conversation over and over again until you can finally afford to move out of that shit hole

“i can’t aff—”

“—afford a hybrid, yeah i know,” you roll your eyes as he finishes your sentence; jesus, he’s annoying, “but what if i told you i knew a guy?”

it sounds suspicious, but you won’t lie and say you’re not a little curious

perhaps you’re just a little too nosy to not lean in a little closer with a brow cocked a question of ‘who?’ primed on your tongue

“can’t say,” is all mingi says, “he doesn’t like people poking around in his business.”

he says it so nonchalantly as if he’s not your best friend who’s just announced that he knows someone who is almost definitely into some dodgy shit

you’d be a bad friend if you didn’t ask at least a few questions, but before you can even open your mouth, mingi beats you to it

“£200 will get you a hybrid though,” you almost choke on the sandwich at the price; this is some seriously dodgy guy if he’s selling hybrids for that little, “£300 if you start laying down preferences.”

“mingi,” you begin, about to beg him to get out of whatever business he’s getting himself involved in

“i’m assuming it’s a no?” he raises an eyebrow; you don’t even have to nod for him to understand your answer

he concedes, throwing his hands up in surrender like he always does whenever you have this conversation

still, the smirk on his face as the conversation moves onto something else doesn’t fill you with the upmost confidence

a week passes by rather quickly; you work, you come home, you go about your evenings as normal, you sleep

nothing seems any different, and why would it? nothing about your life ever really changes without some sort of built up or expectation

and then your doorbell rings

you assume it’s just your neighbour again, around at yours to ask you some sort of stupid question that could easy be solved using a single braincell and google

you trudge to the door with a sour look on your face and a bitterness already growing on your tongue, just to swing it open to see… not your neighbour

not anyone you recognise for that matter

your gaze travels up from the chest you stand eye-to-eye with, traipsing lazily over the defined muscles on his neck before reaching his face

a jaw set in stone, two steely brown eyes and a pair of jet black dog ears are what immediately catch your attention

that and the fact that he’s very handsome; so much so that it takes everything in you not to stare at him with your mouth wide open

“are you going to let me in?” he says as if the hybrid’s arrival at your door was at all expected by you

“who are you?” is the only response you can

“your guard dog,” he replies, and just like that everything clicks into place

mingi, that bastard

“but i didn’t pay for a guard dog,” you argue, hoping that it’ll be enough to make him go back to whatever creep it is that mingi has gotten involved with

“well, someone did.”

he looks bored as he uses a hand to push you aside and steps past you into your tiny apartment, as if this is just another day for him

maybe it is; you don’t know much about hybrids, but you’ve heard enough stories to know just how many of them go through life without a permanent home

they’re tossed from pillar to post as if they’re not conscious beings with minds and lives of their own

it’s sad, the fact that they can be so easily tossed aside by so many people

it’s even sadder to find yourself relating to that feeling

you shut the door, twisting the lock with a finality that you’re not sure you understand

“what’s your name?” you ask as you turn to face him

“yunho,” he sighs

it’s a pretty name, you think to yourself

one that you wouldn’t mind saying over and over again for the… foreseeable future…

seriously, fuck song mingi

“well i’m—”

“i know your name, puppy,” your mouth snaps shut at the authority that laces itself into his words, “it’s all i’ve heard for the past few days.”

you zip your mouth shut, something in your brain warning you not to speak out of turn

something in your brain seems to forget that this is your own home; surely you can speak whenever you want to

“i wasn’t sure what to expect, but you seem to fit the bill,” dark pupils land on your body, dancing up and down your form before finally meeting your eyes, “a pretty thing like you in a town like this? i’m shocked you’re still in one piece.”

“how dare you, i—”

“where am i sleeping?” he cuts you off like your complaints are little more than the stubborn words of a child

it irritates you to no end, and yet you can’t find the words to fight back

there’s just something in his eyes that has you convinced that maybe you’re not the one in charge here

“the couch,” you point to the ratty leather thing, feeling a slight twinge of guilt that it’s the only thing you have to offer

he takes a glance at at for just a second or two before shaking his head

“no,” he replies, “you have a double bed, right?”

“a double—” your eyes go wide, “you’re not sleeping in my bed!”

“yes, i am,” he insists, condescending and annoying. you hate him already, “because i’m certainly not sleeping on that thing, puppy.”

it doesn’t go unnoticed that he’s yet to use your name, instead sticking to that godforsaken nickname

if you thought it would make a difference, you might say something about it, but the stubborn arsehole has already shown enough of himself to make you understand that it would do very little

“the floor is available,” you spit, venemously

“and yet it tempts me even less than the sofa,” he smiles sarcastically and it boils your blood, “you’re just gonna have to get used to sharing.”

he takes a few paces forward until you’re having to crane your neck to look him in the eyes

you can practically feel his breath dancing across your cheeks as he lets out a low chuckle, a darkness washing over his face as he studies you

“you’re gonna have to get used to a lot of things now that i’m here,” warmth spreads across your cheek as his palm moves to cup it, “but that’s okay puppy, i can be patient while you learn.”

[palmersluvr]

honeymoon with lu headcanons

──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ────

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ he’d take y࣪ou to sicily for your honeymoon of course, because he’d wanna show you where his family roots are, also because sicily is the PERFECT place for a honeymoon :,)

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ you’d spend your time hiking, biking around and going to various popular tourist destinations, with luigi constantly taking photos of you with his digital camera like the good traditional man he is.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ speaking of him taking photos of you, on your honeymoon he’d take soo many dirty pics of you, such as ones of you with his cock in your mouth, photos of you sucking your own cum off of his fingers and photos of you with him inside you ;)

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ you’d make so many dirty videos during your honeymoon, some of them would last for hours

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ the sex would be amazing, multiple rounds a day, sometimes you’d just have slow romantic sex, other times he’d be fucking you in pronebone (i’m so sorry, i saw the opportunity and just had to take it) while moaning into your ear about how happy he is that you’re finally his wife

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ whenever you’re at your villa you’re both either naked or in swimming clothes, no inbetween

