Tumgik
#fine print chapters
buwheal · 4 months
Text
Tumblr media
BEACH OUTFIT 💥💥💥💥
He used to surf the web back in 98'.
292 notes · View notes
uwmspeccoll · 1 year
Photo
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
It’s Fine Press Friday! 
This week we bring you, Lucifer, a poem by English philosopher, novelist, and poet, John Cowper Powys (1872-1963), with illustrated headers by Scottish wood engraver, illustrator, and painter, Agnes Miller Parker (1895-1980), and  published in London by Macdonald & Company in 1956 in an edition 560 copies signed by the author. The poem is written from the perspective of Lucifer himself as he contemplates his fall from Heaven which was caused by his own arrogance. 
Agnes Miller Parker created six small wood engravings as headers to each of the six parts of the poem. The impressive linework and the amount of narrative packed into these small prints speak to the artist’s great skill in the medium.  This book was made and printed in Great Britain by Purnell and Sons, and is quarter bound in blue leather with light-blue book cloth over boards and gold foil-stamped spine title and floral design on the front cover. 
Tumblr media
Use this link for more Fine Press Friday posts.
Use this link for more Agnes Miller Parker posts.
Use this link for more posts with wood engravings!
– Teddy, Special Collections Graduate Intern.
86 notes · View notes
qeyond · 11 months
Text
Ok for real tho they went off hard with the aesthetic of the physical LABB Murder Cases novel. Like they did not have to make it so damn sexy but they did and god bless em for that
Tumblr media
24 notes · View notes
coramatus · 1 year
Text
there were no instructions or fine print (part 7)
“To restore the lost, find my form and sacrifice yours”
Or
That time Ingo got turned into a Sneasel because there were no instructions or fine print on the ancient mystical artifact
Based on ideas of the Transfer Error AU by @rosebloodcat on Tumblr
part one | two | three | four | five | six | seven
shenanigans
When Ingo wakes up, it’s to the feeling of all-encompassing warmth and safety. He sighs in contentment as he snuggles deeper into his soft burrow. Surrounded by the scent of home, his chest rumbles in purring bliss.
The sound of a snore makes his eyes flutter open. He finds that he’s not actually in a burrow, but cradled in Emmet’s arms, held snug to his chest. His brother lays sound asleep, his haggard face now resting with a small, relaxed smile gracing his lips.
With a soft trill, Ingo rubs the side of his face against Emmet’s cheek before tucking himself under his chin. For several long minutes, he lays there basking in the warmth, his battered, weary heart drinking it all in. He simply enjoys the peace that was denied to him for so long. Ingo has never felt as complete as he does now, finally finding what his soul had been missing in Hisui.
Almighty Sinnoh, he could die happy right here.
With every intention of going back to sleep, he expects to start dozing off again soon.
But it can’t have been more than a few minutes when Ingo’s eyes snap back open. There’s a fidgety energy building in him that makes his limbs itch to move, accompanied by an uncharacteristic urge to run and climb nagging at the back of his mind. The more he thinks about it, the more the idea of staying in Emmet’s hold feels a lot less comforting and much more claustrophobic.
Confused, Ingo sits up and yawns, raising a hind leg to scratch at his neck. However, the movement tugs at his still aching wounds, cutting his scratch session short as he recoils with a wince. Gingerly testing his range of motion, he finds that even though they hurt a lot, his injuries don’t hurt quite as bad as they had earlier. Which is a relief, although he’s still weirdly anxious to move. Shaking himself off, Ingo opts to just ignore it and hope it settles on its own.
His stomach then decides it’s been ignored for far too long and hits him with a sharp hunger pang. Ingo groans as he doubles over, looking down at himself as he clutches his empty belly.
Now that he thinks about it, he hasn’t eaten in a while, has he? The last ‘meal’ he could recall was back in the forest, desperately trying to make his single, shriveled berry last as long as possible by taking smaller and smaller bites. After that was the hospital, which must have given him an IV line with nutrients to sustain him until now. Which means his stomach must be on the verge of digesting itself.
Sighing, Ingo reluctantly turns to Emmet. He’s going to have to wake him up for this. Part of him tells him he ought to groom him or to give him a few play-bites. But he shakes those ideas off. With the tip of his claws, he pokes his brother’s cheek to bring him back into consciousness.
Emmet does not react, continuing to lightly snore.
Ingo pokes his face harder.
Emmet just mumbles in his sleep.
Ingo’s ears go flat in annoyance.
Were he in his proper human body, Ingo would simply let his sleeping brother be. Frankly, his tired human mind would prefer to join him and just go back to sleep too.
But as he has to face facts: he’s not.
He’s in the body of a rambunctious juvenile Sneasel.
And this body wants to engage in chaos.
He thinks back to his time with Lady Sneasler, with her kits and the nonsense they would get up to. One particular kit from her previous brood had discovered a clever trick to waking both mother and warden who made the mistake of falling asleep in his presence. Ingo wound up naming the kit Foghorn for a good reason.
Channeling a bit of Foghorn’s brand of mischief shouldn’t hurt Emmet. Much.
He takes in a deep — if pained — breath and screeches at the top of his lungs directly into Emmet’s ear.
The result is instantaneous as Ingo is squashed like a stuffed toy, Emmet unconsciously tightening his hold as he sits bolt upright with a terrified scream. Wild-eyed, Emmet scans his surroundings to find what woke him up. At least, he does until muffled Sneasel cries against his chest get his attention. Without thinking about it, he yelps and immediately lets go of his hapless brother.
Ingo groans as he flops onto Emmet’s lap in a sad heap. That… backfired spectacularly.
With his faculties returning, Emmet groans as he rubs at his ringing ears with a wince, half-certain that his eardrums are now ruptured. Glaring down at his brother, he snaps,
“What was that for?! Are you trying to make me go deaf??”
Ingo sits up and shakes himself off. He does a quick check of his bandages. Even though they ache sharply, his injuries haven’t started bleeding again. He sighs in relief and proceeds to aim his most put upon pout at Emmet, punctuating it with an indignant squeak.
“Don’t look at me like that!” Emmet protests, baring his teeth in offense, “What did I do to you?!”
For that, Ingo points a claw at Emmet, mimes a squashing motion between his paws, and then points back at himself with a huff.
His brother looks baffled as he parses through the message, “Wha-? Well, I am sorry but I didn’t do it on purpose!”
Ingo opens his mouth to chitter back a few choice insults when he is interrupted by his own stomach growling loudly, startling them both.
Oh, right.
Emmet must come to a similar conclusion as he laughs softly, “That is fair. I would scream for a refueling too if I was that hungry.”
Without another word, Emmet picks Ingo up and carries him into the kitchen. Setting his Sneaseled brother down on the counter, Emmet opens the refrigerator to check its contents.
Ingo takes a peek into the brightly lit box and is surprised to see how well-stocked it is. He doesn’t think he’s seen quite so much food in one place aside from clan gatherings. Out on the isolated Highlands, he lived quite sparingly, only ever eating simple bland meals he’d foraged or traded for. And yet somehow this sight doesn’t seem all that remarkable either, as if this is how it should be. Curious…
In the meantime, Emmet is busy looking everything over with a critical eye, nodding in appreciation at the arrangement. It’s clearly not as organized as he’d like, but most of the perishables are accounted for.
“Huh, not bad. The people food is in the right place,” he comments as he rummages through a container. When Emmet turns around, he presents a plain white chicken egg to Ingo, smiling, “Here you go!”
Ingo’s eyes widen, his ears perking straight up as he reaches out to take the offered egg. Cradling it in his claws, he can’t help drooling at the sight of it. Though Sneasels typically prey upon Pokémon eggs, any egg works just fine. Part of him wants to smash it on the countertop and lick the splattered yolk here and now, sanitation be damned. But he disregards that thought. Instead he delicately uses his fangs to crack around the top of the egg, forming a ring of little punctures. The makeshift shell cap is easily pried off with his teeth and spat out.
The second his tongue laps up his first mouthful of egg yolk, it’s like all the fat and flavor immediately overload his taste buds. He has to take a moment to process what he’s tasting before diving back in with great relish.
Sinnoh, this is the best thing he’s ever eaten, he could just about cry.
“It’s funny. If I still doubted whether you really are my brother or not, that move you just pulled would be enough to convince me,” Emmet chuckles, having watched everything with his chin in his hands, elbows propped up on the counter. “Only you would be that meticulous about eating a raw egg.”
Ingo pauses in his late breakfast to stare at Emmet. What was that supposed to mean?
Instead of being chastised, Emmet stares at him before he busts out laughing. Before Ingo knows what he’s doing, he pulls back his sleeve to aim a wrist device at him. The tinny sound of a fake shutter clicks and Ingo knows he’s been photographed. Giggling, Emmet pushes a few buttons and suddenly the device displays a floating image of a gray-eyed, purple Sneasel sitting there in confusion, his tongue sticking out, still dripping in egg yolk.
Ingo squeaks in mortification and pulls his tongue back in. But the damage has already been done as Emmet laughs so hard that he faceplants on the countertop. Though he’s tempted to lob the egg at Emmet’s head, Ingo reins in the urge, choosing to keep eating instead. He isn’t wasting the best food of his life on his dingus of a brother.
He’ll get him back for it later.
His disgruntled thoughts are interrupted when Emmet reaches out and pets him. With his head nestled in the crook of his other arm, Emmet looks at his brother with such affection that any ire on Ingo’s part instantly melts away.
“I missed having you around, Ingo…” Emmet whispers softly as his thumb strokes Ingo’s ear feather. Sniffling, his smile is teary with open relief, “I am so glad you are back in our home station.”
For what feels like an hour, they stay like that, simply enjoying the moment. Ingo feels his spirits lift as he watches his brother’s face slowly brighten with a genuine smile, chasing away any lingering shadows of exhaustion and fear.
Then Emmet seems to remember himself. With visible reluctance, he pulls away, leaving Ingo feeling strangely forlorn. However, Emmet instantly returns with a small dish.
“Here, one little egg cannot possibly be enough,” Emmet cheerfully smiles.
Ingo’s ears perk up as he peeps in joy. There in the dish wobble two more eggs waiting to be devoured.
As Ingo busies himself with his meal, he doesn’t pay much attention to Emmet shuffling away. For a while all he hears is his brother rummaging through the kitchen to organize. Only to discover that their Pokémon have some questionable ideas about where things belong…
“What the-?! Who put all the vegetables in the trash??” Emmet demands aloud as he plucks the hapless groceries from the bin. The rattle of an appliance being opened sounds, “Bread?? Bread is in the dishwasher! Is this someone’s idea of a hoarding spot?” His feet stomp to the next room and something opens, “Why is cheese in the laundry machine??” More stomping. The pantry door opens and the rustling sounds of plastic bags being combed through are heard, “Are you—?! All the Poffins and Poképuffs are missing!!” Emmet sticks his head out into the living room, aiming a furious grin at the trays of Pokéballs, “This is the last time any of you are allowed to put the groceries away!”
The guilty silence radiating from the Pokéballs is deafening.
Ingo chitters in amusement as Emmet stomps off into the living room with irate grumbling. He would help but he’s down to the dregs of his second egg and the third is calling out to him. He sets aside the empty shell, noisily licking his lips for any yolk he might have missed. Just as Ingo is about to grab the last egg, he is interrupted.
“Ingo? Be honest with me…”
With a puzzled ‘mrrrrp?’, Ingo looks up to find Emmet standing before him.
Emmet stares Ingo down with wariness, both hands raised, one holding a clean set of bandages and the other brandishing a pill bottle.
“Please tell me you will not fight me on taking your medication…” Emmet wearily begs him.
Hearing the word ‘medication’ triggers a sense of deep aggravation and a jumble of images of his Pokémon fighting him tooth and nail to escape regular check-ups and him forcing them to choke down substances they clearly hated but needed to take for their continued existence.
His human side understands the necessity and resolves to be perfectly composed about this.
His Sneasel side takes one look at this data and decides ‘nope’.
That’s the best Ingo can figure out when a freight train’s worth of pure blind panic slams into him. The next thing he knows, he’s leaping off the counter and running at full tilt from a shouting Emmet.
In the back of his mind, Ingo knows what he’s doing makes no sense; he wants to pull his brakes on himself. But the fear gripping him is so powerful that he can’t think. Not even his wounds slow him down thanks to his body’s natural adrenaline spike. He careens through the apartment on all-fours, knocking over objects, and tearing new claw-holes wherever he goes. Several times, Emmet tries to grab him but each time Ingo either squirms away or bites his hands to force his release.
Just as he leaps from the couch for the third time, there’s a flash of light and suddenly an eerie periwinkle aura seizes him, rendering motionless in mid-air. With nowhere to go, he yowls in terror as he thrashes wildly to get free even though intellectually he knows that’s not happening.
Chandelure choses this moment to float down, having popped out of their ball due to the commotion. They lift him up to their level in order to give him the most unimpressed face a ghost chandelier can muster.
“What’s gotten into you, Ingo??” Chandelure demands, sounding like a disappointed teacher speaking to an unruly student.
(Of course, Chandelure was always the only calm one during check-ups on account of being a ghost. In which case, there was another set of standards entirely for ghost ‘health’, none of which seemed half as upsetting as it was for the living.)
“I-I don’t know!! I’m freaking out! I can’t stop!” Ingo shouts, even as he flails his limbs in a feeble attempt to escape. Even now, his Sneasel instincts continue to disregard his human knowledge that this is all for his own good.
“Well, try harder! You’re bleeding again!” Chandelure scolds him, staring at his bandages with a troubled expression.
“Rrrgh! It’s not like I want to do this!” he whines, unable to help his continued wriggling despite the wet heat slowly blooming against his side, “It’s like the Sneasel part of my brain is on another set of tracks entirely!”
Chandelure is given pause. Then their blank gaze shifts to something much more perturbed, “That sounds like a serious problem. You should—”
Then Emmet comes to a screeching halt by their side. Panting and wild-eyed, he points at the ghost Pokémon,
“Chandelure, hold him tight! I think this repair job is going to get messy!”
Chandelure hops into action, giving him a sharp, determined nod and focuses their spectral grip on their unruly trainer. The soft purple-blue aura concentrates and solidifies, locking Ingo in place.
With his fate sealed, Ingo does the only thing he can and belts out what he’d once cheekily termed ‘The Sneasel Song of Sadness’.
In a very short time, their entire apartment complex becomes acquainted with it too.
39 notes · View notes
31 isn't old, but my joints have not gotten that particular memo it seems.
Ow...
2 notes · View notes
daydadahlias · 8 months
Note
Hey. Thank you so much for writing amazing stories. Do you ever consider writing more of Bite Marks. I just think that chapter 1 is one of the best first chapters you've ever written. Much love.
Hey. I'm definitely not opposed to writing more BM!!! and I definitely want/plan to have it finished some day!! I just have to find the motivation to do it (and also remember wtf was going to happen in the story lol).
much love to u too <3
2 notes · View notes
Text
I Am Going To Eat My Printer
8 notes · View notes
niennanir · 9 months
Text
Listen to your elders
So last week I posted abut the importance of downloading your fic. And then three days later AO3 went down for 24 hours. No one was more weirded out by this than I was. But while y’all were acting like the library at Alexandria was on fire I was reading my download fic and editing chapter eight of Buck, Rogers, and the 21st Century. And also thinking about what I could do to be helpful when the crisis was actually over.
So first off, I’m going to repeat that if you’re going to bookmark a fic, you really need to also download the fic and back it up in a safe place. I just do it automatically now and it’s a good habit to get into.
But let’s talk about some other scenarios. Last October I lost power for over a week after hurricane Ian. Apart from not having internet or A/C I did find plenty to do, I collect books so I had plenty to read, but maybe, unlike me, your favorite comfort reads aren’t sitting on a bookshelf. So let’s do something about that, shall we?
In olden times many long years ago around 1995 we printed off a lot of fic. It was mostly SOP to print a fic you planned to reread and stick it in a three ring binder. And that’s totally valid today too, but you can also make a very nice paperback with a minimum amount of skill and materials.
Let’s start with the download; Go to Ao3 and select your fic, we’ll be working with one of mine. This method works best with one shots, long fic tends to need a more complicated approach. Get yourself an HTML download
Tumblr media
Open up the HTML download and select all then copy paste into any word processor. Set the page to landscape and two columns, then change the font to something you find easy to read, this is your book, no judgement. This is all you have to do for layout but I like to play a little bit. I move all the meta, summary, notes to the end and pick out a fun font for the title: 
Tumblr media
No time like the present to do a quick proofread. Congratulations, you’ve just created your first typeset. On to the fun part.
Now you’re going to need some materials:  8.5x11in paper ruler one sheet of 12x12 medium card stock (60-80lb) scissors pencil pen or fine tip marker sheet of wax paper white glue two binder clips 2 heavy books or 1 brick butter knife
You’ll also need a printer, if you’re in the US there is almost a 100% chance your local library has a printer you can use if you don’t have your own. None of these materials are expensive and you can literally use cheap copy paper and Elmers glue.
Print your text block, one page per side. Fold the first page in half so that the blank side is inside and the printed side out:
Tumblr media
use the butter knife to crease the edge. Repeat on all the sheets. When you’ve finished, stack them up with the raw edge on the left and the folded edge on the right. I used standard copy paper, because you’re only printing on one side there’s no bleed to worry about. Take the text block and line everything up. Use the binder clips to hold the raw edge in place.
Wrap the text block in the wax paper so that the raw edge and binder clips are facing out. I’m going to use my home built book press but you don’t need one, a brick or a couple of books or anything else heavy will work fine.
Tumblr media
Once the text block is anchored down, take off he binder clips and get out the glue.
Tumblr media
You can use a brush but you don’t need one, smear some glue on that raw edge.
Go make a margarita, watch The Mandalorian, call your mother. Don’t come back for at least an hour
In an hour smear some more glue on there and shift your brick forward so that the whole book is covered. This keeps the paper from warping. While glue part 2 is drying we’ll do the cover. Get out your 12x12 cardstock
Tumblr media
Mark the cardstock off at 8.5 inches and cut it. Measure in 5.5 inches from the left and put in a score line with the butter knife (the back edge not the sharp edge)
Carefully fold the score line, this is your front cover. You have some options for the cover title, you can use a cutting machine like a cricut if you have one, you can print out a title on the computer and use carbon paper to transfer the text to the cardstock. I was in a mood so I just freehanded that beoch. Pencil first then in pen.
Take your text block out from under your brick. Line it up against the score mark and mark the second score on the other side of the spine
Tumblr media
Fold the score and glue the textblock into the cover at the spine. Once the glue dries up mark the back cover with the pencil and then trim the back cover to fit with your scissors.
Voila:
Tumblr media Tumblr media
I’m going to put this baby on the shelf next to the Silmarillion.
The whole process, not counting drying time, took less than an hour.
If you want to make a book of a longer fic, I recommend Renegade Publishing, they have a ton of resources for fan-binders. 
20K notes · View notes
Text
6 character sheets condensed down to a single printable page each, 31 to go
1 note · View note
Text
If you took a survey, I wonder how many people who enjoy ebooks read fanfiction, and how many people who look at you in horror and disgust and say, with some kind of weird ‘I’m better than you’ tone, “Oh no, I read real books”, don’t read fanfiction?
I wonder if there’s a correlation between fanfic reading and an acceptance and love of ebooks?
0 notes
macfrog · 8 months
Text
mile high sex on fire chapter three
we're going overseas baby! (this is gonna be a three-parter cause i hyperfixated and couldn't stop myself so BUCKLE UP) author's note: i absolutely do NOT condone the use of private jets. they are GROSS and terrible for the environment and just fucking fly commerical ok? but in this ceo!joel ficland, private jets are fuelled by delusion and emit only clean, pure oxygen. thank you for reading. now, with that in mind, please enjoy reader being railed in a plane cabin. i love u all to paris n back 🤍🥐
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader
summary: you accompany joel on a work trip to paris, to eat good food, drink expensive wine, and…get to know each other a little better
warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) environmental crime, plane sex, fingering, handjob, unprotected piv sex, daddy kink, joel being a fucking exhibitionist menace, creampie, more gf representation, showering together, softdom!joel, sugardaddy!joel, heavy on the flirting, age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), cursing, very ridiculous spending on very ridiculous things, workplace relationship and therefore odd power dynamic yadda yadda yadda
word count: 6.3k
series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist
Joel’s fingers squeeze your hips, his pace quickens even more. “Louder.” “They’re gonna – ah – they’re gonna hear.” “Who?” Joel asks. He knows damn well who. You’re only separated by a thin paneled wall. You’d be fucking surprised if the flight attendants haven’t been hearing you for the last twenty minutes. “Baby,” Joel’s voice coos as he bends forward, sweaty chest flat against your back. His lips line with your ear, his breath hot on your skin. “They get paid not to hear.”
You’ve never been on a work trip with Joel. Usually, he likes to take them alone. Martha told you once about a time a couple years before you started when Joel took an intern to a conference in Canada, and the kid spent the entire first night in the hotel bar, missed the conference the next day, and only just made the flight home, scruff of his neck between Joel’s knuckles.
He racked up a bill of nearly a thousand dollars just on liqueur and finger food. Joel had sworn he’d never take anybody anywhere with him again.
But there’s this client over in Europe he’s due to meet – an annual thing where they sit on the terrace of some luxurious hotel, drink expensive wine that tastes like piss, according to Joel, and have a cock-off over their money and status.
Sounds like fun, right?
You’ve a pretty good idea why he asked you. And he made a pretty convincing pitch: he’d promised you a relaxing weekend. You didn’t have to sit in on any meetings, he’d let you amble around the city by day, take you for a fancy dinner or two at night. All expenses paid. You barely had to lift a finger.
As per the deal, Martha organized the travel documents. Printed them, collated them, handed them to you in a neat little folder with a paperclip on top and a Post-It note with Have fun! written in red ink. You’d slipped it into your bag and followed Joel to his car, nodding to Rand as you ducked under the starlit ceiling.
Joel’s left hand sits around your thigh – because where else would it be? – his right clutching his phone, thumb scrolling as he absentmindedly reads some document. You’re watching the city soar by from behind tinted glass. Before long, it’s the dark green of trees flickering by, and then, canvased by the clear blue sky, an air traffic control tower in the distance.
The Rolls saunters past the main entrance to the airport. You watch it roll by, leaning forward in your seat.
“Wait, what…?”
“What, baby?” Joel asks, looking up from his phone.
You usually knew every fine detail of the plan by heart. It was your job to. But with Martha being in charge of arranging your flight, you’d missed one crucial speck of information this time. And that is –
You’re travelling by private fucking jet.
The car drives across smooth tarmac toward a pointed white plane, bold against the brilliant blue sky behind it. There are four people standing at the bottom of the steps leading into it; what you assume are the two pilots, and two smartly dressed flight attendants.
“How did I never know you had a…?”
Joel smirks. “Never showed you it. C’mon.”
He gets out, strolls around to your door and opens it for you. You’re still gawking at the jet.
“Jeez…” you whisper, hopping out of the car.
“What is it?” he says through a chuckle, leading you across the tarmac.
“I feel so…Everyone looks so…I’m in my fucking sweatpants, Joel.”
He looks at you under low brows, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. Like he doesn’t want to hear one more word of it. He holds an arm out; his pinkie bumps into your tummy.
“I think you look beautiful, darlin’.”
It might’ve stopped you in your tracks. Might’ve crumbled the entire airport to dust. Might’ve made the sun drop out of the sky. You’re not sure. You wouldn’t notice if you dropped dead right now.
His words, his soft voice when he says them, send a pang of white noise through your ears, echoing around and bouncing off the walls of your head.
You swallow. Digest what he just said. And do your best to forget all about it.
Joel takes your hand and leads you to the plane steps, helping you up. He follows at your heels. “Thanks, Jerry, Lisa,” he says. You give both pilots a nervous smile as you pass.
The airconditioned cabin chills your arms when you reach the top, twisting around to look back to Joel.
“Go on.” Joel nods, palm ushering you inside.
You step forward and turn right, standing in the doorway to a pristine, white-walled, wooden interior cabin, leather seats dotted against the walls, dark brown glassy tables between them, soft gray carpet at your feet, vacuum cleaner lines still visible. There’s a long plush couch on the left wall, today’s newspaper on the side table next to it.
You feel Joel’s body shell around yours, his chin dips against your ear.
“Like it?”
“Not really. Feelin’ pretty guilty about all the air pollution.”
“How many trees you want me to plant to make up for it?”
You tut. “What are you doin’ in business? You’re so funny.”
You wander off without looking back, heading for one of the window seats.
“Uh,” Joel clears his throat, “there’s a separate cabin up back, too, if you want it.”
“Separate cabin?”
He nods. “’s got a bed. It’s cozy.”
A bed. Of course this asshole has a fucking bed in his private jet.
The pilots file in behind him, dipping into the cockpit. The flight attendants follow, and begin preparing for takeoff. Joel strolls over to the seat opposite yours, giving your legs a nudge under the varnished table when he sits down.
You both click your seatbelts into place, relax, and look out the window as the jet rolls by the airport, heading for the runway. The engine fires up properly, a deep hum you feel rattling up your spine, and then you’re pulled forward, body pushing heavily into the soft leather of your seat.
The plane races down the runway, the grass and trees blurring into a mix of dark and light green, before you’re lifting off the tarmac and into the air, your tummy flipping a little from excitement and maybe some nerves, and…Joel’s gaze on you.
When your eyes meet his, he scans down. Your little black t-shirt, skin tight. The way your breasts rise and fall with your breathing. Down to the waist of your sweatpants, then further down your legs. You know exactly what’s going through his mind.
And, honestly…being on a private jet on your way to a free weekend in Paris, accompanied by the best sex you’ve ever had…? Goes against a couple of your core beliefs about the world, but you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t on your mind, too.
The flight attendants let you guys know you can unbuckle your belts now, and, like a hive mind, you both unclip them and stand.
“Was gonna go check out that, uh–”
“I’ll show you to it,” Joel cuts in, taking your bag and leading you down the aircraft. He dips his head as he walks, the cabin too small for him to stand straight. You follow like a fucking dog, trying to hide the spring in your step.
Through a door concealed to look like part of the wall is a small room with a double bed, soft white sheets untouched. There’s a little TV on the wall opposite, a small table with another comfy chair by one of the windows, and a rail for hanging up clothes. The shades over the windows are pulled almost all the way down, sunlight splintering through and lining the soft carpet.
Joel wasn’t wrong. It is cozy.
He sets your bag down on the floor and closes the door behind you. You notice he locks it.
The corners of your lips tug, your eyebrows raise. “Might be classier than my bedroom.”
He scoffs, and you turn, falling back onto the bed and kicking your shoes off.
“Alright,” you announce, flat-out on the sheets, “I’m gonna get some shut-eye.”
Joel looks surprised. Almost – offended. “Sh…You’re gonna sleep?”
“’s why you got a bed, ain’t it?”
He narrows his eyes, runs his tongue along the bottom of his teeth. Steps forward. Sticks a knee between yours. “Not exactly.”
You smile up at him. He’s pulling the jacket from his shoulders, plain white tee underneath. He looks so fucking good. The man always looks so fucking good. He tosses the jacket to the floor and bends down over you. Hands pressing deep into the bed either side of your head, torso hovering over yours. Hips just too far away for you to lift yours up to meet them.
You take hold of his wrists. “Then…show me what it’s for.”
Joel looks from your lips to your chest, then back up to your eyes, grinning like a devil. He lifts one hand and his fingers come down to play with the drawstring of your sweatpants, tugging painfully slow on them. You want to whine, but that’d be letting him win too easily.
He loosens the waist and his fingers find the hem of your tee tucked beneath.
“You gonna show me those pretty tits, baby?”
You nod, biting your lip as he peels your top from your body, your back arching, arms splaying out on the bed. Joel uncovers your chest and slips the top over your head, discarding it to the side and leaning back to take the view in.
You didn’t wear a bra today. Wanted to travel in as much comfort as possible.
One of your wiser choices.
“Fuck, darlin’…” he breathes, eyes set on your perky tits, your round, hardened nipples. His reaction sends a fleet of electricity down to your core.
“C’mere,” you whisper, taking his shirt in your fists and dragging him down against your naked torso. And then his hips are there, right against yours, and you grind up into him, feeling his bulging crotch between your legs.
Your fingers dance along the hem of his shirt and he lifts off of you, letting you tug it over his head before his chest is pressed back against yours. You part your lips and he fills your mouth with his tongue, hands in your hair, body grinding against your own. He’s pushing you further up the mattress until you’re both in the center, disturbing the sheets and shifting the cushions decorating the bed.
Joel’s hand trails down your naked stomach and under your pants, cutting past the lace of your underwear to cup your mound, middle finger daring ever lower. You moan and drag your hips forward to edge his fingers further, until they’re dipping between your folds and your body’s rolling with pleasure.
“Yeah,” Joel murmurs, “that’s it, huh? That’s what you want?”
“Uhuh,” you nod, bottom lip between your teeth, eyelashes batting in a plea for him to keep going. Keep fucking going.
His mouth dips between your jaw and your shoulder, teeth picking up your hot skin to suck a bruise while two fingers push inside of you, lifting your back from the mattress and into Joel’s rock-solid body. Some noise escapes his lips, something caught between a laugh and a groan.
“So tight, baby,” he murmurs, drawing a smile across your face.
And then your hands are messing around at his waistband, fingers fumbling with the button. Wanting him in your hands as much as he has you around his own. Needing to feel what you’re doing to him, since he’s well aware of what he’s done to you.
Joel’s hand slips gently out from under your pants and his weight lifts off of you. In the slivers of light streaming through the cabin windows, his silhouette steps back off the bed and shoves the denim down his thighs. His jeans hit the floor and as quick as he left you, he’s back pressing into you again, hard outline of his length nudging against the top of your thigh.
You slip a hand under the elastic of his underwear and take hold of his cock, while he picks up where he left off between your legs. Your lips connect, breathing laughs and pants and desperate moans into each other, hands working to push each other closer and closer…
Joel’s fingers pump in and out, curling just enough to hit your G-spot every time. His thumb’s bumping at your clit, pushing waves of pleasure with each circle. He adds a third finger when you start to gasp, the movement of your fist around his shaft becoming messy and staggered. You’re trying to focus on him, trying to get him there as fast as he’s getting you, but he’s so fucking good at it, and you’re starting to fade out of the cabin.
Your eyes roll shut; head falls back against the bed. You’re still trying to fucking jack him off, as if he’d even let himself cum in your hands before he’s been inside you. But you’re desperately trying not to give him the satisfaction of having you unfold on his hand less than ten minutes into this. Desperately trying not to give in to him and his stupid private jet.
“It’s okay, baby,” Joel whispers in your ear, pressing a delicate kiss to your hair, “you can cum. Do it for me.”
“F-uck you,” you whisper, and you cave.
Let’s put it down to the air pressure when you’re this high up. In fact, let’s just say: you’re on a plane, and you’ve never had anything remotely close to sex on a plane before, and that’s why, when your orgasm bursts through, you cum harder than you think you’ve ever done before. It’s because of how fucking insane this is.
Let’s just say.
You come to with your face buried in the crook of Joel’s neck. His chest is vibrating, Adam’s apple bobbing. You pull back and notice the dimples in his swollen cheeks, the crow’s feet by his eyes, and then…the wide smile spread across his lips.
“That feel good, darlin’?” he asks through a laugh.
You curse at him again, eyes screwing shut. His hand’s still between your legs, slowly moving in and out, lulling you through the tail end of your orgasm. Your hands have deserted their original job; they’re clutching Joel’s shoulders. You don’t even remember grabbing onto him.
“Got somethin’ that’ll make you feel even better,” he breathes, and before you’re fully awake, his hands are on your hips, flipping you over. He drags your pants down your legs, discarding them to the floor beside his.
You sigh when he pulls your ass up into the air, resting your ear on your folded arms. Accepting defeat, or maybe just…letting him do what he does best.
Joel slips your panties to the side and runs his cock up and down your dripping cunt. You flinch, still sensitive, and feel him slow down.
“Gonna make you feel real good, alright?”
“Mhm,” you reply, eyes closing again as he lines up.
It sounds like a bit of a dumb thing to say. Joel makes you feel good every time his hands are on you, without question. Even that first night, in that dive bar, before he’d ever really done anything. His hands sent electricity through your body that you failed all weekend to rid yourself of. But you hear what he’s really saying.
You haven’t had each other yet without someone on the other side of the wall, waiting for one of you. It’s always been a rush, always been about that race to the finish line just to satisfy your needs, and then return to Earth as soon as you’re done.
There’s no need to rush to that finish line this time around. Nobody’s waiting. Joel can do whatever he wants, can fuck you however he likes, and have you under his hand for as long as he wants. As long as you both last.
The bed makes sense now, doesn’t it?
He pushes inside you, thick, hard, full. You gasp, face burying into the comforter, legs spreading to accommodate his size. Your fingers grasp onto the sheets, nails digging into the soft fabric as he fills you up, pulls halfway out, and rocks back in.
“Fuck, Joel,” you cry, and his hips slam into yours.
“Huh?” he asks.
“Daddy,” you correct yourself, still gasping.
“Better.”
Joel pounds into you, strong grip on your waist, pulling you up and down his cock at a punishing pace. His grunts match your whines. Your hand stretches out to grab something – anything – to hold onto, to steady yourself as your body begins to collapse.
“Daddy,” you mewl again, muffled by the cotton of the sheets, like it’s the only word coming to mind. “So – fuckin’ – good.”
“Louder, baby,” he replies, groaning when you tighten around him.
You whimper. “F-fuck, daddy.”
Joel’s fingers squeeze your hips, his pace quickens even more. “Louder.”
“They’re gonna – ah – they’re gonna hear.”
“Who?” Joel asks.
He knows damn well who. You’re only separated by a thin paneled wall. You’d be fucking surprised if the flight attendants haven’t been hearing you for the last twenty minutes.
“Baby,” Joel’s voice coos as he bends forward, sweaty chest flat against your back. His lips line with your ear, his breath hot on your skin. “They get paid not to hear.”
His hips crack into yours again once, and then halt. You cry out, the sudden feeling of him in his entirety, filling you up, pushing right up against your cervix, too much to bear. Too much to be muffled by the mattress beneath you.
“Let – them,” Joel’s hips drag back, slow, leaving you empty, “hear – you.”
He thrusts forward again, painfully, and you moan. Loud. “Ah, daddy,” you cry out again, and you swear Joel’s chest rumbles behind you with a laugh.
“That’s it, good girl. Tell ‘em how good it feels.”
You feel your mind start to slip, the cabin going with it. Your eyes roll closed, your mouth falls open. The only sound escaping your lips a whine, over and over, shaped just like the word daddy, daddy, daddy.
Joel’s forehead rests on the crown of yours, his voice a soft hum at the nape of your neck.
“See? Sound way too pretty to keep quiet, darlin’.”
He’s panting, words spilling out of his mouth between gasps and grunts. Hips are snapping at a grueling pace. You reach for his wrists again, planted in the bed either side of your head, and squeeze as if it might relieve the building tension in the pit of your stomach.
But he’s going so fast, so hard, fucking you dumb. And you can feel him start to falter, when your walls hold him snug, tightening around him as you reach your high.
He cums when you do. You feel him empty inside you as you hurtle through your own orgasm, rippling bliss all around your body. You both cry out, filling the tiny room with groans of pleasure and release together.
Your hips give, fall flat to the mattress, Joel still inside, slowly rocking back and forth, pushing his cum deeper and deeper inside you.
His elbows sink into the bed at your shoulders, caging you under his body as the remnants of your highs wash away. He’s running soft, wet kisses from your neck down the top of your spine. When your body stills, the pulsing of your cunt a mere flutter, he slips out from between your legs and pushes up off of your body.
Joel collapses alongside you atop the tangle of sheets and pillows, skin sticking, bodies thrumming with energy. You roll over to lie next to him. Chests rising and falling in unison, fingers intertwining at your sides. You’re staring at the ceiling, head tilting to rest on Joel’s shoulder, and he places a soft kiss to your hair.
You glance up to look into his brown eyes, lit by the thin rays of bursting sunlight seeping through the windows. The way the light moves across him as the plane turns, brilliant rays sweeping over the horizon and reflecting every angle of his face.
When he notices you, he dips his chin, and you prop yourself up, pressing your lips to his. Joel holds your jaw softly, thumb grazing over your cheekbone. His other hand scoops around your back, holding your body close to his.
“Sleepy,” you mutter, and he nods.
“Get some rest,” he tells you, but you’re already laying your head down on his chest.
Your heavy eyes blink the jet out of view; Joel’s hand stroking your hair sends you off to sleep.
----------
You wake under the white sheets, still wrapped up in Joel’s arms, to the sound of voices on the TV. Some comedy movie. Sounds like Adam Sandler. Joel mutes it when he notices you stirring.
“Afternoon,” he mutters, voice husky.
“Hi,” you reply softly, and his hand runs through your hair. “How long was I out?”
“Only a little while. They’re probably getting ready for lunch. You want me to head out first?”
You nod, suddenly feeling ashamed…and hungry. “Yeah. ‘n can you…make sure they don’t ask?”
“They ain’t gonna ask,” he groans, laughing as you roll off his body and let him up.
You watch as he dresses himself, toned arms pulling his tee over broad shoulders; tan legs slipping back into neat jeans. He slings his jacket over his arm and bends back down over you to let you kiss him again – slow, deep. Something of a thanks, a you’re welcome, maybe. A marker, anyway. A prelude to this weekend.
And then he slips out front. You lock the door behind him and start collecting your clothes, hopping around the cabin as you pull them on.
Before you leave, you grab a hoodie from your bag, feeling a little more exposed than you did when you first boarded. You toss it over your shoulders and open the door.
“Couple more hours,” Joel tells you as you sit opposite him, propping your ankles on his lap. His hands run over your socks, brows furrowing when he notices the pattern. “Bart Simpson?”
“Comfiest socks I own. Good plane socks.”
“Alright.”
“Go on. Make fun of ‘em.”
“I didn’t say anything. You want somethin’ to eat?”
You smirk. “Sure.”
He pours you a glass of water from the metal jug on the table between you both, and one of the attendants appears as if by magic on your right.
“Got you gluten free stuff,” Joel says as you gulp at the ice water.
You almost choke. “Seriously?”
His face twists, confused. Mirroring your astonishment. “Yeah. You think I’d let you starve?”
You almost laugh before you hear it, and realize how sweet it is. You didn’t even know Joel noticed this stuff. Didn’t think it’d be on his radar.
“Thank you,” you whisper, lifting your glass to mask the blush burning across your cheeks.
Joel nods once. Then turns to the attendant and asks for a burger, side of fries, side of onion rings. “We got sweet potato fries, Len?” he asks.
“Think so,” Len replies. “Want them instead? Or both?”
Joel thinks it over for probably two seconds, before he shrugs and says, “Both. Thanks, man.”
Len turns to you, but you’re still staring at Joel. “Unbelievable,” you mutter.
Joel holds his hands out. “I’m hungry.”
You give Len a smile. “What’s…What can I have?”
“We got gluten free flour, bread, pasta, uh…garlic bread for sides, too. And a couple desserts.”
“What the f…?” You stare at Joel. “You didn’t have to–”
“Just order, baby,” Joel says, palm facing you, stopping you from going on.
“I’ll, uh…You do fried chicken?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’ll have fried chicken, side of fries, and coleslaw, if you have it, please.”
Len nods curtly and heads back up front, leaving you and Joel on your own again. You finish your thought.
“What the fuck?”
He’s chuckling. “What?”
“You…This is…Nothing, you just…you blow my mind, every time.”
Joel shrugs, grinning. “Blow your back out, ‘n all.”
“Alright.” You snatch your ankles from his grasp – Bart’s toothy smirk slipping from between Joel’s fingers – and sit up straight, looking out of the window to the dazzling sky; bright blue on top and fluffy white clouds beneath.
Your food arrives shortly after and the pair of you eat in comfortable silence. Joel checks through his emails, you sit back in your seat with your headphones in. It’s nice, not having a phone to answer or Joel’s schedule to fix. Nicer, still, having him feet away from you, giving you all the attention you could possibly want at the drop of a hat.
You land in Paris at 10PM local time. Straight off the plane and into another sleek, black car, driven by a gray-haired, sharp-suited man named Denis whose hand Joel shakes before climbing in beside you. He slides into the leather seat and you fall against one another, your head on his shoulder. Partition wound up, though neither of you feel much like doing anything that’d require privacy. Your eyes are tired, heavy, you smell like eight hours’ worth of plane, and you’re basically salivating at the thought of collapsing into a huge, soft, clean bed.
Which is exactly what the pair of you do when you reach the hotel. You’re in some extravagant suite picked by Joel; you manage two glances around the dark place before he’s leading you by hand off to the bedroom, cases still parked at the front door.
And before you know it, you’re sinking into the plush sheets of a king-size bed, limbs entangled with Joel’s, city lights twinkling through the window into your sleep-glazed eyes as you drift off.
----------
Day breaks across Paris around seven in the morning. You wake with the blue glow of the sky, dusty pink on the horizon bleeding upward as the sun rises higher. When your eyes open and adjust to the light, you glance over Joel’s still sleeping body and notice the view behind him, split in half by the silhouette of the Eiffel Tower.
The curtains are still pulled back – neither of you noticed nor had the energy to shut them when you arrived. You’re both still in your clothes from yesterday, too. Joel managed to kick off his shoes, and you remember him pulling yours off before he fell into the bed next to you. You didn’t even sleep under the bedsheets.
You push yourself up off the bed, stretching your back and glancing around. This room is fucking nuts. Gold accented – gold handles, gold light switches, gold frames. Pretentious modern art decorating each wall, an upholstered headboard that almost touches the ceiling in front of you. Marble-topped nightstands with spotless silver lamps, glinting in the light.
You roll off of the bed, Bart Simpson socks landing on soft carpet, though his face has been awkwardly twisted around your ankle in your sleep. You shuffle off to a door on the left, leading down a small hallway – past some fancy ornate vase – to the living room: a wide, open space with the same floor-to-ceiling windows as the bedroom, looking out to the same view.
Two velvet couches sit opposite one another, a white marble coffee table sat between. Behind them, a dining table with eight chairs. Gleaming varnished wood. And then, through a couple more doors, a kitchenette with modern white cabinets, a coffee machine, a microwave.
Fucking. Nuts.
You hear Joel stirring in the bedroom and wander back through, dazed with sleep and amazement at this place. He’s rubbing his eyes when you walk in and spring down on top of him on the bed.
“Mornin’,” he grumbles, voice thick and husky. His hands fall onto your thighs, sat either side of his waist, and his eyes flutter open. “You’re energetic.”
“Have you fucking seen this place?”
“I have. Stay here every year.”