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ he loves telling people you’re on your honeymoon, when you guys were on a tour of the valley of the temples he told the tour guide you guys were on your honeymoon and you were like 🙄🙄🙄🙄

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ you’d also take photos of him too when he’s not looking because he’s just sooo :(

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ at night when you’re not having sex you’d find yourselves cuddling skin to skin in bed together while you plan out your future :(((

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ there’d be a pool in your villa and because of this you’d pretty much walk around in your bikini whenever you’re there, which means that luigi would definitely be fucking the shit out of you multiple times a day, but you don’t mind one bit. you love it

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ you and him found this secluded part of the beach to go to, and made AMAZING use of it by having sex in a spot right by a bush.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ you were on top the whole time riding him, and he had his camera out recording and couldn’t get enough of how sexy you looked.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ “look at you, fucking your husband in public” 🤭🤭

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ your honeymoon lasted about a month, simply because you both have very stressful lives back home and wanted to get away for as long as you can

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ you’d tell him to not buy you stuff, you feel like you don’t need anything considering you’re already on your honeymoon with your husband which is enough, but he always buys you expensive gifts when your back is turned and you always roll your eyes at him and scold him, but you love and appreciate the gifts anyway <3

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ one time he lifted you up, opened the window, sat you on the windowsill and fucked you so hard even though there was a high chance that someone could’ve walked by and seen, but he didn’t care. and that’s how your first baby was conceived ;))

──── ୨୧ ──── ──── ୨୧ ────

i’m so sorry this isn’t longer i’ll be honest it’s because i ran out of ideas, but i hope u all like this regardless 😭❤️

my previous work | masterlist

[flippinpancakes64]

Could you write the Cullen's accidentally hurting their SO and how they would react?? (I alr know Jasper's is about to be so angsty lol)

The Cullens accidentally hurting their S/O

I've literally been rubbing my hands together like an evil villain waiting to do this request. I saw it in my inbox and had to hold myself back lol. And yes, I cannot resist the temptation to make Jasper suffer, so be prepared

Edit I got so carried away. If I had a word count on these it might be like 10k lol sorry not sorry

And thank you for this request! This was so much fun to write lol I hope you enjoy it!

Also quick note I might have channeled a bit too much inspiration from Saw or something cause I ended up getting a bit too into my descriptions of the injuries so

TW for graphic depictions of violence

Edward:

You really wanted to go to this concert

Edward knew that, so as a birthday gift he bought you two tickets

One for you and one for him of course

He drove you to the stadium, studying the songs he was going to be hearing later that night

He bought everything that you looked at

You basically had your own merch table

The night was going great

You both found your seats, you were happily eating some overpriced stadium food, and the show was about to start

When a guy stood directly in front of you

The bad part about floor seats is that there aren't seats

The guy was easily 6'6, towering above you even if you are taller

Reading your thoughts, Edward tapped the guy on the shoulder, asking him if he would kindly move or crouch or something

He just looked, rolled his eyes, and stared forward again

"Dude, my partner can't see the show. Please just move a little"

"Don't care. Not my problem."

Edward's getting pissed, and the guy can tell

"What, you wanna fucking fight? Square up rich boy."

"No I don't want to fight I just want you to move a little"

"Okay, then maybe your partner here will fight instead"

And the next thing you know, you see the guy's huge fist heading straight for your head

Before it can land, Edward's hand pushes on your chest, sending you back into the people behind you and ending with you flat on the ground

Your back aches from the impact, your neck torqued from where your head whipped, and your cheek stinging from landing on the side of your face

You feel Edward's chill hands on the sides of your face, and faintly you hear him ask something frantically

You groan in pain as you feel him pick you up, and finally succumb to sleep

You wake up in Carlisle's clinic, staring at the white ceiling

A cold hand is wrapped around yours, and when you turn your head, you're greeted with bright gold eyes

No words are exchanged for a moment before you clear your throat

"So... did you at least rock that guy's shit?"

He laughs and kisses you

Alice:

Alice was having a terrible week

She had been getting vision after vision, and none of them were true

Everything from a huge motor accident to what color shoes someone at school was going to wear

It was constant

She was running in circles, going somewhere, seeing a vision, turning around to go somewhere else, seeing a vision, turning again, and on and on

She was currently driving

Or more like swerving

All you needed were some damn glue sticks for a project you needed to do

But every time Alice decided on a new destination, a vision of a horrible catastrophe would enter her mind, and she would change her course

You had enough

"Alice! Enough of this! Just pull over and let me drive!"

"No! I need to know the safest route... ugh! Everywhere is dangerous!"

"Name one vision you've had in the past week that actually came true."

"Well I don't know if they would have come true or not because I didn't go to those places. And look! We are perfectly fine! Everyone is fine!"

"But I don't have all night, Alice! Just choose a fucking store and go there!"

"Fine."

And so she did. She chose the small supermarket right outside of town

She looked nervous as soon as she placed the car in park

But you ignored it and walked in

You walked through the aisles, looking for the one thing you came here for, when you hear Alice gasp behind you

In her mind, she sees you tripping and falling into a display of DVDs, cutting your arm on one of the metal frames holding them in place

And straight in your path is the DVD case

So naturally she tries to grab you

Only she doesn't grab you, she accidentally pushes

You don't fall in her vision, just like how you didn't fall in real life

She was the one who hurt you, pushed you

That was the problem

The reason why there was a horrible disaster everywhere she tried to go was because she was going to cause something one way or another

Only this is worse, because now it involves you

The DVDs scatter, and she hears your cry of pain as the sharp, crooked metal frame pierces the skin of your arm

She is by your side in a moment, scooping you up and not even bothering with the mess you both left behind

On the way home, you are trying to convince her that it's not that bad, but she is beside herself

After Carlisle's inspection, you get a couple of stitches in your right bicep, but other than that you're perfectly fine

And Alice doesn't leave your side

She is constantly fussing

Asking if you're okay, if you need anything, if you're mad at her, if you want to leave her, if you blame her

But after you go to sleep and she watches over your peaceful form, she convinces herself that you're alright

Jasper:

It was spring break and the Cullens decided to go to one of Carlisle's many tropical properties

It was the third day of the trip, everybody went to do their own things

Alice, Esme, and Rosalie went into town to go souvenir shopping

They dragged Emmett along to be their personal bag carrier

Edward and Bella were down at the private beach that came with the property, enjoying the sun and relaxing

That left you, Jasper, and Carlisle

The three of you were at the attached pool on the house

Carlisle was marinating in the hot tub, sunglasses on and a book in his hands

You and Jasper were in the pool doing anything and everything

Diving, jumping, swimming, racing (he always won), and messing with the pool toys

You had just climbed up the stairs to get out of the pool again, intending on showing Jasper your graceful canonball

But he noticed you were walking a bit too fast

He saw you trip, and like slow motion he sprang out of the water to save you

Only he didn't

His arms wrapped around your middle, saving you from a possible twisted ankle or scraped knee or bruised butt

But that didn't stop the back of your head from smacking onto the concrete

White hot pain erupted behind your eyes and knocked you out instantly

Your blood began to seep onto the wet floor beneath you, and he couldn't help himself

Carlisle heard everything and got up immediately

But he didn't get there in time to stop Jasper from wrapping his mouth around your throat and biting down

In a flash Carlisle threw Jasper up and off of you, rocketing him into the water, and scooped you up to run inside

You awoke some hours later, a throbbing in your head and a dull pain in your neck

The beep of a heart monitor was all you heard

Looking around, you were in the room you shared with Jasper, where just the night before you wrapped around his cold body and drifted to sleep

Only he was nowhere to be seen

Carlisle came to check on you, and he told you what happened

"Where is he? Where's Jasper?"

"... He... left."

"What do you mean he left?"

"He almost killed you. He would have killed you if I wasn't there. He feels terrible- no. Terrible isn't strong enough of a word."

It takes Emmett and Edward tracking him down and dragging him home for you to see him again

And even then he insists on Edward and Emmett holding his arms in case he were to try anything

He looks so broken

Muted red eyes, golden blonde hair shooting in every direction, the same swim trunks he had been wearing that day were covered in dirt and blood- presumably yours

And his face

He looked on the verge of tears, he would have been crying if he could

If the dry heaves coming from deep in his chest were any indication

He flinches when you take his face in your hands, trying to get away, not wanting to hurt you more

But when he kisses you, he remembers why he tries so hard to be good in the first place

Rosalie:

You had been asking Rosalie for WEEKS if she would pleeeeeeease take you hunting with her

And she had been turning you down for weeks

It's a very gross, animalistic process that she, quite frankly, doesn't want you to see

But she loves you

And she is only so strong

So after so many begs, pleads, and puppy dog eyes, she caves

She decides to make it a cute little weekend trip

Taking you to one of Carlisle's properties farther north into the snowy mountain region

You settle in to the spacious cabin and Rosalie makes sure you're all bundled up in luxurious furs and warm scarves before you both venture into the wilderness

She explains what she's doing step-by-step while she sniffs the air, searching for her prey

A wolf because she's part of the "Fuck Jacob" team

She sits you in a clearing and tells you to stay in place while she finds her wolf

You do, finding a snowy log and brushing it off to sit on

She ventures into the forest, eventually finding a suitable wolf and beginning her hunt

Chasing the wolf, being chased by the wolf, until she eventually leads it to your clearing

She knows you'll love the theatrics of seeing her kill it in live action

She chases the beast all the way until it's about to clear the tree line before she pounces

She can imagine herself from your point of view

Bright, shiny skin, flowing hair, posed in midair, and finally coming down gracefully upon her prize

Except she doesn't

The wolf takes a quick turn at the last moment, sending her flying straight into you

There's not much she can do while suspended in flight, and it happens too fast for you to recognize

In an instant her whole body slams into you at full force, knocking both of you onto the powdery ground below

The grunt of pain you let out is excruciating

She rolls off of you quickly, holding onto you, asking if you're okay, if you're hurt

You try to put on a brave face, but when you move your left arm in an attempt to prop yourself up, you find you can't move it

Broken. Completely snapped. And you scream

She paces in Carlisle's home clinic while he puts your cast on, worried out of her mind

But when Carlisle opens the door and she sees you sitting on the table with a goofy grin and a bright red cast, she can't help but relax

"You said red was your favorite color, right?"

And she just kisses you

Emmett:

You'd been dating Emmett for a while now, and had decided it was time for him to meet your family

And what better time and place for a first meeting than your nephew's fourth birthday party?

It was the middle of August, and the sun was hot

The icing was melting off of the cake as it sat on the food table

All of the adults were drinking margaritas and the kids had decided to play with the water balloons to cool off

Your uncle and Emmett were filling up the balloons as all of the kids at the party talked excitedly

You laughed as your nephew came up to you and asked you to be on his team for the fight

Of course you couldn't say no

And of course, to even the playing field, the other team got to have your human tank of a boyfriend

Very even

Emmett just smirked at you as your uncle assumed his place as the referee and commenced the battle

Pink, blue, green, yellow, and red balloons were flying like crazy

Small party hats were knocked off of even smaller heads

The giggles of 20 little kids rang loud in the air as water spurted all over the grassy lawn

And you took your chance to pelt your boyfriend as hard as you could

His light blue shirt was soaked, and his khaki shorts had a huge wet spot on the front

You were doubled over in laughter at the sight of your scary boyfriend covered in little pieces of rubber, with one particularly large piece hanging off of his ear

But he hadn't thrown any at you yet

"Come on, big guy! Don't be a wussy!"

"Oh you asked for it now!"