You press further into him, feeling a swell in his jeans and doing your best to ignore it.
“Can we go explore?”
“Outside?”
You nod eagerly, despite the way his face screws up.
“Baby,” he sighs, “I’m still in my damn jeans.”
“So, go shower. Get dressed.”
He’s not done protesting. “We travelled for, like, nine hours straight yesterday.”
“’n now we’re here and we ain’t here long, so let’s go do something. C’mon.”
You lace your fingers through Joel’s and pull him up toward you, sitting in his lap on the bed. He buries his face in your chest, mumbling something incoherent into the cotton of your shirt.
You giggle. “Huh? Can’t hear you.”
Joel pulls back with a sigh and rolls his eyes dramatically. “Alright,” he says, “go get ready.”
You leap off of him with a quiet squeal of glee.
As you pace around the suite, dragging your case into the bedroom, fishing some clean clothes and your toothbrush out, practically skipping into the marble-tiled shower room, Joel lays back in bed watching your every move. Smiling, eyebrows lifting with encouragement anytime you look over to him. Head resting back in the crook of his arm, sleepy eyes taking in all of your excitement.
You’re rinsing shampoo out of your hair when he slides into the shower behind you, a quick kiss to your shoulder.
“No sex,” you tell him with a pointed finger, squeezing the lemon scented gel into the palm of your hand.
“No, ma’am,” he says with a smirk, dipping his head to let you lather up the suds in his salt and pepper hair. “So, where we goin’?”
You shrug. “Wherever. Lots to do in Paris.”
“Wanna get you somethin’ nice,” he says, eyes screwed shut as he runs his head under the flow of water, “a thanks for comin’ with me.”
“I think maybe the private jet, the hotel room, plus the free trip in itself is thanks enough, Joel.”
But Joel disagrees. Heartily, apparently.
He takes your hand and helps you out of the car on a tree-lined street, tall cream buildings on either side. It looks like a movie set. You’re following Joel’s lead, spending more time craning your neck to look up at the huge, ornate windows guarded by black balconettes while he guides you across cobblestone toward the smoothly paved sidewalk.
You’re not even paying attention to where he’s taking you until you’re stood in the middle of a glistening store, plush rug under your feet, lavish chairs in the center of the room, a rainbow of fashion surrounding you.
“What…? No, Joel.”
“Hm?” he asks, eyes scanning the room. He takes a step, and you tug on his arm.
“I can’t fucking afford Gucci,” you whisper, pulling his body back against yours.
He hands you a bemused smile, eyebrows low, corners of his lips pulled. “All expenses paid, baby.”
Your arm falls limp and he drags you through the store, past mannequins in patterned gowns and silk shirts, past shelves of obnoxiously huge purses and accessories gleaming in the spotlights from above.
Your fingers stay locked around Joel’s hand, your head swiveling so much you worry it might fall off, looking from the vibrant floral wallpaper down to the spotless tiled floor, glancing politely at attendants and then dipping your head and wandering by them behind Joel.
“See anything?” he asks, turning to you at the opposite end of the store.
It’s ridiculous. This entire trip…is ridiculous, and you’ve only been here twelve hours. Following around at Joel’s heels like a puppy, watching as he clicks his fingers – no, before he even gets the chance to click his fingers – and everything and anything either of you could dream up just…happens. Right in front of you.
He won’t let up. You know him. If you tried to pull him back outside onto the street, he’d buy you something for the hell of it.
You know him. So, you decide to use that to your advantage.
“Gucci…I dunno…” you muse, squinting at him.
“Not your thing?” he asks, and he seems curious, but – you know him. You know that behind that polite mask is a smirk thick enough to make your knees wobble. He knows what you’re doing. “Where to, angel?”
You lead him out of the store. Feel his shadow behind you, watching as you thank the doorman and take a left around the corner, passing under the shade of the gently rustling trees. Arm in arm, you arrive before a huge archway, pristine windows surrounding the door to…
“Dolce & Gabbana…” Joel looks up at the stone writing atop the arch. “Alright. Classy girl.”
You giggle, pulling him past the wrought-iron fence and inside.
It’s sleeker, moodier. Less in your face. Suits you a bit better, though you can’t quite swallow back the guilt that sticks in your throat as you saunter around, Joel right behind you. It catches you when an assistant touches your arm, snapping you out of your daze, and asks if you need anything.
“No, thank you,” you reply, mirroring her smile. “Thank you.”
She nods and floats off.
Joel’s frame shells around yours, dipping his jaw to lean against your shoulder. “What about that one?” His eyes flit up to a mannequin just past a lit table of purses.
“The black one?”
“Mhm.”
“You like that?”
He repeats, a little more exaggerated: “Mhm.”
You shrug. “I do look good in black.”
“Look better in nothin’.” Joel steps forward and takes the tag between two delicate fingers, deliberately hiding it from you. He turns back, lifts his eyebrows in question. “Buy you it if you promise to wear it tonight.”
You smile. This man knows how to barter. And you take no convincing at all.
“Alright,” you accept, “deal.”
----------
Three hours later, you’re strolling down another cobbled street with an ice cream in your hand. And not much else, by the way. Joel’s taken all the shopping bags back to the hotel. He slapped your hand away when you tried to lift one of them from his clutches.
The wind sifts gently through your hair, cooling your face and neck, toying with the hem of the oversized shirt you’re wearing. It flutters the French flags overhead, red, white and blue blowing in the breeze. Cars roll by, engines humming as they weave in and out between one another, horns calling out in the distance.
Joel hadn’t let you come up to the counter to pay with him, had insisted you stay right where you were standing, and when he finished up and laced his fingers through yours, it was like a surge of energy had shot through him.
He led you out of the store and into another, and another, and another…until his hands were wrapped around, what, six bags? All carrying different components of your outfit for tonight.
And then he’d noticed the time – unlocked his phone with a curse under his breath, and kissed your temple. Midday. He was meeting Jean-Marc in an hour.
“You wanna come back with me? Chill at the hotel?” he’d asked, dialing his chauffeur’s number.
“I’m good,” you said, smiling sweetly as he squeezed your shoulder. Then, he pulled his wallet from his back pocket and handed you his card.
“’case you see anything else you want.”
“Joel,” you protested, but he’d shut you up by clicking his teeth and walking off, leaving you to follow after him, shamelessly beaming.
He’d apologized another three times before Denis had pulled up, then once more as he loaded the trunk with your bags.
“See you later. Enjoy your meeting,” you teased, laughing at the way his face twisted into a grimace as the car rolled off.
It’d been a pretty nice afternoon. You’d dipped into a couple more stores – though, without Joel to impress, the low-cut dresses and short miniskirts were somewhat less exciting.
That is, until you passed by a lingerie store. You stood outside for a second, peering by your reflection in the window to study what lay behind. Suddenly lace and satin – and the idea of Joel seeing you in them – seemed a lot more enticing.
You’d pieced together an entire getup: bra, panties, garter belt, even a pair of stockings, and a silk robe to go over the top. You handed over Joel’s card, ignoring the way your cheeks began to heat and focusing instead on how smug you felt, and skipped out of the store, bag in hand.
You’d called Denis five minutes ago to ask for a ride back to the hotel. He called you Madame, he said Nonono every time you apologized for bothering him again, and he promised he’d be there in less than ten minutes.
You pace back and forth along the curb, waiting for the shiny black Maybach to pull up. You’ve checked your phone, like, five times already, kinda hoping there’ll be a text from Joel. You swing the bag between your fingers.
A door swings open behind you, giggles filter out into the street, and you turn to see a couple bounding out of a jewelers, hand in hand. She flicks her left wrist up, tilts it in the sun. It’s hard to ignore the light bouncing off of her ring finger. You feel nauseous at the sight.
Suddenly the Parisian street dissolves, and what sweeps over in replacement is a long, empty lawn, maple trees swaying menacingly in the distance. There’s a blur of bright blue sky, sunrays bursting across your vision. Your hand comes up to shield your eyes, and there he is. There he was.
He was on the grass. You told him to stand up; his suit trousers would be stained green. He did it anyway. Trembling hands, expectant stare. You stuttered and stammered your way through a sentence fueled by shock and horror and…resentment.
And then you did it anyway, too.
The crackle of tires coming to a stop on the road in front drags your fraught gaze from the couple, now strutting off down the avenue. You reach for the door handle, but Denis is already out of the car and leaning down, hand on your back as you duck into the backseat.
----------
taglist: @nobodycanseeinsidemysoul @@isimpforfictionalmen @lizzie-cakes @sarahhxx03 @tobuildahomeinthewoods @whatsliferightnow @regalwhovianbrowncoat774 @casa-boiardi @earthtogrogu @sexygaypalpatine @cool-iguana @serenaxpedro @brittmb115 @pattwtf @pascalpvnk @jediknightjana @mrsquill @uncassettodiricordi @gracieispunk @hellishjoel
(lmk if i’ve missed you out & check my taglist info for how to be added!)
1K notes · View notes
24carathoney · 2 months
Text
Backseat | C.SC | 18+
Tumblr media
MDNI +18
Pairing: Seungcheol x FemReader 
Wc: 1.2k
Genre: Smut, no plot just porn
Warning: Minors do not interact! Seungcheol teasing // fingering (f. receiving) // oral (m. receiving) // public // use of pet names like princess and my love // Woozi graces us with his sass // Established Relationship
Summary: You and Seungcheol call dibs on the backseat.
Tumblr media
To say you were mortified was an understatement. Any of the boys can turn around and look you in your blissed out face that something was happening. What started out as subtle touches and quick glances ended up with your boyfriend's fingers thrusting in and out of your pussy in the backseat. You pulled at the blanket that was covering the two of you up to your nose as you spread your legs for better access. The book you were reading laid long forgotten, chapter lost once you realized you couldn't focus on the words printed on the pages.
“Seungcheol.” You sounded out his name as a warning and he turned to you with the most innocent smile on his face. 
“Yes my love?” He asked and you narrowed your eyes. “The guys are right in front of us.” He brushed along your slit in one swipe without a care in the world.
“Then I suggest you stay quiet princess.” His cold finger came in contact with your clit you grabbed onto his wrist, hips twitching from the sudden contact. Your eyes started to shift focus as he rubbed small circles around the throbbing bud with his thumb. You were thankful the radio was one and half the boys had headphones on, or eyes they would hear how wet you were at your boyfriend's assault on your core. He peppered kisses down your neck and you tilted your head to give him more access. He gave a harsh suck and you covered your mouth with your hand to swallow the moan that nearly slipped out. 
He scooped up some of your arousal, bringing his fingers in front of your face. You knew what he wanted and immediately opened your mouth, slowly taking his fingers down your throat tasting yourself. Thank God you could control your gag reflex or else the boys in front of you would erupt in chaos. Seungcheol had to hold back a groan of his own as he watched you suck on his fingers like you would his cock. Speaking of, he was throbbing under the restraints of his jeans, wanting nothing more than to have your walls milking him dry. But he was just fine watching you cum from his fingers, wanting to feel your clench around them. He slipped his hand into your shorts to quickly slip back into you and immediately curled his finger reaching that perfect spot inside you, enjoying the way you jolted next to him. You hid your face in his neck as you started circling your hips to match his thrusts. “Cheollie, the guys….” 
“But look at how needy you are. Fucking yourself on my fingers. What if someone turns around?” He continued to toy with you, just to see how far you'll go until you break. He's set on making you cum in the back seat when he adds a second finger to the mix, making sure to rub quick circles around your clit with his thumb. Applying pressure to the bud he watches you twitch in your seat, grabbing onto him to keep yourself grounded. 
“Is my baby gonna cum?” He whispered and you quickly nodded your head, the feeling becoming too much. Your hand tightly wrapped around his wrist as you started to flutter around his digits as you always did when the knot in your stomach unraveled. 
He grabs your chin, slamming his lips into yours, his tongue grazing your bottom lip, swallowing any sounds you made as you silently ride out your orgasm. He kisses along your neck, coaxing you through your mind shattering high, leaving you a little over sensitive. His breath fanning over your skin as he silently relishes his accomplishment. You leaned back into the seat with your eyes closed and hissed as he slowly pulled out his hand from your shorts, brushing against your throbbing clit. The feeling of emptiness quickly replaced that of the bliss you felt moments prior. He immediately moved to kiss you again, giving you the reassurance you needed as your body started to relax. When he pulled away you still had a dazed grin on your face, you bottom lip between your teeth becoming more aroused as he licked his fingers clean.
“You still with me baby?” He asked you quietly and you gave him a small nod, not being able to form words. Before he could go back to his phone, you dropped your hand in his lap, rubbing against the bulge in his pants. He raised an eyebrow at your mischievous grin, your eyes watching the boys ahead of you.
“I'm still here.” Before he could lay your head on his shoulder you had already unzipped his pants, scanning the van and leaning down to his lap. You didn't miss the way his cock pulsed as your breath fanned over the red tip. You dragged your tongue over the vein of his cock watching as his head fell back. You quickly took as much of him as you could in your mouth, bobbing your head up and down his length. This isn't the first time you'd given him a blowjob around the boys so you knew how to keep yourself quiet. You just wished the others weren't here so you'd be able to listen to the lewd sounds that he's holding back. Looking up at him through your lashes as you licked from the base to his tip, circling your tongue around his throbbing head. 
“Fuck.” His fingers tangled in your hair pushing you further down till the tip was touching the back of your throat. He knew you could take it so his hips slightly thrusted upwards, chasing his release that was on the brink. He let out a short groan as he stared down at you. His dick disappearing between your lips, your hands twisting around what was left as you worked him closer and closer to his own orgasm. He glanced up to make sure no one was looking before holding your head down against the base for a couple of seconds, enjoying the way your throat flexed as you tried not to gag. 
You tapped his thigh causing him to let go so you could come up for air. You pecked his lips before getting back to work, wanting him to cum down your throat. Within seconds you were back on him with your cheeks hollowed out and your hand in hiss jeans massaging his balls, that was enough to push him over the edge, long ribbons of his warm cum shooting down your tongue. His eyes flutter closed as his hips stutter and he stills with his tip in the back of your throat. He ran a hand through his hair when you sat up and opened your mouth, showing him you swallowed every drop. 
“That's my fucking girl.” He growled in your ear before grabbing your hair to guide you into his lips. After a quick make out he tucked himself back in his pants. “Guess we'll continue once we get to the lodge, yeah?”
“Damn right.” You grinned and continued your book for the rest of the ride until you arrived at your destination.  As everyone got out of the vehicle before you, Jihoon was quick to turn around and caught your gaze with his narrowed eyes.
“The next time you two call the backseat I'm sitting my ass up front.” He said quietly with a look of disgust before moving to exit out the door and you covered your mouth with your hand. Seungcheol threw his head back in laughter as you buried your face in your book.
417 notes · View notes
astralnymphh · 4 months
Text
saturated sanctity
tonguefucking raw in the barn, away from dina's eyes ౨ৎ
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
. part two 𝜗𝜚
❛you had cunt on your mind, 'n cum on your breath❜
PREVIOUS CHAPTER . NEXT CHAPTER > .ᐟ ♡. summary; a chore so innocent and prosaic, far from featherbedding and near to plucking grain from your scalp– turns for the worst, or the best? i soundly connote, fornication ventured on two bends of eager knees, drinking you from beneath the hood 𐙚 .ᐟ ♡. cw; depictions of infidelity, homewrecking, semi-risky sex, jealousy, bit angsty, tension, guilt, pining, tears are shed, playing around, lusting, clit stim (r, fingers and oral), fingering (r), pussy eating (r), scant nipple stim (r), ass groping, ass slapping, breast groping, swallowing slick, pussy slapping, steamy make-out buildup, dirty talk, needy ellie, smug ellie as usual, dom!ellie, sub!reader (i swear sub!ellie is coming next chapter) domestic acts, bold text is flashback dialogue, petnames; babe, baby, good girl (lmk if i missed anything) .ᐟ ♡. pairing; farm!ellie x farmhand!reader .ᐟ ♡. a/n; ending feels a little lazy but it is what it is. hey i'll pull through on ss3 that's like the smut crux, if u get my jizzst..
✵ masterlist ✵ series masterlist ✵ got too lazy 2 proofread right away ✵ WC; 9.8k+
Tumblr media Tumblr media
VOLUME TWO - The skin that flakes/ Under the hood
𝄞
Indulgences have the gall to peck at you. 
Pecky and prickly as the oncoming hens do, handwriting–on–the–wall misgivings that throttle you off a steady minute by minute track. Small nuances under light of sun kept doing so this week, numerous things apropos of bawdy suggestions wisped by that reckless pink snake of hers– always mere footsteps from running into Dina, ‘I think it would be, really, reaaally hot if you didn’t wear your p-panties at the table, tonight..’ always brain–caked in a bit of alcohol, hiccuping. Or, even when a cold cuff cocoons the hind of your upper–thigh, an inch below the crease of your butt and done as she passes like a ghost behind you in the kitchen. 
A plum bruise should have formed from how often you flicked that forehead of hers. But no, of course no. The only thing that formed each time was a cocky curl into her lips, corkscrewing those fine hazel freckles connate to a whirlpool in water.
Owing to the fact that she lacked sufficient care from you, has her pouting when you deny her. Denied her of that fiendish wish to lie beside each other– even if it be upon that packed sofa, or– of her vehement dreams, reposing within sniffing distance of an ambery lit fireplace, running her work–worn fingertips along your hill of chest, letting the beat beneath your breast verse in her hands a tale to beckon her own in accordance, toasting aflutter with love. She would push a kind pressure to said breast, emboss prints to squishy skin, mold it to her liking, and smirk when your nipple erects and bends under her hardy palm. 
On the other hand, woe of denial, she sought Dina in your figment. When she wasn't courting twisted fingers up your billowing skirt, she instead smelt her heart in twisting her from the inside out, which– even more woefully, gave Dina the impression that Ellie had come crawling back on starved knees. Woe is her, to misreckon and take what she thought was hers to safekeep.
Arteries, wrenched and awreck, you felt a toy in contrast to what really stood. Worry. 
Worries are the hens, pecking at you.
Will Dina catch you two here? Over there? This night, or the inbound day? Tines of time aren't obligated to tell, ringing of peril whenever they yen a sign to sow.
Thoughts would only continue to foment come light of day.
A lemony sun has risen beyond the hill laden skyline, plucking rays for your wake. Muted orange tones mingle and caper into flaming reds on the crest of your sealed eyelids, caught just as you bid adieu to your cotton sogged dream. For dreams die, at every crossroad.
“Mhh..” the gentlest brush of breath hinders sun washed quietude split, and a set of toes curving down to a stretch. Achy aches ache, as there’s enough ache to go around for farm hands such as you, ugh right? 
Disturbing be the sunlight drawing blinding rays on your bleary pupils, attempting to shade out familiar nooks of your room. Ah, there we go, hues of sable dark in unvisited corners and shyly crowding the light, fluid out of the clear glass pane. As the couch is situated opposite of this blaring window, it greets you quite rudely. 
The moment colors begin to mature and petrify within your vision, you're already hiking up a foot and rocking your bottom off the quaint sofa, veering a peek to the indent left. Slept like a log, huh? Feet plant weight on plods carrying you towards the wardrobe, grantingly aside the wide pearl–border window, flitting a forearm up to block incoming light. 
A huff bloats your cheeks and pouts ducky lips, then grumbling a burden off your shoulders, “Hhhmmmm..” no truer words were spoken.
You lodge fingers in oaken crevices and pull a sundry of drawers from their frame, rubbing cotton on wool as you dig without aim on what you may don, this or that, with which and what, where and when. Blah, yawn, bored, you avert your gaze on lucent glass and scrutinize a pine bough panorama– only for your eyes to spring and espy a sparkle.
A gleam of skin.
And a tuft of copper.
Ellie.
Her torso fit in a white ribbed tank, soaked in hues of gray at the dip cut collar, and handsomely clung to her perky breasts. An arm raises, a graceful length likeness of a canopy above her head, stretching freckled flesh over toned muscles, the grooves– shadowed in a whisper of brown, highlighted celestially, and exposing a small auburn bush beneath her pit. A seen groan escapes her slit gob, brows hefty– she crumples them dear into her eye sockets, ruching the thin skin. Exertion tapered her body akin to clay, and it was undeniably hot, scrunching her face up like that. Ellie then juts her hips forward and casts her head rearward as she stretches, releasing all tension in a swing of her arms down. 
Seems like she's tending to the fore yards.
Dew gleams honey, sweat paints skin, and portrays your girls as a ruddy rose in dashing spring. Ruddy, yeah, that solar ball in the sky sure made her skin popping arid of paleness. Naturally, her freckles betone like pepper, bulging on her red face– which scrunches in her gripe of stress.
Her lips part, mouthing an obvious, ‘Fucking hell.’ and baring teeth after, slightly. Lashes interwoven, her eyes stayed squinted, only to widen and dart when a muffled shout rattles the walls.
Right, fuck, Dina needs me.
Just as the drizzly auburn–head jogs from a peeking view and presumably into the house, you reverse and capsize through stacks of cloth until you land your choice– a sundress. Hey, it's hot today, let your butt breathe for a change. You dangle it by the thin straps prior to pleating up the skirt and slinking it over your crown, yanking every seam in place. Ruffles hit a stonecast above your knee, a sensible length.
But one question stands unturned.
Bra, or no bra?
Hmm.
No bra.