You saw him grab a little pink water balloon, it looking even smaller in his hand, and he threw it straight at your head

You briefly wonder if he filled his balloon with cement

The next thing you know you're laying in bed, an ice pack perched on your forehead

"Oh my god, you're awake. I'm so sorry, baby. I didn't mean to, you know how I get out of control sometimes. Not that that's an excuse! I'm just trying to explain-"

You cut him off with a finger to his lips

"Shush... .'m tired"

And so he just lets you sleep the rest of the night, his hand in yours the whole time

Esme:

Frankly, she doesn't know why you asked for her help

The Cullens had just moved into their newest house, and everything was set for the "kids" to join the local highschool the next day

You wanted a new look

"New place, new people, new me" you had said

She understood that much

But when you approached her one night with a box of hair bleach and a pleading look on your face, she was lost

Why her? Why not Alice or Rosalie? Or- and hear me out- a professional? They had the money

But you wanted to do it yourself. But not actually yourself For some reason you wanted Esme to do it

And even though she didn't understand, she still agreed

So that's how she found herself closely studying the instructions on the back of the little box telling her what to mix and where

"What's taking so long?"

"Hold on... ugh! This thing doesn't make any sense!"

"It's okay I'm sure it's super simple. I mean they give you all of the stuff. Just mix it all together and slap it on my head!"

Bad idea

She mixes everything together just like you asked, and plops a big lump of it onto the crown of your head

Instantly your hair starts smoking

You scream, asking her to take it off

And she tries, but it's not working

Carlisle to the rescue once more

She is so apologetic

She feels so bad that she hurt you so much

And at least you did get that new look you wanted

Shaved-to-the-skin bald

Carlisle:

He was feeling a bit cooped up

He loves his family, and he loves his life in the Americas, but sometimes he misses traveling and his old friends

So he decided to take you with him to Europe to see some old pals

Not the Volturi obviously

But some other acquaintances he hadn't seen for a while

You were a month into the three-month trip Carlisle had planned

You'd visited Italy, Greece, Spain, France, Britain, and were on your way to Germany

This next friend you were on your way to visit was a man named Friedrich Hans

Carlisle spoke passively about him, nothing positive or negative

He was one of the ones he hadn't been able to contact beforehand about visiting

He wasn't even sure if Friedrich was still alive, or if he even lived in Germany

He wasn't betting on either, but he still figured he would try a visit

The taxi pulled up in front of an unassuming house on a busy street in Berlin, painted a light grey with black paneling around the windows and doors

Carlisle opened your door for you, extending a hand to help you out

He walked with you to the door, rapping his knuckles against the solid wood

Instantly it creaked open and a voice inside whispered "Perfect" before a pale, veiny hand reached out and grabbed your arm

You yelled for it to let you go, begging Carlisle for some help

He grabbed you around the waist with one arm, using the other to try to pry the man's hand from your wrist

The opposing forces splintered on your bones and a sickening crack ran through your arm

Your hand fell limp and Carlisle was finally able to pry you away from the force in the house

"Ah... Carlisle... old friend"

"Old friend? You just tried to kill my S/O!"

"S/O... you always were a weird one Mr. Cullen... sincerest apologies... come in for chat?"

"No thank you, I believe we will be taking our leave now."

And with that he rushed you to the nearest hospital

He didn't have his medical equipment, so he just pretended to not know German so they wouldn't ask questions about how you broke your wrist

He cuts the trip short then and there

He sends letters to all of his friends that he wasn't able to visit, explaining that something urgent came up

He is so apologetic for the weeks afterward

He is convinced it was his fault even though it wasn't

He doesn't relax until your cast is off btw

Vampire! Bella:

Since she's so new to the vampire life, she doesn't know her own limits yet

She has hurt you a lot in the past

All accidents of course

Hugging you too hard, punching you playfully on the shoulder, telling you to catch something and literally lobbing it as hard as she can

She always feels terrible afterwards

But the worst was the time you took her bowling

It was 10 am on a Tuesday and there was no one at the bowling alley

Not even the competitive grandmas and grandpas in their bowling leagues

The only other person in the building was the bored looking cashier who wasn't even trying to hide that he was on his phone behind the counter

You both took your time to pick your balls, trying out all of the ones on the rack to see your best fits

You laced up your ugly shoes, input your names on the scoreboard screen and off you went

It was fun for the first couple of turns

Until the ball return does that stupid thing where it doesn't actually return your ball

It's your turn, and you're standing at the ball return tapping your foot restlessly waiting for it to show up

"You know, you can just use mine"

Bella stands up and grabs the ball she chose

The resin was a beautiful mix of black, purple, and pink with some reflective glitter sprinkled throughout

It's so gorgeous that you don't even check the weight

You hold out your hands to take it and it just drops straight through

And directly onto your foot

You let out a loud scream and try to move, but the ball won't roll off of your foot

Bella starts panicking, asking what she should do, scrambling around until eventually she picks up the ball and throws it onto the ground behind her

Maybe she forgot that the cashier was there, or maybe she didn't care, but she picked you up and started sprinting at full speed back to the Cullen house

She even left the car at the alley smh

On the verge of inconsolable

She is so frustrated that she can't learn to control herself

Doesn't leave your side tho

Note: Just for shits and gigs I timed how long this took me

Started at 12:01 am

Jasper done at 12:21 am

Edward done at 12:40 am

Alice done at 12:56 am

Rosalie done at 1:19 am

Emmett done at 1:33 am

Esme done at 1:44 am

Carlisle done at 2:03 am

Bella done at 2:16 am

Total time 2 hrs 15 mins

[k-aemi]

omg I'm so obsessed with your writing and fics, they are BEYOND amazing!! can I request big brother Kaiser x lil sis reader, like he get's home and he's super angry and needs to blow off some steam, so he just fucks her silly🙏🙏

kaiser michael ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ meine süße schwester.

smut, dub, mentions of abuse, blood, corruption, lost of virginity, manipulation, in/stepcest, view it however you like.

you and kaiser didnt have the perfect life. not with your mother leaving and your dad there to abuse the shit out of you and kaiser. though, the big brother he is, he always takes in your place when youd be the one in trouble. :(

but it didnt leave you safe, you got beatings too. youd cry to your big brother and hed only comfort you with cuddles, kisses and licking your tears away. promising a better life when you two would get older.

hed never let you leave the house because it was dangerous, but inside the house wasnt so safe either. you knew nothing of the outside world, you only knew how to speak. you didnt know how to read or write because you never attended to school. he says its too dangerous for a girl like you, they could use your sweet body for other uses. though its not like hes any better than those guys.

the rule still flew by when kaiser was eventually recruited to the bastard münchen team. both of your guys life became stable as he was able to make income enough to live comfortably.

the only rules applied to you was to never talk to any other guys. they only want you for your body, not your love like he does.

two, always just be naked in the house, plus its uncomfortable to be restrained by clothes in the comforts in your own home, well thats what he said.

three, just be a cute little sister and help around the house.

four, hes so stressed having to be top of the football team and making sure youre living the best life, tend to his needs at all times, like a kiss or cuddles!

and of course you obliged! your big brother always working so hard makes you guilty, youre so worthless all you do is clean around the house.

youre naked right now with an apron cooking up dinner for your big brother! youre not the best cook but you try your best because you know he gets all tired from football.

you hum in the makings of dinner, only to hear a loud bang at the front door. its kaiser! you go to greet him but something seems a bit off. his eyebrows are furrowed and theres this fiery look to his eyes.

“micha?” you waved the ladle around in confusion. you knew you should mind your own business but you wanna make sure hes in top conditions to do his best when hes out playing in the field!

the sudden impulse of kaiser throwing his duffle bag to the wall and fist clenching makes you jump. he always looks so scary when hes angry you cant lie, thats why you preferred to not bother him.

he lets out a low growl as he walks past you, taking hold of your wrist, tightly. you almost trip from how hard he pulled you.

“a-ah! micha wait ‘m making dinner—!” you just followed behind as you placed the ladle onto a nearby table. he doesnt even respond back to you, dragging you to his—or both of your guys room.

finally reaching his destination, he drags you onto the bed, making a creak sound. you yelp from how harsh he was being right now. hes sometimes mad, but hes never taken his anger out on you before if thats what hes doing.

he climbs onto the bed, his knees resting on the mattress as he takes his shirt off, exposing his tattoo that extended from his neck to his left hand.

“m-micha, what ya doing..?” looking up behind you with your back facing him while he exhales a breath, untying the strings of your apron, taking it off before throwing it to a random corner. now youre bare, all for him to see.

his chest flushes against your back before cooing you. “s’okay prinzessin…just let me fuck your pussy. had a hard day today.” he growled into your ear, massaging your boobs, occasionally pinching the nipple.

you can only squeal at the pain, hes gonna what to your what again? you dont understand the words coming out of his mouth. maybe you should of really studied more vocabulary during your free time so you can learn these slangs hes using!

he marks up your neck, trailing kisses to your shoulders and jawline. “g’na hurt for a bit but you can handle it f’me yeah? for your big brother?” he starts stimulating your clit and you whine pathetically loud. what is this sensation?

“micha feels weird!” you grab hold of his wrist to push back, but you think you just fueled his anger more. “damn it [name] just fucking let me. i spoil you rotten and you cant even let me do this?!” your body twitched when he raised his voice at you. you hate it, it reminds you of your father.

kaiser softens up only a bit when he hears your sniffles, he clicks his tongue in annoyance. “if you listened to me i wouldnt have done that. you g’na listen now?” he licks up your tears just like how he used to back then. using his fingers to wipe the other side of your cheek.

“y-yes ‘m sorry micha.” you mumbled out as your sniffles overpowered your voice, you can barely talk due to your emotional state right now.

“good, knew i could count on you.” he sucks on your delicate neck, nibbling as he rubs his growing bulge on your ass. you feel a bit weird when he grinds on you, letting out little soft breaths and grunts when he does it.

you let out little whimpers as his bigger self towers over your figure, you dont even know whats going on, it feels uncomfortable having that hard thing against you.

you let out a gasp when his fingers stimulates your bud again. letting out soft moans. “ah—micha…mgh!” he grins enjoying the little moans that emit from your lips. he rubs the sensitive bud in a circular motion, speeding up the process as the second came.

you only whine. you wan’ him to stop or maybe just slow down, but you knew hed get mad again. “youre so wet. you want it dont you?” he gives it a slap and you let out a pathetic yelp.

kaiser flips you over, finally staring at your teary eyed face. he loves the sight, he wonders if he can see his cute little sister in more despair as he continues this. he doesnt mean harm, he just thinks its his reward for giving you such a good life, running away from the past.

“want my fat cock in your sweet pussy yeah?” he spreads your pussy lips apart and you let out ragged breaths. you dont understand what hes saying!! kaisers vocabulary and intelligence definitely exceeded yours, hes a football player! hes gonna have to learn how to read and write.

your trail of thoughts is interrupted when you feel a long wet muscle lick your pussy. your thighs quiver as it closed in on kaisers head. “w-what you doing micha!” but he ignores your whines and spreads your legs forcefully.

hes eating you out like some bread crust rust. sucking on the bud and you feel his tongue prodding at your hole. you squeal grabbing hold of his hair, gripping it so hard you might pull off his scalp.

he latches off your pussy with a pop before unbuckling his pants, pulling down his pants to reveal his cock that springs up and down. “should be wet enough.” he says slapping his cock head on your pussy, coating it with your slick.

the sight of his cock intimidated you, what is that! why is it so big and long. “sorry prinzessin. gotta do this real quick.” he leans forward to kiss you, only to muffle that blood curling scream you let out when he intrudes your warm walls with his cock.

your moans and whines are muffled with his kisses, tears spill from your eyes and theyre shut closed. he latches off your lips as he coos you, patting your head. “we got through the hard part, youre doing so good.”

leaning back his hunger only fueled more when he can see that visible bulge forming in your stomach and youre crazy to think hes gonna be gentle now. well not like he was going to in the first place anyways.

“you see how good you take me?” his hand roams over the bulged that formed in your stomach every time he pulled out just to go right back in. it stings, but you gotta comply before hes gonna get super mad and maybe hit you like dad did.

you only nod weakly, your brain becomes mushy from this new sensation youre feeling. youre completely stretched out and you dont think you can adjust to his size.

kaiser smirks to himself, seeing blood spill onto his cock. fuck he thinks thats so hot, he popped your cherry. the smell fills his nostrils and he cant get enough of it. his elbows rest on both sides of your head and he starts his rough thrust, leaving you into a mess.