A proper chest of cotton cradles your breasts come rain or shine, not like Dina would mind with brine, nor judge off the heart– just freeing the girls. No biggie. The woven material lollops to a fare–thee–well, cozy on the curve, ribbing as it falls in place. Now, you just need something on your feet. Striding forth, waxing a gale, bare steps soften on each oak board's scant gap, sylvan grain texture grazing your toes. Just a few feet ayond the couch is your shoe cubby, small box frames home to varied work boots and scuffed sneakers, and based on today, you choose boots, clasping the hardy backstays in a pinch. You crouch and gripe at the sore sting your knees gave, manning it through and sliding foot by foot plumb to the squishy sole of your boots, tying up the cordy laces.
Guh, these boots are near rugged.
Ignoring the plain–in–sight fray to your boots’ hemp laces, you grasp and wrench the icy knob ‘round till the door grinds a cry open. Stepping under the arch, you brisk thump by thump and cut where the hallway bends, advancing the dining table.
A dyad of ears harks your growing din of solid steps, calling, “There you are, did'ja sleep like a log?” mellifluous notes of Dina's cadence carries, veering your sight on the kitchen– where she be, perching an oaken honeycomb rack to forearm.
That I did.
“Yuup–” you pirouette, spanning the table's border and hiking that very ridge plane into your butt, sighing, “sun was there to greet me, obnoxiously.” leaning into the table, you grouse lightheardedly.
“Oh shit– sorry ‘bout that, swear I'll put up a–”
“Don't worry, it's the one thing that actually wakes me up these days,” you crack a quip, chuckling with an open mouth.
Dina caters a kind tug on her mauve lips prior to whisking her eyes returned, a glossy honey to be. Syrupy knuckles press and crinkle in the hilt of a honey fork, pruning waxy slices and welling gold bubbles, crafting a drippy stream that canals into a glass bowl. Through laden light it gains a gilded life, casting a tiny star on the moist blob– and there you witness, nectar of the gods.
Capricious minds might have swiped a dollop of that sweet, sweet delicacy by now.
Weighing the silence, you tempt thoughts racing around your skull. What chore am I assigned today? Where is the cacophony of babbles and gurgles that follow Dina like a haunting spirit? Where did Ellie go? Ellie, Ellie, Els.
God did she look breathtaking in that tight–
A rush of thuds divert your curious eyes to the creaking stairs, preluding the swell of said babbles and a husky voice, Ellie's voice. 
“Dina?” hailed she, echoing halfway down the steps, “I changed his diaper!”
Dina cocks her head in heed, crowing back, “Okay! Just– give ‘im to her!” tone knocking against the hollowed walls, then, she sheers attention to you, “mind feeding him?” 
You hum a keen, “Mhm.” void of second qualms and wait on that certain honey–head to appear, hearing the increments of footsteps draw lower and nearer.
The honeylike cowl, stria of fawn auburn drapes soft strands to laze with a purpose on her neck, fashioning that scruffy mullet eyes prize after. Honeykin defines the head that tags after gray, deadbeat converse hop the last few steps and plant still on the oaken floor. For a honey so sinful sought you, and buys a bite of time, to stare.
Her liven pasture eyes catch on you, just a moment, and skip away, reminded of what she intends, “Uh, here.” her forearms unfurl and slink to you, offering JJ up in thankful arms.
You rub in bare flesh to hers, scooping the gurgly baby in a shyer than thankful human cradle, foreheads feckly bumping into each other as you swap, a ghosting of heads. A whaff of her work–spent scent digs into your brain, and you had to admit, it was a tinge sort of lovely. She had the farmyard tang about her, blessed with sweat, a firming physique, a stare that caught you a corpus melting in her esse.
Fairer than the weeks before her touching of you, the bounty it procured was tame, fair is the present. Fairest days, faring a harvest more splendid than dreams carping yonder ebony skies and heavy heads. An unruffled weightlessness many souls find hopes fed in, you found aplenty of in the waking world. With Ellie, you drank laughs, fiddled about the haystacks, snuck apples in your fist– nicking dewey chunks down her gullet in shared kisses, or let her shamelessly tug some of your ass meat in horny hands. Oh, isn't infidelity just the niftiest drug.
Smitten as a kitten, you are.
Carpe diem.
“You’ sleep well?” asked Els in monotone, pitching a paw up to weave through her jumbled locks, splitting strands.
Heaving a breeze, you sigh, “Decent enough, you?” and counter the question, bobbing your stance on bending knees– pray that baby doesn't scream, as always. 
“Like a baby,” she asserts, lush of a brag, dropping her hand and poking at the chubby–cheeked fella, who just got a free mention, “not so much this one, yeahh? Did you scream my ear off all night?” cooing.
“Mhm, heard that.” you add.
“Betcha did.”
“Hmm.”
Her eyes peek up, and goddess, it's that look again. Oh yes, the very gaze spilt upon the oaken table that hale spring day, a twinning star. These eyes, ladies and gentle–non–mens’, fondled a plight of husky play sat on the edge of her mucky mind, and it showed vividly in those flourishing pupils that thin her pine–lined eyes. Tilted smirk dotting dimples in her big appley cheeks, cuspid teeth goring a dint in chapped lips crying with dire need of moisture. Sexy– minus the lips maybe.
She knows what effect that look has.
What exactly sits vanward of that hormone tipsy mind, is an excerpt best served in the formula of two tongues tied– for even Ellie herself may strive to compose hunger incarnate at this fledgling hour of daybreak. And yet she cannot. The mere thought of your pussy clots her brain cells. So, how do we fix that?
Play pretend!
“Hey babe,” that auburnette already had her head whipped south towards Dina before you could flit a blink, feet sparking her a brisk carry yon the shabby oak floor. Creak, creak, clonk, foot by foot she departs a sliver of bitterness in your chest. 
A demure bitter, a sense you can simply shake off. For now.
“There you are..” spoken so softly from Dina, who still had a rack of flaxen honeycomb in her hold, slanting to an angle, “what took ya so long?” voice curling.
“Wasn't that long,” she emphasized her vowels, “m'here now..” 
“Good..” 
She was far from there.
“Mhh,” hummed Ellie, pressing her lips into a thin stroke, puckering about to intone a curly, “ohhh, honey– can I have a lick?”
“Mh–mm, that's for the apples.”
“Aww.”
A meshing of lovers. Real love, virgin love, dying love, feigned love, it all wreathes together on the outside– for the sake of earthly vein, tender were those emotions long ago. Hasty do the doves encircle a budding entanglement, and bells chime where dust remains uncollected on wanton hearts. Uncanny, do the crows crawl in their grandeur of an affection died– sprawling sooty wings through tough gravel and mushy mud, rendering them unable to fly again. Unearth that shit, and you're seated for a whole fuckfest, indeed. 
So consume what you see with a grain of shit–face nothingness.
Ellie slinks a glide upon Dina, pushing her harsher on the counter's nook and slumping arms to swaddle her torso. She cradled her in the natural bow of her body, projection of her bony hips plated dual plumb dimples in her ass, grinding with a purpose. Denim chafes on denim, bringing a light noise of fabricy licks. The cottony hem of her soiled tank begins to bunch with each rolled hump, proving the friction to be– lustful. Her hands wander her body, not yours, pausing and choking the fat plush of her thighs, losing sunny–ruddy pigment to wanting pressure, then releases, and traces back up.
Pupils of yours aimed so pinpoint on each sweep of her hand, yet, you bore an idle set of gestures. Cupping a waxy rubber bottle in your grasp, brimmed with milk opaque of lily–white and feinting a crisp chill to your fingertips, you park the nozzle to the baby's lips. Giving a squeeze with care, you feed him– idly, idly turned from the scene afore, except for your eyes.
Strain sets a pull on them as you stare.
A bitsy wince of, “Ellie..” dries moistness on her lips, shuddering to an ajar gasp.
“Mhm, like that?” husked with a bass that ripples, so, so deep in her diaphragm, you swore it nearly rattled your ears from where you poise.
A gasp died into, “We can't–” 
“But we can..” a frugal answer, meant for one pair of ears only. Only, what a joke. An ill timed joke on Dina.
Had it truly been for one person only, Ellie would not be striking risk right in the butt. Nifty as she is, juggling those risks aimlessly, she stares at you. The crown of her head ruffles up messily on her scruff as it pivots, flushed nose pointed to you, pale lids of supple creases kin to a beach cove as they open, batting reeds of chestnut everlasting. They flap, waiting for you, in the delay of that week–past chance snuffed. 
Intimidating, austere demeanor flowering in those buttony pupils– and she eyefucks you with them, even tugging a wink your way. A fucking wink. Her ploy of fondling Dina, so obscenely, clearly dirty, read in gold typeface as ‘Wish this was you.’ loud and proud. Much more so when her digits curl and dig dents in her waist, and her teeth carve marks as she bites her coral lip down, showing you. 
She's showing you how she wants to play with you.
Being an unwelcome voyeur, you felt the tail–tug to glance away. And in that fleeting veer, a loud smack resounded and left you surprised on the tips of your boots.
“Uh!” a yelp ejects air from its jailed position in Dina's gullet, forwarding her body with a jounce.
A foul, “Hehe–” trebles a giggle from Ellie, shit–eating grin withal, “so sensitive.. again?” her hand rubbing circles to where she struck ass.
Fuck.
Fuck, because she has uttered those exact words to you before, wetly on the shell of your ear, yesterday. At dead noon eve, stark flat on your bedroom door, a makeout you'd rather not divulge. Though, did Dina hear that thumping racket?
You feel a throb, a throb that drops. It beats from your maddened heart to your aching hole, literally. A web of hot arousal dribbles over the ribbing of your walls, leaking into a sticky splotch on the plateau of your panties. Fern eyes of something unholier–than–the–moan–of–a–devil felt denser working than self–pleasure, it tickled just right.
But it doesn't belong to you, so don't pluck that apple. Ignore that tickle.
“Okay, baby–” Dina gruffs and shoots her shoulders up, nudging Els’ clingy head off, “seriously, I got shit to do.”
“Hmm, suit yourself.” Ellie gave up and wacked her hands up in defense, feigning offense. 
You slither that milk–glossy tap gently from purling lips, cooing, “There you go.” as you set the bottle down with a placid thud, spurring a lone finger up to bat slowly upon the baby's nubby nose, how maternalistic of you.
A gait of striking steps softly approaches you. With your head huddled and stance shielded the opposing direction of the two, you couldn't see who that person was. Although, you deemed it safe to assume it may be Ellie, coming to poke at you again.
“Hey, could you help Ellie sweep the barn?” a honeyed voice entrances your focus instead, Dina, of course, “sheep dragged in a whole buncha’ shit, shouldn't take long though.” she notes, casually.
A long droning intervenes “Uhhh, I never volunteered to–”
“You did when you chose to live on this farm with me,” her voice strains, flowing into a breezy chuckle whilst gesturing for you to hand her JJ, “Right, babe?”
“Pshh–” 
Bearing aloft, you slink that baby's bum right into her curviform arms, feeling the cottony onesie drag on your forearm as his weight lifts off, bending at the knees scantily.
“Fiiine, I'll muck the– smelly sheep shit for ya’,” her voice bores deeper in exaggeration, becoming a blurry blob moving behind Dina's poise as she slinks forth, “gunna’ need a mask, I think.” and quips, wrapping her lithe arms to a cinch on her waist.
Dina grunts, butting her arms loose before it gets tighter and coasting a few feet yonder, “Barn, please.” reiterated she, flatly.
Tapered as her jaw is, she clenches it further, taking that blow of a refusal to her touch peevingly, teeth to a grind. Jeez, she's quite handsy today.
“Hmmph,” a grunt deadlocks at the fore of her compressed lips, rolling at the neck and cocking aside a signal for you–”c'mon.” she mumbled, clicking her waggish tongue.”
A scoff jumps from you, “M'not a horse.” you squint and trot your feet along, heavy timber steps pittering towards the ajar backdoor, dash of light spilling through.
“What? Didn't say you were.” she headstarts and jerks the door chasmally open, banging against the oaken trim.
“Door!” shouted Dina, now muffled as you enter beneath true light of day.
“Sorry!”
You wince both muck–free feet into a macula of moist earth, feeling your weight sink and squeeze a taint of muddy blob as you hoick off and traipse forth. A kittenly, “I think the only horse here is you– smelling of sheep shit,” comeback lightens the air, giggling, “Peee–yuuu, somebody get me a mask.” and shooing an invisible stench from your nostrils.
“Puuh–lease, as if you don't smell like a hot pile of garbage after your chores,” thrummed out of her gob easily, just so she could smooth in, “Emphasis on the hot.”
“God, you amuse me.” you shake your head low and smile, bloating the inwards of your cheeks ‘till they hugged your nose, two blooming mushrooms.
Her body spirals in a swing of her leg, now walking completely backwards, “Wasn't trying to amuse, m'being serious. U're hot.” she brownnosed, even giving you the fucking eye–up–and–down. 
This baser, coy weirdo. Can't go nary a breath without summoning a smile unto you.
Your wandering eyes travel up a stream of fading cumulus clouds, sheer stranding like a veil pierced with astral rays– and you mull mind over answers across those clouds, for how could you reply, origin of wit?
Then, so cross the dumbest, possibly weakest retort, transferring from sky–gaze to mouth.
“Andddddd u're not.” you skip ahead of her with a feign of sass, causing her to whip back around.
“Not what you said last night.”
Okay that's true, but..
You egg her on, splayed palm melding to cold, rusted iron grip of a shovel, “I said a great many things, remind me?” as you tease.
“Gladly.” a hotness more snug than the sun cupped your wrist, pricking your grasp open free of the shovel–hilt and spinning you like a ballerina– knocking shin to shin so you plaster flat on the splintered wood door of that barn. Els hovered close, horridly close, breath fervent to your mid–face, “where should I start, babe?”
You freeze, blizzard of a kindled burn, a smolder trenching roots through your reddening cheeks. That throb, returns. You just couldn't gauge which throbbed more severely– the banging of a mad heart, resounding echoed thwacks against caved ribs, or the chokehold of your beaded clit, squeezing up into your cunt and getting you to chafe moist arousal from your labia, wringing webs across your entrance.
No, not again, not here.
“You should start..” a gulp burdens the words back in your gut, re–rounding with a deflect, “by mucking the stable.” silkenly fallen to a wholly nether topic.
Dumbfounded was the look to darken her visage, bristly brows dropping like sawed trees and cleft of her lips bowing to a frown, unamused, “Seriously?” 
“Mhm!” you swerve the shovel handle at her unprovoked, letting her catch it prior to crouching under her barred arms and strolling off towards the sheep stall.
And like a dog, she tailgates hot on your hind. Bark bark bark, yapping ditto to one too, “Why do I gotta shovel shit n’ not you? –Huh?” yet in the most unserious, sportive tone, ever. Dorky smirk lingering in her words, pounding a laser through the thickset back of your skull.
Man, if Ellie was a dog– she'd be a damn Siberian husky. Pining for unending attention and peskily playful, too playful, even. 
Each crunch of hay behind you, every little sigh she put forth in bone–dry air, the sum of her laughy scoffs that no way in a verdant pasture heaven wouldn't be expelled without a toothsome smirk. She was the blight of you, your anathema, pockmarking inside your brain imagery of how she looked when you averted your gaze, meanwhile she beheld the rear of your head, cocksure of her annoyance. Oh, and goddess how it never falters to soar her heart high of a heavenly altitude, skirmishing every cloud with her melodious drum of life when even simply laying scrutiny to the hair awry with mess, shrouding your nape in the natural fall of it, bouncing on each step. A love of life that you could give.
That is all her mind bends to, pestering you, so help her goddess, she will enact anything, to make this abominable sin a grounded relationship.
Look upon me, won't you?
You tuck a finger around the tiny hook lock, opening the large sheep stall, “Because–” you pause, cutting past the rails and drawing an arm over to grasp a rickety rake, elevating it over the half–wall, “someone's gotta uncover the shit first.”
Her knee pooches out mildly as she recasts her weight on a wall, twiddling her thumb over every scuffed mark of the shovel, examining its ridges beneath her print. Yet, her eyes stayed absorbed in you, taking the waft of every leg stride, arching of your spine as you stoop down, extension of your hands grasping the rake's shaft– stabbing the crooked tines into a labyrinth of heaping hay, the screaming of metal scraping on concrete, causing her ears to tremble and tighten, alongside a squint. The noise muffles, then awakens as she relaxes her facial muscles, slacking her jaw to speak, “Y'really good at that, y'know..” mumbled, even.
“Mmht–” you smack your tongue moist, dithering your head in puzzled wags, “–I am literally just raking the ground,” humbled you, thinking of her dumbly so, “weirdo.”
“Pshh, yeah, but I bet you'll have this whole stall swept in like a minute tops.” she claims through a fried rasp, vailing her pale lids low as she stares– stares of yearn.
Further squashed upon hilarity, you whack a tuft of hay clean through air, then stake the rake upright to a wooden beam and lean, staring back rich with spite, “And I bet an hour for you, what– just standing there?”
“I don't see any shit yet, m'waitin’ on youu..” her vowel drawls long, smug–fuck expression curling those rosy lips.
“Oh really?” your thumb unlocks from the lot of your clutching digits, breaching the rake with a springy sound as it bludgeons against the oaken column. Ranging your foot forward, you brace the skimp distance from you to her, planting softened steps.
Maraschino cherry of her chubbed cheeks, a puckish smirk reads more and more intently as you approach. Each thwack of sole leather to hardy ground is a pump of excitement for her– reckoning your current passage as a rite of igniting something. Sway of your hips, stopping of your tracks in front of her, she wonders– or hopes, of what you'll do next.
You gave that freckled face a prompt pore–over, recognizing that flare of her brows jerking up slightly when you park optics onto her slit–open ones, inhaling, “Then let me do it.” and splaying your palm up to the ceiling, expecting the shovel plumb in–hand, easily.
“Hmm, nah.”
You furrow a lone brow, “Why not?” 
“Cuz’ I got it.” spoken cockily, lips flubbed out and head swung like a whip, winding the crescent strands of burnished hair out of her eyesight.
So cavalier.
If Dina were here, the place’d be fuckin’ primely polished. Be for real.
“Sure,” you blunt your accent, nigh on sarcasm, “what's gotten into you?” pleating your fist to a ball, you slot it between the warm pocket of breast to bicep, crossing your arms.
You.
You– are what's gotten into her. Two horny adults unchaperoned, in the convenience of privacy, sub rosa, a smidgeon apart, lusting with their parts of lechery, staring down at sorely empty hands that could be full of each other's flesh, it doesn't fare well. Emptiness, a sphere of it, sleeping in palms where it is an unwelcome voyeur– snoring, vibrating. Dormant touch never falls short of pulsation, like a magnet, it reaches for her. 
Stroking the shovel rod as she does, with those knobby fingers of hers, twining the length, was patently suggestive. Soft rings resonate with each tug of her clewed hand, rubbing up and down, slow and thorough, what the fuck. 
And worst–best of all? Eyes. Her sooty, pebble blown pupils thinning the evergreen in her eyes, pierced yours. Forbidding ones. 
God, wary of reality or not– admit this, it was definitely hot. Hot, how her ashen lids embrace the snow and veins, a human cadre of gossamery skin. Hot, because they read debaucherous– and could carbonize a bible to cinders with a single glance, sacrilege to poetry, ergo; ‘Fuck me’ eyes. And lastly, hot, as they sat a throne upon a wicked smile, exposing her front teeth lightly, spit line attached top to bottom. In short, breathing you in, made her high off lust.
Asudden, the bow indenting her mouth is backwashed in a swallow, and her eyes disappear beyond the hood of her brow bone, captivating her soul upon a sigh. A sigh she breaks contact for, a sigh she must take, in lieu of composure– when all she perceived of you was a temptation.
A bastion of forced air swells up her cheeks, lukewarm on the gums, pouty of the lips, “Fffffffuck–” mouthed she full of that exhale, shaking her head to a low duck.
“Fuuck, what?” a mimic of her quiet curse befell your lips, curving tone and brow in confusion.
That's when her head perked, an inch, a slanted inch, bedeviled eyes divided by the drop of a short russet strand, mouth pursing to vowel out, “You.” hoarsely.
“Like ‘Fuck you bitch’ or in a ‘I'm gonna fuck you’ typa’ way?” you undulate your head cartoonishly, heightening the emphasis of both those options, cause both appeared likely.
Fluff of her brows crooking weirdly, she gawks with an inlay of temptations, bought, “That is the dumbest fuckin’–” she chuckles dryly, nose facing heavenward as she spins the shovel, going clockwise ‘round you, “–question, I've ever heard.”
Step by step, on beat, you slowly spun with her encirclement, noticing now that you're inclined to back up into the wall as she kitty–corners you, idle mitt pressing finger wads to textured wood, laying spread.The scratch of it smooches your shoulder blades as you smush plane on the wall, calves ghosting wales of wood coarse enough to leave blushy marks, and yet you rely on it to camouflage from her intimidating gaze.
A heartbeat hastens, brimming your throat with a blockage capable of consuming the words before ears could, tethering a timid gasp out instead.
Ellie rasped deep, “Cat got your tongue, hmm? Don't back down ‘n me now..” the heat of her face hovers close, cocking her head laterally to fit perfectly in your headspace, air blown from every syllable fanning your sutured mouth.
The weight her stare threw upon you was, probing, and direful. Every attempted scape–glance was a gut instinct, a reflex when shagged to a set of human bars. Flesh of bone, bone in flesh, arm to arm, what a bloody mess.
You curl your shoulders inwards, pressing folded elbows skin–tight to your ribs, “Dumbest question?” a gulp cuts the sentence, “you didn't even answer.”
“Want me to?”
“Yeah,” in defense, you tested her, “I do.”
“Ohhaha– okay..” Els’ cadence rose to amused laughter, shifting on her feet slightly, “We can fuck.” but she spoke it like you requested of it, although, did you?
Fuck.
A bulbous mass pushed your legs clean apart, trampiling the dress to a tight pull around your thighs. Confounded, you drop sights, sinking your chin in towards your neck and realizing– it was her knee.
Rough denim rustles clemently, a whisper of two fabrics meeting, between your quads. A friction so faint, so hush, begins to purr more acutely when a– ahh, pressure. A carnal pressure is given, given with urge, urging on your barely confined clit.
It stings as she drives her knee in, getting  you to clench your insides, to seize up.
A juxtaposition doomed to interblend skin.
You impel up on the wall, heel sloping to rest on the flat trim. It smashed your pussy lips, causing a chafe, ramming fabric inside the rim of your hole, a velvety draw of sleek depressing on the cotton tongue of your panties makes it stay there. Thereupon, her groin grinds a roll, nudging your pussy on top of her knee.
“Remember this, babe?” Ellie gives thrall to the dense steel in her vocals, ticking her head aside more to pass that breath firmly on your ear, “–‘member how good my knee felt? Mhm? ‘So fuckin’ good’, you said?”
A diabolical coo, she's trying to get under your skin figuratively– and literally further.
But it surfaced that memory like a buoy, erecting ayond the navy sea line with its eye–catching signal. In you, it materializes. Last night, came a blanket of umbra, yawning its penumbra in the horizon. Witching hour, obscene–eyed, gloaming your senses and eating away at deceit. Deceived? Yeah, that's how you felt, daylight by day bright, a misinterpreter.
All throughout the day, she would ghost right past you en route to Dina, much like earlier– and love up on her. Spread her taint of arousal between you, her, and you, then her again. Leading on last night, where she stowed her knee, just like now, affirming how mortally she may succumb to madness without your vulnerable phasing unto her, except, in a casual way, short of poetry. On top of that continuous grind she gave on your groin, she marked you with a claim so bold,
So freakish, so outré.
Dirty with her perverted thoughts.
You remember it, hard.
‘You love me just as much as your pussy does, face it.’ 
Hence, her knee felt as fucking liberating as it did that stone stark night. Your clit throbs with an ache, coiling your womb in moreish begs, more, moree.. please more. 
“I remember.” uttered softly, throat shutting on the words as you choke up in sensation.
A cordial chuckle blows summery hot on your ear, “Hehe, good,” and is soaked deeper in with a puckered kiss, popping quietly, “Good girl.”
That made you shiver, in a growing delight. A heat seeping between your folds, has you bearing down on her knee, slopping that raw precum all over the ruined seams of your underwear. In bodily reaction, your cunt shriveled in on itself, squelching a drop on barely–there textile– glossing a wet patch on the knoll of her knee.
Ellie espied that moistness saturating through her jeans and spreading warm on flesh when it seeps, slinking her leg a wimp inch out to gauge the spot, a fucking masterpiece, smack dab on her knee, “Fuck,” she spews, pinning teeth to lip, “for me?” she questions, even with an obvious ass answer staring her in the eyes.
Forget Dina, this felt right– too right.
“For you.” 
Her teeth bare vast in a smirk, doubling up her cheeks, “God, I love you.” because finally, fucking finally, she will have her cake and eat it too.
But first, eat the space before you.
And so she does, tucking the wad of her nose squashed in the crevice of your nostril and cheek, brushing of her mildly cracked lips greet yours to part, a balmy ask of entrance. Wagging against, the skin barely hugs with cushy compress, then she nips your bottom lip and wedges her own between, indulging the bump of your cupid's bow to cradle a whisker inside her suckled hold– her humid realm of fog. Buds connected, she felt like butter searing, softness melting, disintegration inside your clasp of a satiny hole, and she was pungent of farmland, muck sweat, everything you could have prest for. Ellie pushes passion in the form of little spit bubbles down your throat– ingesting your voice, your taste, your brain, essence in whole. Taking each other in your own two gullets, bolts of song, and long gaping moans– and even longer pants of make–out exhaustion.
“Mhhh,” she shoves another groan to rattle your teeth, hopping over cloud nine with each moan you reciprocated– like music in a fairytale, a ballad, or of a siren song, splendidly spellbinding, yes? “–fhhck yeshh–” She hums, forwarding a buck of her knee fiendishly.
You yelped, and she liked that, an impish grizzle pushing past the swollen smile and drags saliva across yours.
But.
Those hands once empty, cannot lie powerless to being so. Hers, fly from the wall behind your head and trace down your biceps, buckling unfurled over the bulge of your loose breasts and cup them tender, giving a squeeze that dimples flesh above the neckline of your dress. Not a complaint rose from you, you liked it, yearned hard of it– loved it.
She could tell by the mere movement of your back, arching into her grasp, getting her fingers to squish them even flatter, laughing the kiss to a pause, “Look at you–” she hinds back to look at you, taking your eager rush to follow her lips into regard, “fucking cutie.”
“Don't call me cutie.” you astern.
“Why noott–”
“No.”
A grin enlightens her anyways, “Got it,” and slides her lip back between yours, suckling the plump of your upper, “Mhmm..” hummed so gravelly, so good on your ears, yummy.
This girl will be the first suspect of your murder. Murder of love.. in spring.
Adjourning the freshly–sown kiss with a sloppy smack, you interrupt, “Y'know–” mhhp, a quick peck, “–think I love you too.”
“Think?” she knits her brows together dumb on your featherly melded foreheads, squishing the grooves that form in–between, “could already tell from last night,” her rasp makes it sound of a patent fact, chuckling like an asshole when you whine amid her tease, “hmm–hm, sorry babe.”
“God, you're such a dick,” you bind your head lower and ghost your barren lips over her chin, smiling amongst your dim shadow.
Index and thumb of her hand thaw ripely of your chin, exerting under the bone and beckoning you up with a kind pull, “Would a dick do this–” she twines you to the left, “Mmph,” pasting a kiss beneath one eye, “or this,” twines you to the right, pasting another peck, “or even this?” and lastly, twines you faceward.
Patent of her pattern, you expect a delicate pair of those blood swell, pouty lips to spare something planets away from porny lust– a promise, that none of this was bad. However, hopes are dashed like a racehorse when your chin rears free and a blur of her auburn head plunges out of sight, and under the hood. 
“Els’, where are you–”
Oh.
A gale of air spills up the gap of your thighs, sought upon by the whipping of your sundress’ hem up crinkled in her dual grasps, pushed against your hip bones. Knees grind in shallow dust, planting just next to your parked feet with a soft rub between the four, the perfect position, an orgasmic view. Ellie lets a gasp free upon eyeing the fat blotch soaked thoroughly to a glisten, fabric eased in your labia, showing her the shape of it. God, ‘think she saw you clench just now.
She balls the fabric to one hand, dropping her other and husking dry, “There she is– fuck, missed me?” a waggy finger rises to your clit, toying it in meager flicks– almost as to pet it.
A wince cries from you, “Ahh–” and you perk on your toes, inching away from her fingertip now padded in your sodden arousal.
Yet that fucking finger follows, pressing a hiemal print to flatten your bloated clit, clothed labia hugging the willowy knuckle. Cocky chuckle– likeness of her unabashed assholery and spilt through grit teeth, she muses in your clamping pussy lips, “Hehe, yeah? Need my fuckin’ fingers, huh?” and those damned coos, that tender tune, gosh– you can't get enough of it.
But you've had your fill of plaguing rumination.
Dina's away, nay a breath of her lingers here, not a peep of her can disrupt you, disrupt what you feel– how Els’ makes you feel. It's not wrong, if you're not the one suggesting it. It's not immoral, if it was never held in the hands of your intention. It's not your fault, if you let it transpire. Nothing to rue, not your sin, not your wrongdoing. 
So you pluck the apple.
An ease of your quads down pricks your clit with the poke of her finger, cushing the delicate flesh, “Mhm– yes, yess.” whined you, nigh on breathless.
“That's right,” thick is her voice– like a coddling of wood thicket, pushing past the devout lips that embed themselves in the chub pliancy of your belly, lain of a smooch to your womb, a quiet one, “thaat's fuckin’ right.” and jerking your clit measured with tease, idly rubbing.
The gentle marrow of that contact with your belly and your clit, sent you aquiver. Your abdomen, shaking lightly against her mouth with a breath in, lading your stomach with a rise, high–strung by that simple kiss. Too sweet, you thought, sweetly toxified of honey, unorthodox to how hoggish she usually strikes as– you expected her usual playfulness.
Softness can be addictive, and her version of soft, definitely was.
“Soo fuckin’ good t'me..” her lips detach only to press back in, multiple times, same exact spot. She wouldn't dare budge, not when it was deemed her duty to kiss you there by some unknown force, or her own accord. Ellie whispers, lugging those honey–drug lips over the pouch of your belly, “need that good fucking pussy n’ my mouth.”
A tilt, a modest slant of your hips projecting your crotch against her collarbone was your ask of entrance, and she gave her answer so fast.
“Hold this,” she cranes the clump of skirt to one of your paws, letting go when you meet fingers over fingers with her and hold your skirt to your ribs. She stops playing with your clit completely, tracing said finger up your groin and under your pantyline, pleating the band in on itself as she journeys it to your knees– letting it freefall from there.
Despite the milk–warm weather lambent to your forehead when settled under the sun, meant zilch to the cooler world inside the barn. Not wintry, but a tangible change sensed in your bare pussy. That's why you fastened your quads to a clench, nearly sucking in your cunt– oh, and the fact that two olive fern eyes are bluntly viewing it. Stage fright, much?
 A fried gasp of, “Ohh, shit–” chills it further with exhalation upon discovering the raw truth to your aroused pussy, engorged in size and pinkish in sex irritation. Ellie was drunken in that eyeshot of serumy precum wetting a film between your slit, drawing gluey webs over your hole, barely open for full study. She needs you open, she longs to see, gulping a horny thought audibly before speaking, “spread them pretty legs for me, hmm? C'mon, it's just me–” she assures, donning that calming placidity whilst palming the round of your knees apart to guide you, “–there we go, uh'huh, fuck..” departed of her voice, husky as she studied the open spread of your filthy hole, dripping for her like it fucking knew she was looking at it.
All you could engage was a tunneled stare down of your protruding crotch and her reddish–brown dusted crown, the slump your knees took clung on the flank of her biceps– plowing with an indent in her bare sun–baked skin. Els’ face so sanguine compared to the paler pigment of her fingers, which now push your thighs uncomfortably agape to the extent of bulging fat between her knuckles. Eyes bark, luring under lids so heavy and lashes like a vignette– they bark and say, ‘Keep your fucking legs open.’
Say no less.
Taken in awe, “She's so fucking pretty–” she curses with meaning, a means to make it known, licking up a river between your folds upon seeing that exhilarating view, cupping a glob of slick in her pink muscle.
“Shit..” 
Withdrawing her tongue, she swallows the creamy delight, “Prettiest pussy ever, ‘uh'huh, that's right.” Ellie being Ellie, she slaps it, eyeballing the spongy skin recoiling.
“Ah!” 
“Yeah..”
Your nude cunt was honeydew heaven in her eyes, gleaming wet like grapefruit, that's why her tongue was already slipping out on open air. Head inching to intimacy, the button of her nose dovetails seamlessly between the tippity top of your folds, and your clit, kissed with a hot spell. That bud, it fit perfectly in the wrapping of her lips, straightaway suctioned further into the gummy pucker of her mouth.
An ache zaps that little bouquet of nerves and coerces you to nearly swoon over it, yelp hitching, “Ha– aah,” and shudder teething, “Ellie..” with a hump of your glutes butting her head back, only stirring that hungry mouth of hers to pop off and swaddle it back in, tongue flicking.
Her nostrils sunk deeper in, airflow turning muffled in your crotch– yet her moans remained, abounding, vibrating on your sensitive pearl, “Mhhhh, mhmm.” rumbling deep under the soft squelching her moving jaw brought to fruition. 
Ellie, you fucking god, giving those plumate licks that are barely there, but scarily paired with deftness, getting you to squirm and squeal, “Yess– baby, yess..” That pink muscle snagging under the hood sometimes, smacking that pretty tiny clit of yours around with foams of flavor whisking onto her taste buds, humming in the notes of sex.
“Mhhh, fhhck.” her lips sever an inch, mumbling into your clit, “fuck you and your pretty little hole, god, fuck you.” she curses, cause how dare you let her impulses conquer, returning a trio of digits along your legs and swiftly finding your pussyhole, dilating the lips apart and shoving all three inside. How dare you, engross her ears in your moans echoing akin of a cathedral in her skull, ushering her to fuck you unholy.
“Ellie!” you wail, hoisting on your toes a second and clutching her in those slobbering walls– which only gushed a leak of arousal on her digits, and blocked her from further thrusting slightly, taken aback by the sudden stretch.
Her lips pop off again, slurping up the wet laces strung to her pout from your fattened labia, “Schlp– jesus, you are fucking tight,” the deepness rippled in her voice, groggy from the moist caking her gob, “let me in, don't push me out.. c'mon..” she coos gently, eyeballing the swallow her fingers took past your soaked lips, knuckles disappearing.
“O–ohh,” you tried to mouth ‘okay’, but the word just didn't fit the part.
“Just like that..” Ellie cools a fresh sigh, praising with a proud curl on her face, “Good fuckin’ pussy..” 
Letting go, your gut loosens and heightens the sensation of her skinny fingers bottoming soundly inside your vagina, feeling the callouses rub as they curl and tickle your angelsent spot, airing lips find purchase behind her fingers– and a pointy nose bumps your clit pervaded with purpose.
Spry is the moan, moaning over ‘spilled milk’, “Oh my g– uhnn..” woe is you, clawing phantomly at the spring that coils inside your womb, unknowingly providing Ellie's eager mouth with your precum.
The physical reality around you, suddenly only consisted of you, her, the barrier that stills your back, and a void inside you– being filled.
Literally.
And figuratively? Cause jeez, you must give sanctuary to a sin–eating, fleshoid beast inside your bone prison of a body, coming back here for seconds like that.
Might you be the dirty.. dirty dog instead?
Rivers of filth, she pumps those glossy droplets out of you, leathery scars caressing your ribbed canal with each pleasuring undo of your senses, she steals them like they are impartial to your bliss– bliss is all she needed you to feel for her. Fuck the worry, trash the heartache, yank the anxiety out, and soften into a pretty blob atop her fingers.
Her sultry blessing sitting upon those fingers, that's how she deems you– you do well to remember that. Her, willing frame of hips thrusting back down on the friction she gives, burrowing her nose a scent so naturally seducing, a pheromone, fucking elates her own throbbing pussy. Nothing sugary, nothing stomach–churning, just the taint of you. The threading of her jean's crotch was enough of a brute, bullying her egged clit by driving a split in it, flattening the fleshy hood everytime she shifted weight from knee to abdomen, poor her. 
“Huhnn– shit,” heaved grizzlier in her carp of stimulation decay, lack thereof rubbing one out herself and watching your delicate skin expand and crease. How could you blame her– her hand looked so right plugging your hole.
You suck your belly in, drawing tense on that thickset motion playing with your g–spot, whimpering, “Els’, please.. I can't..” a well floods in your waterline, searing with tears of crystalline iodine.
You really can't.
That scruffy mullet hides most of her big cranium, but, it was so fucking hot seeing the nominal stroke of her face, blushing strawberries betwixt your butter–spread legs. Her nose bobs north and south, dragging the bulb of cartilage over that nippy rosebud she happily exhales onto, pushing you over the earthly edge born of paltry touching. Ellie cognizes the slick–clear gospel that you were pending climax, manifesting as your needy bear downs into her slopping mouth practically lactating your pussy juices deep in the pit of her stomach, and the swelling of your wooed clit led on by her tongue, growing big and reddish on her nose to where it clasps the tip in a pillowy fashion, dabbing a glob of creamy sap. 
A mouthquake splutters wetness mixed with her spit across your inner–thighs abd vibrates your folds, betrothal of her voice waking back up, sourly muted, “She's– suh good.. mhphh– to me..” 
“Ellie..” you falter on breath, leavening in pitch.
“Phh–” a frothy sound garbled in your pussy lips, pushing her spit bubbles inside your gaping hole and traveling deeper with her fingering you, “makin’ this pushhy’ mine..” flubbed she, lapping up her cupid's bow of smeared sleek.
Your hole clamps her in as the pang begins to tick its patchy count of time, wearing the glass knot of your womb to a cracking, and troubling the base of her digits.
“Fuck, you wanna’ make this harder?” she sterned to the velvety rim of you locking on her triple shafts, porking webs of your pre–finish to teardrop down your walls as her palm splashes against your loch–sodden slit and mashes your g–spot repeatedly, plush of your labia bouncing in ripples. The noises were abundant, and pornographic, mushy as she fixes so much of your arousal on the pads of her fingers, hormones spiking at the lewd noises, “you hear that baby, ooh, fuck.” foxily ‘ooed’ that foxy–maned girl, beguiled in how your pussy spurts for her.
It wept in slaps, eliciting a palping squelch to bang, bang– bang– pound, brandishing a chilly tempest through and through your bloating labia, quivering as it readies to release. The stuffing was intimate– like a punch inside your spirit, coaxing the fragile glass to a rend, ergo, pushing out every lash of pure lucid squirt.
On the beat of your hole gushing, yelps batting you shut in the plain intensity such an orgasm brought forth, tore Ellie from simply just watching– to drinking every drop. Her voice, dusky in the backdrop of your wails sounded, “Yes– yess, babe fuckk that's it.. mhm, all over my fuckin–” her words wane as her lips clock in, a sudden rush of void fleets with her fingers sheathing out, drawing a long lubricous bunch of webbing only to be nourished in the warmth of her mouth– pursing into your labia and shaking about as you squirt.
Ellie has no shame in getting soiled of you, even the devil himself blushed at the linkness of her mid–face pancaking your lissom skin apart, spewing you wide.
“Ah! Nuh– nonono, t'much, too– uhhnn..” your throat fails you, clumping wads of words that wanted to breach, but her mouth was too good, and it's fucking obvious that she wouldn't stop, not when she can have you like this, bucking onto her flat tongue. Sinfully good, disgusting in the rawest fashion, making your crotch burn with ecstasy more than it already did.
Water upon the push of her mouth, blowing in and slopping noisily at the meat of your pussy lost it's carry to your ears. A biome of shadow, veils your vision and a pressure rains less than tender between your eyes, blurring everything before you, ebbing the grasp of your skirt to an impossible job, hands ashake. All you could gauge above the hood was fiery sweat, hot, steaming– taunting sweat, licking at your forehead.
Her nose headbutts into your vagina, slinking languidly as her head finally smacks off your numb folds, laughing, “Holy fuck– y'taste so good,” the air windy to your soaked entrance, convulsing in front of her barren eye, “shoulda’ let me lick you sooner.”
Huff, and puff, until the binds of your chest blow down, sprouting with an entire current of air, panting more than dramatic as you dwindle down like a bird's plume, “Too.. huh– haah, bad.”
A new kiss is savored to your clit, absorbing the snift her snort gave, “Haha– yeah yeah, n'you liked it, don't lie.”
No lie was home to call. You’ve a truthful virtuality.
You truly did like it, love it, cave obsession over that moment– for now it passes, and not a peck of guilt ran prickly on your arm hairs, saving your gullet free of a stony gulp. No crows died in the revelation of your scandal, only doves, encirclement in a trance chirping nuptials to be had.
I really do love you, Ellie.
Is that so bad?
“I can’t catch my– oof,” you grab sudden air with your fructifying lungs, “–can’t catch my fuckin’ breath.” and the struggle was visible, muscles like puppet strings to your fingers losing proper grasp and billowing the skirt plop on her head.
The rotund shape of it wiggles from the draping hem, continuing to laugh when her wet–handed fingertips poked thin on your ankle, bulging on both sides as she drew your panties back up all the way, slithering under your skirt’s canopy and stretching the band to a snap on your hips, skin tiding, jerking you off warning, which for sure winded the breath back in ya.
“Sheesh, no care for my panties at all?” remarked you of fun wit, gliding your thumb apart to rub the bend of your hip crest.
“You literally ruined them before–”
“And whose fault is that?” you winched from the barn wall and met pupil–to–pupil with her rising figure, revealing how slick–fucked her face really is, glossing with evidence of your cunt.
“Mine..” proudly, guilt was basal to her tone, nonexistent, inching closer to you with a slight wobble swaying on her heels.
You hark the crunch of gravel below, but keep your gaze airborne, Ellie–borne, “Exactly.”
“Cause m'hot?”
“No,” you rock your head, evil smirk deepening the corners of your lips to your gums, “that's a dumb question.”
Her arms begin to slink at fore, elbows chafing her flank, “Wow, stole my line.”
“Still dumb.” you pinch the neckline of her tank, straining it up to wipe her mouth clean.
“Coulda’ just used my hand.” she still does, the dork, purging any excess to the hill of her bent wrist.
You scrunch your nose fakely, “Uck,” and express, mumbling, “Bring a rag next time.” 
Her hands then drop, creeping towards your sides, “Didn't think we were gonna–”
“Liar.”
Those strapping hands bend with wrinkles in her knuckles as they plant pleasantly on your hips, fingernails curling with lustier keys, tugging you plane on her body, “You're so fucking cute,” is all she could say, because there was no stem of denial baying for a different answer,
Doing this was always lingering a tail on her thoughts.