“a-ah! micha’! wait!” your toes curl and your hands clawed at his back. he loves it, the way youre scratching his back means hes making you feel sooo fucking good.

he wishes he put you on pills of some sort, he wants to cum inside of you so bad. your gummy walls are pulsing inside of him and the feeling is the best. the best pussy ever is his baby sisters.

his thrusts are so strong and he doesn’t even rest to let you catch your breath. all you can do is cry and drool from the feeling. big brothers so mean, hes hurting you and making you cry!

smell of sweat fill the room and it gets hot. you feel knot in your stomach and youre not sure what it is, its the same feeling when you would need to relieve yourself, but somehow a tad different.

“m-micha’ i feel something in my stomach.” your voice barely came to a whisper, its so difficult to talk when big brothers cock making you feel all light headed.

“thats my cock making you feel good prinzessin. s’okay just let it out.” he growled, fastening his pace if that was even possible at this point. there was this mixture of pleasure and pain somehow, you cant wrap your finger around it.

you tighten around his cock and he knows. he knows youre gonna cum. “h-hold my hand please..” kaiser in the heat of the moment intertwined his hands with yours, continuing his thrusts, letting out ragged breaths.

not long, something squirts out of your pussy and kaiser can only chuckled to himself. seeing the way your juices just continued to spill onto the sheets and on his cock made him almost cum. as a matter of fact, he should really start pulling out soon.

just a little more…he swears hell pull out he just wants to indulge in your sensitive walls right now. god you feel so goddamn good. hes having sex with you everyday. he tells himself he’s stupid for not doing this in the first place with you.

“agh—fuck!” he grunts in annoyance before pulling out, jerking his cock as his hot cum spills to all the way to your face<3

you dont even pay no attention to it, youre so out of your mind, catching up with your breath. kaisers dick falls limp and he lays besides you. tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“love you s'much."

was it too much? i dunno, hope you guys request more people for me to write :D i see my favorite writers liking my blog o(≧▽≦)o you guys really like the step sibling tropes , also since i had two other similar requests pls take this instead hope its okay with you anons! i dont wanna rewrite too many things over and over (-ω-、)

blue divider: kodaswrld

[lexxiesbimboboobs]

Birthday Gift

“Really, Kat?”, May asked, giggling under her nose, “I know I have a bit of a reputation among you all, but isn’t this a bit much?”.

“Girl, you fucked half the people in our friend group, me included”, she replied, endearingly, perhaps even with a hint of an invitation in her tone, “This is your reward and encouragement. Go and make that half into a whole - and then some. Just remember not to hit up Daniel, he doesn’t really do sex”. 

“Aww, that is so sweet”, she winked, as if to acknowledge the not-so-subtle invitation she’s just been given. “Gimme a sec, I’ll go and change right now”. As she walked towards the bathroom, she spun the shirt above her head and shouted “Time to be sluuut!”, much to Kat’s endearment. 

As she put on the shirt, May felt an intense pulse of energy seeping through the shirt into her body. All of the cells on its surface - and some of the ones inside of it - lit ablaze with an extreme, burning need, if only just for a brief moment. Yet, after they calmed down, something was different. She was different. 

She got out of the bathroom and presented the shirt, fitting her perfectly. And, suffice it to say, her reaction was more than positive.

“Holy shit! You look so good!”.

“I know, right? I feel kinda weird, though?”

“What do you mean?”

When asked to elaborate, May’s mind went blank all of a sudden. She felt yet another wave of heat enveloping her body. She could suddenly feel even the slightest gust of air flowing inside the room, caressing her body, spreading the fire around it. “You know what, how about I just show you?”.

To put it mildly, she jumped onto Kat like a rabid animal, something which Kat seemed oddly unsurprised by. After what was merely seconds of an extremely wild, sloppy kiss, clothes were coming off left and right - aside from the top. May felt a weird compulsion to keep it on and, besides, it looked really hot with nothing else on her body. 

Their lips met again, only to be separated as quickly as the previous time. May’s tongue then made its way down Kat’s body, with each sensitive part of it being an important stop on the way to the destination. Kat’s neck, boobs, nipples, stomach, and inner thighs found themselves kissed, licked, or bitten (...usually all three) one after the other. All of that at breakneck speed - May was not going to let her friend think even for the briefest moment. 

And as she licked and teased, as she bit and kissed, the strange pulses kept emanating from her top. At some point, they made her so sensitive to pleasure - and so desperate for it - that her body started mirroring what Kat was feeling. If she bit her nipple, she’d feel the same itch around her own, if she teased Kat’s pussy with her hand, always nearing it, but never touching it, she herself would also be teased. 

“You’re such a slut, May”, Kat shouted out, between breaths, as May finally approached her clit - and immediately started licking it like mad. 

In response, the top emanated a wave of pleasure so hot it nearly burned. And May came on the spot, almost without being touched at all. She felt her entire being shifting, as it was shaken to the core. All the heat she had just experienced, all of the intense, animalistic lust and the incomprehensible pleasure now felt as if they were coursing through her veins, reshaping her, permanently into something new. Into something far, far less inhibited.

And yet, as all of that was happening, she didn’t pull her mouth away from Kat even for a second. And perhaps it was May’s skill, her extreme dedication to the primal art of fucking, some second-hand influence from the top itself, or even sheer lucky coincidence, but Kat also found herself on an orgasmic wave. It enveloped her body fully, causing her body to shake as if it had been struck with an earthquake. 

And as it slowly came to a close, her post-orgasmic bliss was interrupted by a sight of May, sitting in front of her, visibly topless and visibly… pink haired? Did the shirt melt into her, or something? 

“May, are you alright? Your hair is, uhh…” She wasn’t sure whether her brain was still not fully capable of thinking after her recent orgasm, or if the situation was just that surreal, but she frankly could not find a single word to even describe the situation. 

“Yeah, it’s pink! Weird, right?!” May responded, seemingly untroubled at all by her newly transformed hair - and likely other, more subtle changes as well. Instead, she just pouted her lips, gave Kat a doe-eyed stare and asked: “So, wanna fuck again?”