“And such a bitch, fuuck– want you so bad,” complained she, pushing the last of her grizzled groans past her blood–swell lips, which now dive in the sweaty nook of your swan neck– bespattering the sensitivity, “–need y’so bad..”
You comb a paw of fingers through her honey–cresten mane, dividing strands apart and giving a fond press to her scalp, whispering upon her pale–rosen ear, “Then have me–”
“I can’t,” her crumbled lips fail to cling, dragging dry beneath your ear, “I fucking can’t.” wearily said, wearing her voice to nothing.
Infidelity.
Wasn't nice at all, on both sidewalks.
A purer bid of tears wet her cheek, drenching into the flesh of your neck as she pushes into you, holding you dear, vast afar from intentions to let go.
“I know..” was a rare comfort, and wasn't one to you right now– for plucking that apple, ripped you of innocence. A blind eye you turn when sensuality is awake. Enrapture chokes your senses, sweeps you in the moment, clouds your memory of those ugly, nasty etceteras– those facets that deplore it. Even now, when Ellie collapses weight onto her ankles, pressing you into that same wall you saw heaven on, touching heartbeats incandescent for each other's total consumption, weeping wet on your bare shoulder– it hurts, aches you to say, “But I don't want to know.”
Clutch of your neckline, she bruises her knuckles tight in it, spiteful almost– gagging on tears that roll the wrong road, “Guh– fucking hell, don't say that..” 
“Ellie, it's–”
“Don't.”
“Not your fault.” you flap your fingers up, palm still glued, patting her head.
She doesn't belong to you.
Yet you act like she does.
Pity.
A sniffle is the intake of air you feel before her nose skims off, craning her neck to an angle where she can gaze adjacent to your cheek, for beholding may prove a demise. But she can't forgo this one ask, this dream perched upon her brain, “Babe..” she purrs, dead of cadence.
“Hmm?” a whirl invites your nose to her cheekbone, offering you the picture of her side–profile. Oh, those lashes so dashing, they curl, darken her snow of eye, and trap tears.
Why, it's as if a rainbow overcasts those auburn reeds.
Ellie's capsized tune finds its stream back to that scratchy rasp, silkenly intoning on your earlobe, “Can you sleep with me tonight?” her buds ghost the rim, popping on the syllables.
Is that even possible? 
You debate with the figments in your mind, casting doubt over your facial muscles, knitting, “Ellie, you know–”
“I don't.”
“Els.” 
Long forked strokes of her fingers run up your jaw, scrolling you to then focus on her face cocooning your entire sight, and a husk enlaces you, “Forget about Dina,” a glimmer summons her lips to curl once again, “just tonight, fucking please?”
Fucking please.
A silence rots in the cordial space sparsely separating you, wrenching her brows with a ravine indenting between them– the serious look you love. And her hold of hands appear to deepen in your cheeks, claiming your skin as one, melting into her prints, squeezing a reply from you.
“Please?”
Odds may dote on you, think about this.
“Okay.”
Tumblr media
(couldn't tag everyone who wanted to be)
taglist; @whore4abby @aouiaa @ellieslittlewhore @baumbii @tlougrl @mina-281 @beabeebrie @fleshunger @elliewilliamsisactuallymygf @nicolicht @cosmikoo @xinyaya @sawaagyapong @reinersbigolboobies @brunettedolls-blog @syrenada @fairyysoiree @p4ison1vy @nil-eena @hi2647 @disaster-bi-suki @rarestdoll @narieater @hrtmal @eudaemoniaaaa @ellie-07063 @luvfaeri @carleenaelaine @kissyslut @ellieswh0r3 @beemillss @elsmissingfingers @bugaboodarling @slynxs @maleelee @savannahsdeath @beforeimdeceased @fleshunger @williamellieslilho @mcqueeferson @pretty-prrincess-13 @naomis-daydream @weridcatttyy @gold-dustwomxn @evera-era @criminallydownbad @yohibmbi @ang3licpretty
703 notes · View notes
seventhcallisto · 5 months
Text
Chapter 11 — "you promise?"
—Deep Down.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Toc/cw; ateez being absolutely fking whipped for you. Mutual pining(they don't know its mutual tho). unironic use of alpha(I'm sorry ik it's bad). omega, omega, and more omega. (you'll understand that soon) fluffy but also really angst but dw it's gonna be okay I SWEAR. You overworking, mention of diet culture (for one line) and the struggles of being an idol, suggestive undertones towards the end. If I forget warnings, it's bc I don't know or forgot to add them.
Tumblr media
There's a forbidden trail you follow. One you never thought you'd be led on. Wooyoungs hands are firm and soft when he pulls you along, and your tears dry quickly. Something you've gotten used to with time, the way his soft, smooth hand holds your own. You wish to be able to feel them for the first time again.
The first time. It was a fan sign. It's one of the first ones. You can't believe how nervous you were, yet you stood your ground and faced the crowd. Deep and methodical breaths filled your lungs.
Wooyoungs hand slips into yours under the table, out of view from everyone. If it was accidental, he doesn't seem to notice. Back then, you were just as small and niave. He squeezes once. Then twice. You wait. Feeling as if you should anticipate something.
You watch him from the corner of your eye. With his free hand, he waves, on his chubby face is a smile. His purple hair sways from the fans overhead. You want to push it out of his face.
You squeeze. Not once. Not twice. But three times. 'I love you.' The three squeezes. Letting the words echo in your mind. You don't expect him to know it. Something you learned when you were a kid in a foreign place, pretending to know what those words actually meant.
He squeezes back, one time.
You don't even pull your head up to look at the car. Don't even bother to watch where you step when you get into it. Wooyoung does the guiding for you. Doubtfully. Messily. He's never been good on his feet unless he was dancing.
That's not true, but he wants to make it seem like he's not nervous at the realization.
You, the beta of the pack. The one he's got closest with as soon as you met. You, the slick smiling, bias wrecking, only girl, 9th member of his permanent group. You, who he loves to squeeze, tease, and mess around with. the most calm, level-headed, beta person he knows.
The alpha can't believe it. Well, not to stereotype. But he's definitely stereotyping when he says you are- were the definition of beta.
You're an omega? He doesn't understand it himself.
Tumblr media
It's a flashback to the day seonghwa found your bottle of scent suppressants.
It takes him a while to realize what it is, fiddling with the bottle in his hands.
"What's this for?" He asks, yunho. His left eyebrow raised. Yunho sits across from him on the free couch. He sits on the edge, scratching at his hair. The energy he holds is as if he's about to defend the reason he slipped the bottle into seonghwas hand when they got through the front door from filming. And he does.
"Have you been noticing anything off with her?" He points to the bottle, eyebrows raised. Seonghwa tries to connect the invisible dots yunho is throwing at him.
He nods. But he speaks up, "she's been different since she came back from the hospital. She's tired." He defends your honor even if it isn't something you said directly. Seonghwa looks back down at the yellow label. 'New Box' is the headline of the bottles sticker.
'Scent suppressants for all sexes, works best for omegas and betas' the smaller fine print says under it.
"Did you steal this from her bag???" Seonghwas jaw drops, he finally connects some of those invisible dots. A picture is beginning to form.
Yunho shoots up from his seat, pacing between the couches. "I did, but earlier today at the monitor, you remember, yeah?" Yunho looks to seonghwa briefly. His hand falls to his hip.
"Yes.. and?" How could seonghwa forget the display his younger membered showed with you? He had half a mind to turn away and walk. It's not like he was jealous, not with yunho.
He's just not a big fan of being touchy in public, but he wouldn't have mind if he was there, telling you you're perfect along with yunho. He doesn't think about it any further.
"When I was showing her the monitor, I leaned over, and when I did, I smelt.." yunho rubs a hand down his face. "I smelt her, really her," even yunho sounds crazy to himself.
"You know that artificial smells she's had since she came back?" Yunho jumps to the deep end. "Yeah?" Seonghwa sighs. Yunho takes his seat across seonghwa again. "That's what that is, and since I helped myself to her bag. I found a bunch of other things too"
Seonghwa doesn't want to pry into your personal stuff. But yunho doesn't sound too far-fetched. Yunho pulls out his phone, handing it to seonghwa. On the screen is a picture. The first thing he sees is a couple of small roll on perfumes. Clear, tiny fluid filled bottles without labels. A couple of medications he knows you keep on hand. Headache relief and sore body relief pills. Your tiny knick nacks take up the bottom of the bag, it's endearing really, everything in the bag screams you.
'Heat suppressants'
His eyes bulge. He zooms in with the pads of his fingers, zooming in on the bottle. Like birth control, it's got a subtle design to blend in.
Seonghwas heart leaps to his throat. He blinks, at a lost of words. "Thats not all" yunho leans behind the couch tucked against the wall. Where he pulls out something he hid.
Yunho throws the brown bag he recognizes from earlier this week, from when you got back from the hospital. The bag san grabbed. It's zipped open.
Tea bags and cake recipes in plain boxes. Shampoo and conditioner seonghwa is unfamiliar with. Perfumes and bottles of lotion he knows none of the guys or you use. But most distinctly is the smell of you. The scent of you. Vetiver, pumpkin, ambrette, and morning rain. There's the linger of alcohol and artificial scents in it.
Artificial beta you. It's surprising since it's coming from a bag and not the direct source that is your comforting aroma.
"She's an omega" yunho breathlessly says, taking the words straight from seonghwas' thoughts. The news isn't as shocking as he thought I'd be, it's like he already knew deep down.
Hongjoong doesn't know anything about that. The day he returns to the apartment at 4 am, he's surprised to see you wrapped up all comfy on couch. For a second his eyes watch the screen flicker across your soft features.
And when he takes his seat next to you, his hand drifts to find you. Subconsciously, his finger touches the soft skin on your ankle. He doesn't dare move any further.
He knows his hand is cold, his rings even colder. When you shiver, but don't pull away. You unconsciously drive him crazy. The back and forth conversation is at the very back of his mind. He misses you. He missed you a lot. And since he's been so busy, he hasn't gotten the chance to actually be there with you ever since you got back.
That week without you was miserable.
"I wanted to wait for you," your soft voice says. It echos in his head and peirces the silence that settles over the two of you. God, if only you knew how long he's been saying that for years to imaginary you that loves him equally so. Whenever you got close, and he wanted to lean in and kiss you all over.
But it's all in his head. And that's where it'll stay.
When your hand grips his, he leans in so you're not contorting yourself. "Lay with me?" You don't have to ask twice. Hongjoong scoots up right next to you. He drinks in your makeup free face, bare skin on display. A little breath you let out has him looking down at your plump lips, he quickly looks back up, hoping you didn't catch his stare.
"Nightmare?" He whispers, that's the only reason you stayed up, that's the only reason you want him so close. It's his duty as the pack captain to keep you safe in his close proximity. He pushes out his scent, hoping to ease you.
Your soft breathing fans his face, your droopy eyes slowly closing. His favorite smell in the entire world is you. Distant Vetiver. He breathes out. Watching your face relax. Soft Pumpkin. His hand falls over your hip. He wants so desperately to pull you closer. ambrette, and morning rain. He didn't know morning rain could smell like anything, but it's you.
You. It's always been you. All day, ever since you walked up that hill and gave him the most content of hug when you got back, the smell you unconsciously pushed out from the scent gland on your neck. he's been thinking about it.
You don't smell like those familiar scents anymore. You smell completely different now.
Sweet sugary nectar that enraptured his every being. And he isn't upset about it. Something in him is very fond of it.
When he wakes up the morning after. He doesn't want to move an inch. But he knows if he doesn't, your neck will be sore from the awkward way it lays on his arm. He sits up slightly, wordlessly wiggling his arm from under your head. He makes sure it doesn't fall with his hand cushioning you.
For a minute, he doesn't slip his hand from behind your head. His right thumb caresses your cheek, soft and shallow. You lean into his touch whilst you sleep, and he smiles down at you, a small snicker passes his lips at the situation. He bites his grin back.
Hongjoong wants nothing more than to be wrapped around your finger. To be the guy you want. To take care of you like you do him.
Hongjoong wants you to come to him with the truth when you're ready.
Jongho walks past your room. Once, twice, five times. Every time he wants to knock, he hears you on the other side. And he freezes up. He's like some lovesick puppy crawling at your door, whining to be let in.
Fuck it.
He knocks and pushes your door open. You're spread on the bed, your comforter and sheets scrunched up around you. The sun from behind him casts on you like an angel. The hue of sleepiness in your eyes when you lock them with his has him gulping nervously.
"Want to get some breakfast?" He sighs into his words, letting the anxiety out. Your smile- That makes jonghos' heartbeat thump loudly in his ears- lights up your face.
"Yes"
The walk is short, something jongho isn't fond of when he gets the chance to have these moments with you. Your shoulders bump. And he pulls the door open for you. The crowd only makes him walk closer to you.
You wrap your arm in his. Do you know what you're doing? You're killing him. Truly. Even the tiny things hold him hostage.
When he goes to order, you don't cut him off. That's the first red flag he sees. You're so independently you. It's custom for you to do so.
When you lean up to whisper in his ear. That's the second one. You never lean up to anybody. Usually, people lean down to hear you. Not the other way around. Still, he meets you halfway.
Jongho slides next to you, the excuse of it's too crowded on this tip of his tongue if you ask. You never do. You don't pull away when his shoulder bumps yours. "How's your elbow?" His fingers graze your arm.
You look up at him, your brows crease. It's then jongho thinks about how short you are. It distracts him only for a second.
You respond simply, shrugging him off. That's red flag number three. Jonghos eyebrows furrow, and his face pulls at his mask.
"If it wasn't, why were you in the hospital for a week?"
He watches the war of emotions flash your features. And that's the final straw for him. You clearly lie when you mumble out an excuse. He wants to press you. What are you lying about?
Why would you lie?
"Tests? What for?" He leans on his shoulder, staring at you from over the black mask on his face. He takes charge of the conversation. He waits.
"Because i.. because I'm a -" Ding!
The ding signifies jongho clicking everything into place. It's like a puzzle he's been working on. How you smelt different when he hugged you after you returned. How docile you looked this morning. How you leaned up into him. How you grabbed him. All of this is so uncommon for you.
Jongho is so used to you looking throughly messy in the morning. It's not something he dislikes (he likes how you look always), but it's so you to be messy. You leaning up into him, he doesn't ignore the way you take a big inhale in his ear before you speak. It's not his imagination. These things are so unlike you. Yes, you are the beta standard. Everyone agrees. Even you. But this.. You're being so.. he can't wrap his head around it.
Because.
He walks up to the counter, taking everything he ordered in his strong grip.
Because you're an omega and jongho is the alpha who figured it out.
Jonghos feet past faster than yours on the concrete. He doesn't slow down because he's locked in thought. He doesn't even notice when he sets a tone he didn't mean. He's gotta ask someone else about this.
He's got to figure something out.
Tumblr media
Mingi is so clueless when it comes to you. Mingi is.. actually very clueless all the time. When yunho bursts into their shared bedroom. Ripping off the blanket from mingi. He's got half a mind to sit there, blinking his eyes in a sleepy daze. Yunho explains his master plan.
Mingi doesn't register any of it until yunho tells him a second time.
Mingi isn't unhappy about being told by yunho that you're an omega. He's completely still out of it. He's mostly unhappy he didn't figure it out himself.
It's very mingi to come to your room with a pillow that smells heavily like him. Your room is the most comforting in the apartment. He likes to think he contributes to it because his scent lingers in your bed the next morning. A certain possessiveness mingi indulges in.
Your sleepy face turns towards him. Beckoning him in.
He forgets the story yunho prepared for him.
You are so pretty. "Can I sleep in here tonight?" He fiddles with your doorknob when you look at him. He knows if the media got wind of how pretty you actually are, they'd be all over you in a second. He's somewhat happy the makeup artist don't do your specific features justice. When you let him in, he kicks his feet when he falls on your bed. The bed that smells like you.
The sugary sweetness under the mask of your beta scent is something he particularly takes a full second to shove his face in.
"I sleep better in your bed," he finally says, pulling his face up from your spot that smells specifically like you and no one else. Your fingers pull the glasses off his nose. He forgot he even had them on. As you lean over to put his glasses on your side table. He takes an indulgent whiff of you.
"It's because my room isn't messy," he can hear the smile in your words. It makes him smile. He bites his cheek gently. In the silence he tries to remember what yunho wanted him to say.
"I'm sorry again," he murmurs. And like you always do, you reassure him. It isn't his fault. There's no witty remark, something you usually make because you prefer to keep things light and he knows that.
Your excuse doesn't make him upset either, he doesn't think anything you do will make him upset. When he says something that makes you laugh, his heart pumps blood up his neck and his cheek grown warm.
He knows he's awake enough that it's not the drowsiness that takes over his next moves. Mingi searches for your hand under the pillow, when he finds it, he pulls it closer to his side. A satisfied sigh leaves his parted lips.
The softness of your skin to mingi is like falling into a basket of bunnies. Okay, maybe he's being dramatic. But his thumb caresses you like he would a bunnies ear.
What does he say now?
"I'm here if you ever need anything" it slips outs, his finger parts your thumb to intertwine his fingers between his. The scent glands between his fingers meet yours. A passionate and forward display of affection that mingi soaks in.
Until you pull away. And the faint crack of his heart rings in the dark room.
San and yeosang share the space at the top of the tower, prideful, they watch you lean and maneuver yourself. San is doing most of the shouting.
As soon as you get close enough, yeosang is pulling you over. Praises stop just as he's about to say them. The whiff that comes with you is sweet and all-consuming. San smells it, too.
You take it with you when you run to the table. Your smile is beaming. But San and Yeosang don't smile back.
Shock hangs in the air. Yeosang and san only stare in shock when you pull out something. Rolling it over yourself.
Afterward, you run without looking back. Yeosang doesn't know exactly what to do. Neither does San.
When they meet up at the bottom of the tower, San pulls hongjoong aside whilst wooyoung pulls yeosang aside. "What happened? Where is -" He asks his best friend with worried eyes. Yeosang doesn't know whether or not to tell him.
"I.." yeosang looks anywhere else. Wooyoung doesn't wait for yeosang to answer, pulling him over to the boys who crowd San and Hongjoong.
"I don't know where she went." San throws his hand up. Hongjoong steps back with his hands on his hips. Somewhere around here they will be called back to set and you will be missing.
Wooyoung is utterly confused, "what's going on?" He asks, and everyone goes silent. He steps forward, repeating himself louder this time.
"She's an omega," San says quietly, glancing at hongjoong and then back at wooyoung. Whatever response wooyoung was expecting, it certainly wasn't that.
And now that you're all caught up. Wooyoung storms the entirety of the building searching for you. Any hint of your freshly dyed hair, scent, or perfume is another lead to getting to you. Letting an omega, one distressed and upset loose around a building where, yes good people are, but there is bad somewhere. Everywhere. And he especially told the guys about this.
"You let OUR pack member go? When she's extremely upset? Did anyone even- by herself! She's still healing and you let her go off by herself!?"
Yes, maybe he's being more mature than he's even seen. It shocks himself more than his members. And when he finally finds you, a different weight falls over his chest. Your sobs and tears are the last thing wooyoung wants to hear or see. Softly, he reaches out. You pull away, upset, you say words that have wooyoung pulling his lip between his teeth to prevent barking back anything he could say in the moment that'll hurt your feelings more. You're highly sensitive right now.
Wooyoung doesn't know if he's ever seen you cry like this before. Doesn't even remember an instance he's ever seen you so upset. The first time wooyoung saw you crying, you let a few fall, wiped them away, took a deep breath. Then you got up and continued with your day. Just a few tears compared to the river you are at the moment.
He wants to wipe them away and pull you into his chest. He can't, though. You're irratic, lost in your own head, and nothing he's currently saying will get to you.
He chances it. "Omega, please." he calls to you.
It's like a switch. You look up at him with puffy eyes. The shock on your face makes wooyoung feel terrible. It should have been something you came to tell him about. It's not something he overheard from someone else like gossip. It shouldn't have been.
Tumblr media
As soon as the car comes to a slow stop at the apartment, you can't bring yourself to walk up the stairs or even get out.
You know, as soon as you get out and stay locked up in your room, once the guys return, someone will come to ask questions. That things will change from what you're used to. And you'll lose something valuable. It's just a sneaking suspicion. But to you, it's the ever growing truth.
"Chen? Could you please take me to the dance studio?" You ask, staring up at the building. Chen, bless his heart, takes a second to think about it. Worry creases his graying eyebrows.
The dance room is a breath of fresh air. The familiar space takes away your thoughts.
And now that you're in this familiar space, you do what you do best. You dance to distract yourself. Your phone hooks up to the speakers, blaring loudly. Music beats your eardrums, and your heart does, too when you move about freely.
Your newly dyed hair sticks to your face. Your clothes aren't very dance worthy but you've wore more uncomfortable ones on stage. Your low waisted jeans stick to your skin, along with the hoodie sweater you wore. You're sweating heavily.
You don't even have your purse to reapply your scent blockers. It doesn't matter if you did. You don't care who knows anymore. Your manager isn't here either. A giant no-no. You left filming, an even bigger no-no. And now no one knows where you are except for Chen, the ultimate no-no. You trust him not to say anything, though.
You might get removed from the group for this. You might get blacklisted. Kicked off the face of earth. And you wont know until they tell the media. You wont know until atiny find out. But what does it matter when nothing matters to you at the moment. You've never broken your contract rules. No dating? Not even when you were a trainee. Keep up with diet culture? Who needs food anyways. No partying? You got it, boss. No smoking? You don't like smoking anyway. Get used to wearing irritating makeup and the stuck-up people you deal with on a daily basis? Gladly.
Never, never allow yourself to get comfortable. The fear of never being enough will keep you on your toes, perform until you pass out, sing til your lungs hurt, and write lines until you can't feel your fingers. Work endlessly 24/7.
You fall to your knees, breathing heavily. Your head meets with the cold wood floor. You lean against it for support. Breathe. You're trying. Continously heaving for breath. You wrap your arms around yourself, your knees pull into your chest against the floor your head still is tucked on the wood.
The burden taken on every day is your own. The way you work yourself to the brink of death is your own doing. Your manager has told you this before, even in your day off. Everyone you know has said the same thing, everyone knows how hard you push.
"You've earned it," Kimmie celebrates. Handing you a cupcake. "You debuted!" She cheers, blowing on a whistle, you stare down at the pink frosting in shock. "I'm so proud of you"
Years later, are you proud of yourself, though? Years later, are you willing to let your dream die? Years later, are you willing to risk everything? To tell them how you really feel, why you are the way you are now? How you became this way?
The door to the dance practice room stutters open. The foggy glass gives away your position inside along with the bright lights. Your breathing is all caught up, but you still keep yourself as low to the floor as you can.
Don't look, pretend you're not here, please. Please.
A warm hand meets your back. You can't hear anyone over the music. It stops abruptly. The silence is suffocating, just like the jeans you're wearing. Just like the hoodie you have on. The cold of the floor caresses your sweaty forehead, that is, until someone's hand wedges between it and you.
Softly pulling your head off the floor, yeosangs lean pale arms come into view. Your face turns in his direction, a deep set pout and fear in your wide eyes. He's squatted next to you, his knees on the floor must be uncomfortable. His hand brushes the hair off your hairline back. Words are stuck in his throat.
"It's okay." he whispers just to you, sighing at the end. Your eyes fall into a squint at the floor, and your nose scruches. He takes a second, thinking over his next move. He decides to guide you into his chest. He doesn't overthink it. Maneuvering your arms to wrap around him.
Yeosangs arms wrap around you. he's comfortable and caring, his heart beats down next to your ear. He doesn't really know what to do with his hands, he's not very good with touch. But he's trying for you. He lands softly on the floor, sitting on his butt and pulling you closer into the gap between his lean legs. His hand rubs on your arm, the other hand on your hair strokes it behind your ear delicately. Lemonade tea and cocoa butter stripes the stress off your shoulders, yeosangs scent is addicting. Like a warm blanket.
"I'm sorry, I'm okay" you try to reassure. Who? You don't even know. Yeosangs head nods over your hair, he doesn't believe you thus why he keeps pushing out his scent to calm you. But he let's you say it anyways. The door opens once again, scraping against the wood sharply.
"Did you -" it's jongho, his words fall short. He turns around and walks back out the door. The distant shout in the hallway signals that this is real and jongho is calling the rest of the guys.
You don't know if you can do this.
You pull away from yeosang, taking one final deep breath. These emotions that choke you are unwelcome. You need to get your shit together. You need to act like an adult and take care of the issues you cause. Yeosang pulls his hands back and stands up from the floor.
You take a full second to follow. Just in time, the manager bursts through the door, right behind him is jongho. Jongsiks hands grip your shoulders. "You okay?" He words out, the older man concerned. You adore jongsik like a father. He's your favorite staff member.
You nod, straightening your lips into a thin line. Jongsik scans your face as if decoding your answer like it has a secret meaning. He nods after, pulling you along with him down the hallway.
Your phone is on its last life, 2%. How long were you in there for? 10 pm, the clock flickers. Finally, it shuts off. Completely gone is the comfort of your phone. You sigh. Behind you, yeosang and jongho trail back. It's silent even when you step out of the building.
The night air nips your nose when you wait for jongsik to pull around with the company car. Yeosang stands on your left, awkward, looking anywhere else but at you. Your arms subconsciously wrap around you. You're cold, but you won't admit it. You won't say you're cold, not when the tension is so thick and making you claustrophobic.
The whiff of fresh florals, mahogany, charred sandalwood- you know this smell, it's jongho. You turn to look at him on your right. He shoulders off his black jacket, sticking it out to you without another word. You don't want to take it, don't want to give him another reason to pity you in this moment. But the look in his eyes when he stares so deeply into yours says 'go ahead'. You look down as you take it, unfolding your arms and shuffling it on. It's all the smell of jongho, every last bit of him. Every hint and detail.
You subtly sniff it as you shuffle around. Leaning on the balls of your feet. Jongho doesn't have another jacket on, just a thin brown hoodie. His eyes look ahead at the empty street, and his large palm wraps around his forearm while his other arm swings loosely by his side. He looks as if he didn't just hand over his jacket to you. He looks normal in the chaos that swirls around you. His soft eyelashes flutter, his heart-shaped lips part.
He's so boyfriend coded, you think. The thought makes you turn away. Where did that come from?
No one takes the front seat, you wonder why, when you first got in the car you sat in the middle, you're so used to sitting in the middle so the guys have room to move around, squishing them together seems cruel. You don't even think about scooting over. Yeosang takes your left whilst jongho takes your right. It doesn't even bother you when you when the potholes make you bump into yeosang. Or even when jonghos big shoulders lean into your spot.
All of that lingers under the anxiety pouring out of your pores. You're mentally sweating profusely. What the hell are you going to say? How are you gonna explain you went into heat? It is so embarrassing explaining to the eight guys you love (more than friends, you've always known) that you were locked up in a room having to do the do with yourself for a week. Perhaps you should have your priorities straight instead of wondering about that.
Your face feels like it's heating up from the embarrassment you're gonna feel.
The apartment is a little less cold than the hallway. The door shuts behind yeosang. Signaling to everyone else you've just gotten back. Jongho types away on his phone, no doubt texting someone. He heads straight to where the kitchen is. Your eyes don't follow. Instead, you take off his jacket and hang it up in the closet. Yeosangs hand brushes yours when he does the same from next to you. You don't stop to stare, and neither does he.
The living room is normally spacious, but you feel claustrophobic in the setting you've comfortably gotten used to. You take your seat on the couch, and your head falls into your hands. Your palms rub at your eyes, pushing away the sleep clawing to consume you in its grip.
The night light of the city cascades against the dark apartment. You watch your vision blur the shapes together that dance on the wall across you. Your shadow smack dab in the middle, hunched over to hide into yourself. Yeosang moves about in the darkness, walking towards the kitchen himself. Just out of your view, you hear the chit-chat of the guys. They must all be in the kitchen trying to learn how to start a conversation with you.
You take the lead, pushing yourself to stand up. You take one deep sigh. And walk toward the kitchen yourself. The chitchat dies as you come into view, you learn against the entry, your hip meeting the cold countertop. The majority of the guys are still dressed. They must all have been out looking for you. Your head falls down, shamefully.
"Three weeks." You start, voice small. You clear your throat, shaking your head towards the floor. "I've been like this - an omega for three weeks" Your arms cross over your chest. The silence eats away at you.
"I-" "Why didn't you tell us?" Mingi says, hongjoong stares daggers at his face. Possibly hoping to quiet him. "I. I didn't.." You're tired of lying. You swipe your finger under your eye. "I was told not too," you speak clearer, looking up. All eyes are on you.
"They told me not to tell you guys. They said they were gonna sit us all down and explain it. Keep it under control until they have a statement to the press for my absence and my new sex.." You get more silent as you continue. Confidence deteriorating. "I didn't want to lie, but I.." You stop there, sighing heavily.
"How?" Hongjoong asks, eyes glance to him but the majority of them stay on you. You know exactly what he's asking. "I don't know, really. it started just a couple days before practice, I wasn't feeling well. Seonghwa, yeosang. You two noticed my scent was off and I still didn't think about it until I collapsed." You kick your foot, looking towards the two members you mentioned.
Seonghwa and yeosang look like sirens of the night. Their eyes peirce you. "I still don't know the exact cause of the change. The doctors said a few different things. I won't know 'til I get a call." You honestly say. The silence lingers in the air again.
"When is your-" a hand slaps over mingis mouth, it's jonghos, he holds mingis head to prevent him from moving out of his grasp, mingi struggles. It's funny, yet you dont laugh, only smile the tiniest bit. "When is your heat?" Wooyoung finishes for him, all eyes on him now. Well, more like all shock directed at him now. Mingi stops struggling, both he and jongho stare at wooyoung like he grew a second head.
"Less than two weeks" you bite your cheek, facing the bold question head on. "Actually, i had my first one while i was gone." your head falls back towards the floor. The wood planks are so very interesting. Wow. "I've been taking heat suppressants to bide the pain.. but I don't know. I won't know until I get there."
Silence again.
Seonghwa coughs, turning around. He breaks the silence as he moves bags on the counter. "Most of us had dinner but I saved some food for you" he hands you the solid plate, like its a code word. Each of the guys go to do something else, moving around and doing their own things. Plastic wrap covers the plate, you stare down at it in your hands.
The change of the conversation makes you trip on your thoughts. "You're not mad?" You blurt out, looking up at seonghwa who goes to pass you. He stops, surprised, he turns. "Mad?.." he mumbles, looking away as he thinks. "I'm not mad, why would I be?" He mumbles, eyebrows pulled taunt over his smooth forehead.
You blink back, once, then twice.
Seonghwa bites his plump bottom lip, looking to the living room where hongjoong is sitting with his laptop in his lap. They pass glances to each other. A plan under wraps that no one else knows about except for them. He turns back to you, sucking in a breath. Your eyes hold the universe, sparkling when you look up at him. He catches his hand before it reaches out. Scratching the back of his neck. "They're not mad either." He whispers down to you.
Mere centimeters away, the pure smell of you has seonghwa wrapped. If anyone is mad, he's certainly covering for them just because he doesn't want your pretty eyes to shed any tears. "You promise?" It's completely quiet. Seonghwa looks down at your lips pouting out gently.
"I promise." He glances between your eyes and lips. His hand scraps up against the doorway, leaning into it.
The tension is noticeable between the two of you, hanging high in the air. Your eyes never move, neither does seonghwa. In this moment he has you locked in his siren like stare. In the same instance your big worried eyes hold seonghwa hostage. Neither wants to break apart.
"Have you thought about.. who you have to call when your heat hits?" Seonghwa pulls his pliable lip between his teeth again, trying to drag an answer he didn't know he wanted.
Your lips part, your tongue pokes out to wet them. A shining sheen seonghwa wants to drown himself in. "No... I was just gonna endure.." You whisper, cheeks feeling hot. Seonghwa, scans your eyes. "You did it on your own?" He whispers back heavily, his mouth falls open only the tiniest bit.
"Mhm" you nod. He sucks in a breath, images flash through his mind. "Poor 'mega" he sighs just under his breath, his free hand reaching up to rub his thumb just under your lip, he holds your chin "you didn't have your pack to help you, yeah?" He glances down at your lips. It takes all restraint in seonghwa to not turn down and capture you in the passion he's feeling. Your thighs shifting is what catches his eye.
Your sweet smell is stronger in his proximity. Seonghwa wants to drink it in. He has to keep composure. He reminds himself.
He turns away quickly, leaving you in the kitchen. Plate still in hand. You let out the breath you had been holding, holding the plate tightly.
What was that?
Tumblr media
Less than two weeks. Less than two weeks you have a decision to make. Whether or not they'll take up your offer, you don't know. But seonghwas display of affection yesterday captured you in the tide of troublesome emotions.
The sun beams through your window, shedding your dark room with lights. The breeze pushes open your curtains. They swirl in the brisk morning air.
You hold the paper in your hands. The mail you hold is very important, very, very important. You have to fill in the blanks and can't change it until your heat after this upcoming one.
The line that stunts you, is your emergency heat contact. The people or person that you should immediately be directed to, to situate you and take care of you when you won't be able to.
The line is blank, it can be left that way.. but you have many names in mind to fill it. You just hope they'll want to be on it.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Why did I write him like that omg(i know exactly why). Thank you for the continuous support, mwuah.
taglist: @lelaleleb @bratty-tingz @0325tiny @smilefordongil @atinytinaa @unripeapple7 @ja3hwa @stopeatread @sousydive @voicesinmyhead-rc @giiouis @c4tboyxiao @eastleighsblog (if you wish to be added to taglist please comment under the main masterlist ♡ thank you)
448 notes · View notes
owliellder · 6 months
Text
Two's A Crowd
College Bully! Leon Kennedy x fem! Reader
Tumblr media
MDNI 18+
(Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5)
Description: College is proving to be a lot harder than you imagined. You cannot fail this math class. So when you've tried everything else, a well-known student is recommended to you by your professor for tutoring lessons, not really leaving you with much of a choice but to work with him.
Warnings: Not proofread, No Use of Y/N, Dub-Con, Unprotected Sex, Bullying, Yelling, Cursing
Tags: College AU, Bully! Leon, Shy! Reader, both are in their early 20's, Leon is Rude AF in the beginning, Loss of Virginity, Oral Sex, Fingering, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Additional Tags to be Added
Author's Note: I've been late posting this entire series 😭. i explained a bit when anon asked, but i LOST my compression gloves and got a new pair relatively quick on top of my $200 medication 💔 my wallet is in shambles guys
ANYWAYS thank you all for sticking around and bearing with me!! i kiss and hug everyone!! even though i haven't responded to comments lately, i read every single one and it always makes me giggle ♥️♥️
Cross-posted onto AO3
Chapter 5
The drive back to your university with your mom was excruciating. You hadn’t told anyone what’d happened which meant you had to keep a happy demeanor around them throughout the holidays up until now. Dread had settled in your stomach once the drive began and continued to spread the closer you got, similar to when you’re headed to the doctors or the dentist, just a million times worse.
Texting Ella and Sky had helped a surprising amount, turning the majority of your anxiety into rage. Ella was furious when she found out, so her fury, and Sky’s, quickly became yours.
They hyped you up, ready to be at your side and assist in tearing “that shitty fratfuck” to shreds. The support meant so much after everything, especially after the reality of it all set in; you’d seen the picture via snapchat from someone you didn’t know, so how many others had seen it?
Your worst fear was being seen as easy, being used like you were. But you weren’t, were you? Your friends had made sure to try and convince you otherwise, you had to give them that, yet even with the facts laid out in front of you, it was still hard to divert your thoughts away from that ever-looming self-doubt.
Seeing the campus come into view only served to solidify those thoughts and feelings. No matter what Sky and Ella had tried or are willing to do for you, it just wasn’t enough to fix what’s been done.
Your mom helped you bring your suitcase up to your dorm, giving you a tight hug and a kiss on the temple before saying goodbye and heading on her way. Playing okay around your family all winter break was exhausting, so you just chose to sit in silence on your bed instead of unpacking your stuff. Always prepared, you wanted to get here a few days early, using unpacking and settling back in as an excuse, when really you just needed time to collect yourself before the inevitable happened.
He was here, and you were sure he’d seek you out eventually once he spotted you, or maybe when one his friends did and the word made its way back to him. Whichever way it happened, you knew it’d be unfavorable. 
“Hey,” Ella’s voice from the doorway caught your attention, “you look miserable..” How hadn’t you heard the door open? 
“I am miserable, but uh.. let’s just pretend I’m not, okay?” You replied, barely cracking a smile as you glanced up at her. 
She gave you a weak laugh in return, letting the door close as she slowly sauntered over to you, plopping down right next to you on the edge of the bed. “Fine, yeah. You haven’t shown me your schedule yet, by the way.”
“Oh, right-” you paused to reach over and grab your bag, rifling through the various papers in there until finally pulling out the schedule you printed out a couple weeks back. “It’s mostly the classes that aren’t fun.” You stopped to look at your schedule for a brief moment before passing the paper over to Ella, who quickly snatched it from your hand.
She squinted dramatically, holding the paper only a couple inches away from her face. “Yeaaah, these aren’t the best. At least it looks like you’ll have the majority of your pre-reqs out of the way for next year though.” Her observation made you chuckle with a nod.
“Which is what I’m trying to do. Work myself to the bone now, chill out later.” 
“Don’t kill yourself trying to do everything in one fell swoop.”
“I promise I won’t Ella, this is just how I-” A knock on the door drew both yours and Ella’s attention away from each other, an immediate scowl settling on her face. You wanted to ask, but it seems she already knew what you were going to say, quickly shushing you in a hushed voice, “Sky won’t be here until tomorrow night. Don’t answer that.”
You paused, thought for a moment, then nodded once with pursed lips. Ella was a pretty serious person, the mom of the group you could say, so when she pulled that tone, you knew better than to test it. Besides, you didn’t want to see who or what was on the other side of the door, you needed more time.
The next day was a little better, if uneventful. You finally brought yourself to unpack your suitcase, a chance to reorganize everything since you’d gotten a few new things over the holidays. Ella stuck close, bringing food up and into your dorm to take advantage of the empty mini fridge while the two of you binge watched a few random movies.
You stayed cozied up in your bed, having already mapped out and memorized your walking path for each class; longer, less foot traffic to and from. All you had to do was get through the rest of this year, that’s all. Little extra walking never hurt anyone, right?
When classes actually started, the long and complicated walks actually worked for a time; no one gave you strange looks, no one tried to talk to you, and it was pretty quiet. Scenic. But everyone knows everything good must come to an end eventually, and of course it had to be when you were just starting to forget all of this mess.
He caught you between classes. Scenic walks backfired massively when you realized there wasn’t anyone else around on that part of campus. Guess you didn’t think this one all the way through.
You couldn’t help but notice he looked pretty roughed up, sporting a few bruises along his cheekbone, a split lip, and a healing black eye. Seems he’s been busy over winter break.
“Listen, please listen-” Leon pleaded, holding his hands out in a weak attempt to trap you in the hallway. All this did was make you even more uncomfortable. “I know what I did was wrong, but I was not the one who sent that picture around, I swear.” You just stood in place after a few tries to get around him, giving him an almost bored stare. He didn’t really expect to finally catch you, so he stumbled over his words as he continued to ramble.
“I-.. I’m so, so sorry for doing that to you,” he slowly lowered his hands back down to his sides once he was sure you’d stay to listen, “I know that what I did was terrible, and I mean it when I say that I am sorry. I wish there was a way to turn back time and undo it, but I can't. I can't even explain why I did it in the first place, but that's not an excuse. I just- I messed up big time and I was- am stupid for letting it happen.”
To you this seemed sincere, but you really couldn’t be sure and it was safe to assume it wasn’t. Leon managed to trick you for months, who’s to say this wasn’t a trick as well? 
Your look turned skeptical, crossing your arms tightly against your chest with a shaky breath. Despite handling this better than you thought you would, it was still nerve wracking having this kind of talk.
“I'm not good at this, but I'm more than willing to do whatever it takes to make things right, if that's even possible..” Leon breathed out, panting as he tried to catch his breath after talking so fast. “I managed to uh-.. to find everyone who had the picture and I made them delete it.”
“I made them delete the picture.” He repeated, taking another moment to breathe before suddenly looking down to yank something out of his pocket. “I-I got your uh-.. these-” 
Seeing him hold up your panties so casually made you gasp, immediately looking around the hallway to make sure it was still empty before shooting him a glare, whispering a harsh “Put them back! Put them back!” which made him scramble to hide them in his pocket again. 
“Right- right, sorry! Sorry…” Leon was sweating at this point, growing increasingly anxious under your gaze. He didn’t want to mess this up any further, but man he was doing a pretty shitty job at that right now.
His hands were shoved into his pockets as well, both of you blushing with embarrassment, and also shame on Leon’s part. Once he managed to slow his breathing, he started to talk again, a noticeable frown tugging at the corner of his lips. “You don’t.. have to forgive me or anything, I just wanted to make sure you knew that hardly anyone knows and-” His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed dryly, turning his head to the side to look at the wall, “.. and that I’m sorry. I really do like you, I guess I just took a little too long to realize it…”
You made another quick glance over your shoulder before looking back at the man trembling in front of you who was still avoiding your gaze. You wanted to hate him so bad, so bad, but it was hard when all you could see was the Leon who was so sweet, the Leon who let you cry to him when the weight of the world was on your shoulders and made you feel so wanted and loved.
“Can we-” you cleared your throat and pulled the strap of your backpack further up onto your shoulder, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet. “Can we talk later, maybe? Like, in my dorm? I don’t want anyone overhearing any of this..”
Leon perked up when he heard you talk, pulling his hands from his pockets to nervously rake his fingers through his hair, which was now partially damp from the sweat beading off his forehead. “Oh- OH! Yeah, of- of course, yeah, I’m sorry I didn’t- I just needed to-”
You waved your hands in front of your chest, shutting him up so he didn’t spill any further. "And throw those away." He nodded silently, wiping a hand down his face until it settled right in front of his lips, probably knowing he was talking too much at this point. 
There was one more class you needed to go to that day, so you hurried off after telling him to wait outside your dorm until you were done, and he promised he would. Very adamantly, too. At least he held true to his words, standing in the hallway right in front of your dorm room like a lost puppy when you turned the corner. It was cute for a second, though annoyance quickly replaced that feeling as you walked over and let him in.
You weren’t exactly ready to have a full blown talk, but then again, no one ever was. What made it easier was your roommate never returned that semester, assuming she dropped out, so you basically had the whole dorm to yourself for the rest of the year. Or until someone had a roommate issue and needed a change. Didn’t really matter to you at that point.