---

Make sure to totally message me or something if u come or edge to this story bc i still have like... 102 ppl i need to make cum before i can cum again <3 <3

Hope it was hot love lexxie <3 (also last second patreon plug!!)

[acynicalsweetheart]

OKAY UHMM !!!!!!!!!!! HEY ... SOOOO .... I LOEVEEVVEV YOUR FICS SO FUCKING MUCH AND AND ADN ..!!!!!!

uhmhm,,, this is based off of FREQUENT fantasies i have soo,,,

reader who is Curly's biological kid,,, leaving and neglecting the reader for his job, often leaving the reader alone with their "uncle" Jimmy,, Jimmy grooms the reader and eventually just takes advantage of them,, do what you will with this request!! -🎧

hai thank u very much!!! um sorry this is actually terrible LMFAO. really rushed and some parts do not cling together.. anyway imagining this is set in 90s. maybe. just cause. may occur typos it’s 6 am and i’m sleep deprived.. wow 1.9k words should turn into a fic but whatever

content warning: 18+, dead dove do not eat, smut, pseudo-incest, dub-con/coercion, grooming sort of, age gap, etc etc

“Uncle Jimmy,” you’re clinging to his arm like a baby monkey clings onto its mama, rightfully so when he’s leading you through the trailer park that might as well be a family reunion for registered sex offenders—Jimmy included. “When do you think daddy is coming back?”

“Never.” Jimmy says with a cigarette between his lips, ashes falling onto his shirt when he speaks.

“What?!” Your expression screams oh-so-offended, tightening your grip on Jimmy and shaking him a little. Fancy tennis bracelet tugging painfully on his arm hair in the process. Fucking ouch. Leech. “Why?”

You look so out of place. Shame daddy dearest didn’t care enough to take some time off for you. Look like you should be living in his fancy mansion, not hogging up all your time with Uncle Jim who owes exactly everyone more money than he’s worth. Poor trust fund baby you are. 

Don’t you have friends or some shit? 

“Sweetheart,” he shoves you inside his trailer, locking the door behind him and heading straight for the kitchen, “your dad is a fuck-awful pilot. And captain. Prolly crashed into the sun like fucking Amelia Earheart by now.” 

Thank fuck Jim got fired. Capitalist community. Pony Express, that is. Entirely fitting for Curly and his riches. Didn’t even have to climb no damn ladder.

“Oh my God.” You sit down on his couch looking dejected as ever, clutching your head in disbelief. 

Jimmy plops down next to you with a groan ‘cause fuck he is getting old, slings an arm behind you—beer in one hand, cigarette in the other. “Just kidding.”

“Oh.” 

“You want?” He nods to the goodies in his hands, cigarette so close to your arm Jimmy could press it down hard and leave a mark if he wanted to. Its ashes fall onto your white dress without you noticing. 

“Oh.” Man, you’ve seriously gotta get yourself a new vocabulary. Practice your etiquette by saying dear heavens or some Curly-esque bullshit. “I don’t… daddy would kill me.” 

He thinks he hears something. What’s that? A little bee in his ear? Puuussy!

“Yeah, your daddy a million miles away would kill me.” Jimmy takes another drag, blowing out the smoke in your face.  

Waving away the grey cloud, you giggle, “okay, I know it sounds stupid but—“ Jimmy shoves the cigarette between your lips, essentially forcing you to take a hit. “Hey!” And you’re coughs galore. 

Cracking open the beer with his teeth, Jimmy takes a swig whilst watching you gasp for air like you’ve just barely survived drowning. Drinks it like it’s water. Practically is at this point. “You gotta boyfriend?” 

“Ew!” Jimmy can’t tell if you’re saying that to his question or the taste of your first cigarette. “No…” 

“No? Why not?” He gives you a slowmo once-over, gaze middle landing on your tits and obvious bralessness before reaching their final destination at the whorishly short hem of your dress. “You’re… not bad.” 

Could always be thinner. Better. Prettier. 

“I don’t know…” your head hangs lowly, anxiously picking on the fabric of your clothes, “I—I don’t think daddy wants me to…”

“Baby, your dad wants you to get married. Have kids. All that white picket fence bullshit.” He leans over to put the beer on the coffee table that’s a kneecap hazard, cracks one of his vertebrae in the process. “And soon. Or he oughta be real disappointed.” From under his nails, Jimmy flicks away some debris in the form of cigarette ash. Shit’s fucking everywhere.

Been an avid smoker since second grade, it’s a mystery how he ain’t part cigarette yet. Bet if he took a DNA test it would say 52% tobacco. 48% American. 

“You really think so, Uncle Jimmy?” Your voice is about as meek as a mouse. Daddy issues, huh. Must be why you like hanging around Jimmy so much. 

“Yeah.” Adjusting his army cap that he stole from your dad’s truly—‘cause Jim never fell for Vietnam—he conjures up a scheme. “Unless… you could get in some practice.”

“Practice?” 

“At boyfriend and girlfriend stuff.” You perk up at that, glossing over him with this girlish wonder in your eyes. Can practically see how bad you want a Prince Charming. “Yeah. That’d make daddy real proud, wouldn’t it? His little girl, all grown up.”

“O—okay. So how… do I start?” You shift closer to Jimmy, paying extra attention like he’s a guidance counsellor. 

“Stupid.” He flicks your forehead, you flinch. “You’ve got Uncle Jimmy right here, haven’t you?”

“Oh.” Please. What were you expecting? For Jimmy to drag out one of those well-groomed, well-adjusted private school boys that Curly so badly wants you to marry, out of his closet and hand him over to you? “Okay…”

“Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing.” He murmurs, takes one more drag of the cigarette. 

You look a little sick. Like you think practicing with Uncle Jimmy’s a fate worse than death. Or maybe it’s the smoke of his dart getting to your head. 

“We’ll start slow. Kissing, hand stuff, maybe I’ll show you how to make good use of that mouth. Can’t tell daddy, though. Got that? You tell him, I’ll find you and kill you. Keep your body wrapped up in my trunk and make use of it.”

Nodding frantically, you agree. “Yes—yes, I got it!” 

“Just kidding,” says Jimmy, who is as serious as a heart attack—as passionate as lovers on their wedding night, about his threats. 

“Yeah… I know.” 

“C’mere.” Pulling you impossibly closer, till your warm smooth legs meet his jagged jeans, he stares you right in the eye. “You ever seen a cock before, baby?”

You look taken aback by his brash question, blinking like your eyes have dried up before replying. “No…” 

“Good.” 

“I mean I—“ whatever it is you’ve got to say, he doesn’t care. 

“Gimme your hand.” Jimmy reaches for your arm, grabbing ahold of your hand to hold it against his crotch. “Feel this?”

“Um…” you wince, trying to feel for his dick to no avail, “no.” At least you’re more honest than Curly. That suck-up would’ve said yes I can feel your dick Jimmy! Oh gosh you’re so big! …If he were a woman, that is. 

“No.” He repeats, waits a moment to see you start sweating bullets in real time. “That’s ‘cause I ain’t hard. Gotta turn me on first, dumbfuck. How’d you expect to please a man if you can’t even make him get it up?”

“I’m sorry! I don’t know how.” 

Oh my God, you’re a fucking baby. Daddy Curly must’ve never given you the birds and the bees talk either. Well, now Uncle Jimmy’s here to patch that up. More like rip off the band-aid of your innocence. Kind of overdue, dontcha think? 

“Kiss me.” 

“Okay…” you hesitate before leaning in, letting your eyes flutter shut and slotting your lips against your Uncle Jimmy’s. 

You suck at it. 

Literally. And figuratively. 

Jimmy kisses you back, gripping the nape of your neck to deepen it. “Mmm, yeah. Real nice and sloppy, that’s it.” He speaks against your lips, licking into your mouth like you’ve got gold hidden somewhere in there. “Suck on that tongue.” 

And you do. Till your spit fucking drips down Jim’s stubble. Gross. 

“Gotta feel me up.” He guides your hand, flattening it and dragging it up and down his length. “Palm me till you feel it rising.” 

You moan into his mouth, probably that little switch in the back of your head turning on. Sending signals to your brain to soak your panties and whatnot. Are you even wearing panties? You look like you wouldn’t. Slut. 

Making quick work of his belt while you go to town on his mouth, Jimmy unzips his jeans and whips his dick out. 

He breaks the kiss, tilting your head down for you since you got a little too excited. Seems like you and his dick’s got something in common at least. “That’s right. Uncle Jimmy’s such a fucking pervert for his little girl, ain’t he? Look at that. His cock’s all hard and tall just for you.”

“Oh, my…” you blink at it. It’s all you ever do. Slowly and stupidly. 

“Go on,” Jimmy guides your hand to wrap around his girth, watching your eyes dart all over the place probably ‘cause you don’t know how to act. Feeling his cock throb and twitch in your palm like that. “Touch me.”

The concept of pleasing a man isn’t entirely lost on you, ‘cause you begin to stroke him up and down. The friction feels like sandpaper but alright. Should’ve told you to spit on it beforehand. No pun intended.

“Harder. What are you so shy for?” He pulls your hand away, soaking it with his own spit before guiding it for you. “I said harder. Faster. Gotta make me cum.”

Your hand starts moving under Jimmy’s, finally getting him somewhere. Not quite close. But somewhere. 

“Fuck, you’re such a whore for Uncle Jimmy, ain’t you?” He lets go of your hand again, reaching over to pluck his cigarette and stick it back into between his lips for another drag. 

Was already feeling the withdrawal symptoms. Creeping up on him like the orgasm he should be having but most likely won’t seeing as you’re not especially good at what you’re doing. First times, huh. 

“Yes…” you say so quietly Jimmy can barely hear you. Saddened almost. Must be aware of how terrible you are at making a man cum. 

“Bet you wish daddy was watching. Oh, he’d be so proud, wouldn’t he?” Jimmy is aware he says the word proud like he’s got something personal against it. Which he, in fact, does. “At how fast you’re learning. Turning into a good slut already.” 

“You think?” Your expression is so earnest. Like you think you’ve finally found your purpose or some shit. 

Learning to suck maybe. Turning into a one-dollar trailer park whore ‘cause that’s all you’re worth with those useless housewife hands you were born with—being Curly’s and all. 

“Hell yeah, I think.” Jimmy tilts his head back, feeling like a woman ‘cause apparently they fake orgasms nowadays. He makes eye contact with a fine fella on his chunky little cable TV. Looks just like Jim if he were a fraction cooler, had more tattoos and funkier hair—a rockstar. Hey, ain’t he that Girls, Girls, Girls fella? “Oh fuck.”

He’s cumming. Loud. Fuck. Embarrassing. 

Balls tightening like they’ve been dipped in ice, Jimmy fucks your hand and groans. Biting down onto the cigarette so hard he tastes fucking ash on his tongue. Throws the shit across the floor with shaky fingers and white knuckles your shoulder for support. 

“What?” You look at his face like that’s where he’d cum from, takes about a minute till you feel him spill down your fingers. “Oh my lord!”

“Shit.” Said shit is everywhere. Thickest whitest load Jimmy’s ever shot in his life. “Well, ‘bout time you put some good use to that mouth, huh?”

“Um…” you look to the side, nose twitching in an what’s most likely an attempt to not grimace. Yeah. Jimmy doesn’t blame you. Not an especially appetizing sight, is it?

“Use your tongue.” He forces your head down till you’re head to head with the head of his dick. Pushing you down far enough to bump the tip of your nose to the tip of Jimmy’s dick. “C’mon, can’t do it on my own. That’s what girls are for.”

You start lapping away like a dog. Not a sweet little kitten but a nasty ol’ dog. Must be why you like hanging around Uncle Jimmy so much. 

“Just lick it aalll up, yeah. Like that.” Your eyes are pricking with tears when he tilts your head up, globs of jizz sticking to the corners of your mouth. “Now swallow.”