There was really only one thing on your mind and that was getting Leon to explain this whole ordeal to you. You needed detail, clarification, anything to help you understand what’d been going on behind your back during that time. And he did, telling you just about everything he could; who suggested the bet, who roped him into the idea, the second guessings he had since the start, how he could’ve done literally anything else to avoid the way it all played out, everything.
Obviously you couldn’t just forgive him like that, even though he kept telling you how sorry he was and how terrible he felt about it. You wanted to forgive him, but you weren’t ready, and he understood that. He would’ve been satisfied with any response you gave him, so having been given the chance to really explain and have you listen was more than enough in his eyes.
“And just so you know, my friends aren’t going to let you off the hook,” you pulled your legs up so you were sitting criss-cross on the bed, looking across at Leon who was sitting on the bed opposite of yours.
“Yeah, I know..” he chuckled awkwardly, reaching a hand back to rub at the nape of his neck. “I was honestly expecting them to jump me, but they just give me evil looks whenever they see me.”
You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, making a mental note to question Sky and Ella about that later. “You’ll never get nice looks from them again and I won’t be vouching for you.”
Leon nodded, silence blanketing the room as you’d finally run out of things to discuss. Though it was awkward, it was nice to have him hanging around again. “Anyways,” you started, standing up from your bed slowly as you vaguely gestured towards the door, “I need to study, sooo…”
“Oh, yeah, totally, uhm..” he followed suit, standing up from the other bed before sauntering over to the door as you held it open for him. He walked out and turned around almost instantly, a small smile suddenly appearing on his face once his eyes met yours, his arms jerking upwards slightly as if to suggest a hug.
“Don’t push it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
tags:
@kayotee4 @k-fallingstar @bobastayhigh @mi-zer-y @chasingkennedy @l30nva @espressonerd @jjouki @5tarx @bunnybreadloaves @whoisgami @cyanscribe @c4b3r1a @darichvep @mmmangel @kingtacocat @klee-iii @baby--vera @dakiniii @kenma-izhu @aliidarling @leonsmamacita @deadghxsty @nekoheist @dumbassmortal @cassiecasluciluce @iovewilliams @maeplayscello @deddiemunsonsblog @paranoid-but-android @mariesmain @tteokhwaa @bonnibuckets @eilonwykennedy @1dk-anym0r3 @papatyacikcik @animesnowstorm @lexi-zsy09 @mylifedoesntexist @ifeellikedying @yourmommylol04 @ravioli19 @dakiniii @papichulo120627
(few of your blogs won't pop up, i tried though 😩)
652 notes · View notes
ieatstarsforaliving · 6 months
Text
The Fucking Fight Club (2)
Tumblr media
Summary: Hazel tries to control her powers during the first fight club. But because she's a loser, she fucks up. A lot.
Pairing: Spider-Woman!Hazel Callahan x Classmate!Reader
Warnings: Mature language, use of (Y/N), mild violence, mentions of bruises and blood
Word Count: 3866
Note: Okay I know I gave y'all the first chapter yesterday but you guys surprised me with so much likes, I quickly whipped up the next chapter. The ending is kind of bad but lmfao idc. It's extra long cause I probably can't write until next weekend due to fucking midterms. I wish I could drop out and write fanfics all day long. But life is unfair to the gays. - Bia <3
Tumblr media
“Okay, before we actually do this, I want Hazel to practice controlling her punches.” 
Josie had dragged PJ and Hazel to a hiking trail in the nearest forest. This wouldn’t have been mandatory if Hazel didn’t have the super-strength to murder a human with a single blow, but since she did, Josie wasn’t about to let the feminist self-defense fight club happen without a bit of rehearsal. 
“Fine, mom.” PJ rolled her eyes. She was used to Josie’s dramatic cautiousness, but this seemed like a waste of time. She turned to Hazel and offered her face. “Hazel, just relax, and punch me.”
Hazel did a double take. “Punch… punch you?”
“Okay, I don’t like that tone. I know how to take a punch. Something people would always say is ‘PJ knows how to take a punch.’ Come on up.”
“PJ, she literally beat up a grown man with metal octopus arms last week. And the week before that, a man made of indestructible sand. You remember that? On the news? You might know how to take a punch, but you don’t know how to take her punch.”
“That’s why we’re practicing!”  
“I meant like practice on a tree or something.” Josie waved towards the nearest tree, standing about 25 feet tall. “Hit a tree, Hazel.” 
Hazel shrugged, before pulling back and punching into the middle of the tree. In a split second, the tree quaked under the assault, its massive frame crackling under the exact spot of Hazel’s fist. The bark gave away first, exploding outward in a radial pattern. When she retracted her hand, there was a massive dent on the thick body of the tree, jagged fault lines extending from the center of the impact. 
PJ’s eyes widened. “Holy fuck. That could have been my face.” 
Josie shook her head. “Okay, so, obviously, you have to calm down. By a lot. Try the same thing, but like, weaken it?” 
Hazel nodded. She then gently tapped the tree with her fist. 
Josie shook her head again. “That was clearly too weak.” 
Hazel sighed. “I don’t know if I can do this, guys. I’m so used to punching psychopathic criminals who want to kill me, so I’m always using at least 90% of my strength.” 
“Which is why I brought this.” Josie pulled out a piece of paper from her bag. It turned out to be your face printed on an A4 sheet with a speech bubble that read, ‘punch me!’ “Now, hear me out—”
“-Actually, this is brilliant,” PJ said, taking the paper from Josie’s hands. She taped it to the tree and presented it to Hazel. “Imagine the tree is (Y/N). She’s standing in front of you. She’s sexy, she's wearing a bikini, she’s ready to learn, and she’s asking you to punch her. What do you do?” 
Hazel stared at the tree with your face on it. In spite of this entire scenario being outrageously stupid, Hazel’s eyes fixated on the piece of paper, trying to immerse herself in your 2D face. It seemed to be a copy from last year’s yearbook, one that she had spent many hours staring at. She felt weirdly guilty as she wrinkled her eyebrows.
“I don’t really want to punch her.”
“Well, you have to! This is for feminism!” PJ groaned when she saw the hesitancy in Hazel’s face. “Hazel, women like strong, protective people. Why do you think there’s a hulk shrine in the girl’s second floor bathroom? You punch (Y/N) straight in the face, and she’ll immediately fall in love with you.” 
“Well–”
“-She will, Josie.” 
Hazel nodded. It was worth a try. If she wanted to wrestle with you in this club, she had to try. With a measured breath, Hazel extended her arm, fingers curling into a tight fist. She delivered a punch, focusing on her strength rather than causing harm. The moment of impact was firm but gentle, almost considerate towards the tree’s bark. It was as if the tree had barely registered the encounter, although its leaves were left shaking. She turned to her friends. 
“Perfect,” PJ whispered, her eyes glistening in awe. “Let’s go beat some bitches up.”
“Not how I’d word it,” Josie muttered. 
Tumblr media
That afternoon, you were taking a hike in the same forest with Isabel and Brittany. It was quite calming, walking and talking with your friends in the middle of a beautiful forest. Birds were chirping, winds were breezing– And you guys were completely alone, since nobody really came here, and if they did, it was usually after sunset to do drugs and film porn. 
The three of you reached the midpoint of the trail to take a small break, when Brittany pointed at a nearby tree. 
“Hey, isn’t that…” 
You followed her finger to a tall tree that seemed to be beaten up by someone, with its bark splintered and smashed by a form of impact. And in the middle of its trunk, was a photo of you, with a speech bubble that read ‘punch me!’. 
Your heart dropped. 
“Oh my god, (Y/N), somebody wants to kill you,” Isabel gasped. She walked up to the tree and ripped the paper off. “Isn’t this from our yearbook?” 
You reached out to take the paper from Isabel’s hand and inspected it closely. It was indeed a page from the previous year’s yearbook, with your smiling face captured in a freeze-frame moment of your junior days. The speech bubble, however, had been added later, which meant that someone had deliberately printed your face, edited it, and pinned it to a tree to violently punch it out. 
You felt a chill down your body. Who could have done this? You knew it was hard to be friends with everyone from school– but who would despise you enough to do this vicious and also slightly weird property damage to nature? 
“We should report it or something, like to a park ranger,” Brittany offered, sensing your panic.  
“No, They’re just going to tell us not to come back here wearing shorts,” You sighed. There were no cameras on the trail or anything, and the park rangers were men who were probably going to comment on your appearance instead of the actual problem at hand. “I have to do something about this by myself.” 
You needed protection. No, you needed to learn how to protect yourself. You needed teachers who could help you protect yourself from evil highschool men. 
You needed Hazel Callahan. 
You turned to your friends with a determined face, masking your fear before saying;
“Do you guys want to join a self-defense club with me?”
 Isabel and Brittany paused, exchanged glances, then nodded. 
Tumblr media
“What the fuck. These girls are ugly.”
It was the first club meeting for the feminist self-defense fight club, and there were exactly 8 girls waiting in the gym. Absolutely no sign of you. Hazel laid on the gym mats, trying not to show her disappointment. She reached for her phone, staring at your number in her contacts. She never got to texting you because she was panicking over what to say one night, and was busy fighting off muggings and carjackings every other night. 
“Are you stressed? Cause I’m stressed,” Josie muttered, as the advisor for the club hopped in, earning a sharp breath from Hazel. 
“Hey, ladies! Let’s get it poppin’ in this motherfucker.”
Hazel blinked. Mr. G was the advisor for this club? 
This was going to be absolutely horrendous. 
“Alright, uhm… hello, everybody,” Josie tried, looking around the gym filled with girls jumping on trampolines, hula-hooping, scooting, and balance-balling. “Okay, excuse me, sorry, I feel- sorry–” 
“-EVEVRYBODY SHUT THE FUCK UP.” PJ hit the floor with a broom, each collision echoing through the space with a ‘BANG’. 
“This isn’t a little hangout, okay? Oh it’s not a sleepover or playtime. There are serious rules that we need to establish, okay? 
“First? Listen to Hazel.” 
Hazel lifted her hand in a subtle gesture. 
“Second? Be on time. Except for you,” PJ pointed to Mr. G. “You come whenever you want. What time is it?”
“3:30–-” 
“-3:30! Club starts at 3:15. Not 3:16, not 3:17. But the door closes at 3:15. No exceptions!”
Hazel smiled. Other than the fact that they were the ones who were actually late, PJ was doing amazing, putting authority towards the three girls and setting the ambiance. PJ could be a menace sometimes most of the time, but when she wanted to get shit done, she got shit done. Hazel was almost too distracted by PJ’s rant—
“-I don’t care, if you’re like, oh, but I had to go get extra help for math because I need to get a full ride because my mom lives in a trailer and she loves her boyfriend more than me, bleh blah blarh blargh– Shut up. My dad left me and I’m incredibly punctual–”
–That she didn’t even notice you walking into the gym with Isabel and Brittany following closely behind. When she did notice, her heart seemed to pick up speed, her lips curling into a smile even without realizing. Josie recognized the smile– one that Hazel only had when she was talking about her crush— and Josie turned around, motioning to PJ that the holy trinity had entered the gym. 
Your eyes met with Hazel’s, and you waved in acknowledgement. She almost dropped her notebook as she looked around to check if you were waving to someone else, and then she fumblingly waved back. You giggled. Hazel had this face that effortlessly radiated innocent charm. You weren’t sure why, but you were drawn to her slightly nerdy demeanor. (it’s called being gay)
“Hey, guys. Come on in,” PJ rasped. “Uh… we’re just getting started here.” 
You walked to Hazel and stood beside her. “Sorry we’re late,” you apologized. 
The three girls shook their heads. “Don’t worry about it—”
“-Uhm, the rules were for next week, but this week is good–”
“-Yeah, no worries, take it easy.” 
Annie seemed confused. “Okay, I just want to make sure– This is a self-defense class, right? Where we can learn to protect ourselves against football players.”
“And the criminals that Spider-Woman has been fighting? Cause, uhm, crime rate has been going up so criminals are gonna pork us. They’re gonna pork us.”
“I thought we were fighting each other for money. There’s a cash prize, right?” 
“I thought this was to be a part of like a local, underprivileged female community.” 
“My identity is completely attached to hers so I just go wherever she goes.”
“I thought I could learn how to protect myself. Cause I’m pretty sure someone’s trying to kill me,” You added. 
“What?” Hazel turned, her eyes filled with worry. 
“Everyone’s here for a good reason!” Josie laughed. “So, you know, why are we nitpicking reasons?” 
“Yeah! So, let’s jump in. Hazel, why don’t you take it away?” 
“Uh.” 
PJ and Josie stepped back and began clapping. Everyone else followed along into a scattered and confused applause. Hazel walked to the front, opening up her notebook to the page reading ‘Self-Defense Club.’ 
“Okay. Hi. I’m Hazel. And I’m going to teach you guys how to fight. Maybe throw some punches. Some kicks.”
There was a bit of silence, maybe a single cough. PJ spoke up.
“(Y/N), since you’re closest to Hazel, why don’t you volunteer and step up?” 
You shrugged. “Sure.” 
You weren’t completely sure what was going on or how exactly Hazel was going to teach self-defense, but you dropped your backpack to the floor and walked towards Hazel, who looked incredibly afraid of what was going to happen next. She looked over your shoulders to PJ and Josie. 
PJ mouthed the words, ‘Punch her. She’s the tree. Punch her.’
Hazel sent signals through her eyes meaning, ‘I can’t– I’m not gonna punch her.’ 
PJ continued to mouth the words, ‘Punch her. Hulk shrine. Imagine her wearing a bikini.’ 
Hazel’s face contorted with disbelief, her eyebrows raised in surprise, and her mouth slightly agape. Was she actually going to punch the girl that she’d been crushing on for years? Was this really the way to do it? She tried to ignore PJ who was now mouthing ‘punch your virginity away’ and instead curled her hands into fists, imagining the tree, the print-out of your face saying ‘punch me!’, you wearing a bikini, your smile, your wave, your eyes, your body—
-While you stood beside her, wondering why Hazel looked like she was about to shit herself. You began to open your mouth to ask if she was okay. 
“Hazel—”
—And she flung her fist to your face. 
You didn’t even register what had happened until a sharp burst of pain radiated from your nose, and you found yourself laying on the floor of the gym. You heard gasps and shouts and something about Mr. G trying to shut the club down (“Hey hey hey hey hey– I don’t know about this shit-”) as you slowly sat up, tasting liquid metal. The pain began to spread to the rest of your face as your eyes blurred up, leaving you momentarily stunned and struggling to regain your composure. 
“Fuck, (Y/N)- I’m so sorry-” a horrified voice rang in front of you, and you felt a warm hand against your cheek. The hand seemed to be shaking, and you wiped your hazy eyes to see Hazel kneeling beside you, her expression embedded with guilt. “Oh my god. Oh my god.” 
“You didn’t even warn her!” Annie screamed. 
PJ shrugged. “Okay, we didn’t get warnings in juvie. Juvie was way crazier. One time, this girl’s punching me in the rain. Fall to my knees. It’s muddy. I get up– I’m blind. Punch her right in the middle of her face. Broke her fucking nose.” 
“Pretty sure Hazel broke (Y/N)’s nose too,” Annie grumbled. 
Isabel hurriedly handed you a couple of paper towels as Mr. G pushed the crowd to assess the situation. 
“Let me see her,” Mr. G ordered, gasping when he saw the amount of blood coming from your nose. “Oh, shit, man, we gotta shut this down.” 
“No, No—” 
“-Shut this shit down. Shut it down—” 
“-No, Don’t blow the whistle– Don’t blow the whistle!” Josie yelled. Everyone went silent, turning their attention from you to Josie. “I know that, you know– this is a little messy and bloody right now— Hazel, can you take (Y/N) to the nurse’s office–  but like, the only way that we can learn how to defend ourselves is by teaching each other.” 
Josie continued on with her little speech as Isabel and Brittany offered to take you to the nurse. But Hazel denied their help, rambling something about how this was all her fault. She picked you up fairly easily to your surprise, bridal style, and carried you out of the gym. You clutched onto her and rested your aching face into her stomach, feeling embarrassed.
When you arrived at the office, the nurse had gone home already, leaving Hazel to place you on the examination bed and find the medical kit. She seemed really anxious as you touched your face, your hand coming back dripping in red. 
“God, juvie really taught you how to punch, huh,” You joked, battling your agony with humor. Hazel didn’t laugh. Instead she grabbed a cloth and ran it under the sink water, indulging the silence. You tried again. “Hazel.” 
It was ignored once again as Hazel kneeled in front of you and started cleaning your face, her thumb gently holding your chin. She was very obviously avoiding your gaze with the best of her ability. 
“Hazel, look at me.”
Hazel finally looked up to your eyes. She looked like a child knowing that she was about to be reprimanded or put on time out— and you almost felt sorry for Hazel, even though you were the one bleeding out. She seemed to grimace as you opened your mouth, getting ready to be shouted at. But instead, you asked;
“Why didn’t you message me?”
Hazel paused. 
“I gave you my number. You didn’t message me,” You said again, completely serious. “You don’t like me?” 
“No, I like you!” Hazel exclaimed. Her cheeks turned into a shade of pink as she tried to reword the sentence. “I mean, I don’t don’t like you, I… I’m really sorry. I wasn’t sure if you even wanted to come to the club, and I’m sure you don’t want to anymore-”
“-No, I want to.” You interrupted. “I mean, my face hurts like a bitch, but… it was a solid punch. And I really do need to learn how to defend myself like that. I think someone’s trying to kill me, so I want to be ready.”
Hazel cocked her head. “Is someone attacking you? Do you need help?” 
You shook your head. “Not exactly, but I did see my face taped onto a tree, and someone had hit it really, really hard. Like, incredibly hard. Maybe with a rock, or something? I don’t know. I think it might be a death threat.”
Color seemed to drain out of Hazel’s face. 
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you–” You explained, mistaking Hazel’s pale skin as fear. “Listen, I’m not angry at you. Well, okay, I am a little, I think you could have warned me about the punch, at least, but… I know that you’re still recovering from your past and you’re probably on edge all the time.” 
Hazel nodded along, as it was partially true– she was on edge, but mainly because you were staring down at her with blood on your face and you still managed to look hot as fuck. She choked on her words before saying, “Still, I shouldn't have punched you like that. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m really sorry.” 
You smiled. “This is the whole point of the club though, right? You punch me, I punch you… and we become stronger together– ow.” 
You winced when the cloth touched a particular spot on your nose bridge, being reminded of your injury. 
“Shit, sorry, here—” Hazel instantly dropped the cloth. She carefully cupped your face, examining your wound with sincere worry. She was used to seeing wounds on herself, but seeing them on a person that she liked— seeing them on you, made her particularly upset. 
You were surprised to see Hazel being so serious. Every time you tried to talk to her, she was either nervous or punching you. To see her so focused on your face made you feel a bit self-conscious, leading you to comment on her skills to break the silence.
“You seem to have a lot of experiences patching someone up. Do you do this often?” 
She chuckled, “You have no idea.” 
You assumed she was talking about juvie, and you recalled seeing the bruises on her face the last time you talked to her. Was Hazel still having problems with crime even after prison? You stared at her, your heart throbbing with sympathy for Hazel. What struggles had she faced in her past for her to learn to punch so strongly, to patch up bruises, and to always be nervous around others? 
Hazel pulled away from you, finishing up the basic patch-up. She started putting the medical kit away as you caught sight at the mirror across from you.
“Great. I look awful.” You sighed, lingering on your reflection.
“No, you don’t.”
Hazel tore her eyes away from the kit and responded, as if you had said something completely out of reality. You laughed and shook your head, looking at the floor.
“No, my face is a complete mess–” 
“-You look pretty.” 
You tore your eyes off from the floor to Hazel. She was staring at you with a soft look in her eyes, one that you felt yourself getting lost in. She had such… honesty within them, as if she fully believed your beauty underneath the red and blue color. 
“You always do.”
And for a moment you wondered how you had never truly seen Hazel before— when the soft glow from the sun streamed through the window, casting a warm light over the two of you. Hazel’s brown hair, cascading into a messy mullet, framed her face which seemed to be burning up each second that passed. 
“...you too,” You muttered, a shy smile replacing your dumbstruck expression. “I hope you know that.”
Then it was her turn to gawk, at you and your hands timidly placed on your legs which dangled from the examination bed. She was reminded of her crush that had been sitting in her heart for years. She had just spent 5 minutes in a room alone with you— and for a second, she was almost glad that she punched you. 
And all of a sudden, Hazel seemed to recognize the lack of space between the two of you. Had you been this close to her this entire time? Your face was just inches apart from hers, and time seemed to stretch as you two gazed at each other, hearts thumping in unison. It was as if the wall Hazel had managed to build around her feelings towards you crumbled within this moment. Hazel’s lips parted, just a fraction, as if inviting the inevitable to say—
“-The club isn’t being shut down!” 
The office door swung open with a bang. 
Hazel immediately leaped back from you, as you whipped your face towards PJ and Josie who stopped in their celebratory tracks, analyzing the odd tension from the room.
“Oh, sorry, we thought–” Josie gaped, rubbing the back of her head in awkwardness. “How are you doing, (Y/N)?” 
“I’m doing okay, actually. I should go. But I’ll see you later, bye.” You hopped down from the bed and started walking out of the room, talking a bit too fast for anyone’s comfort. You almost fell over while you ran down the hallway, unable to accept what had just unfolded. What was that? You almost— you almost kissed a girl. You almost kissed Hazel Callahan.
In the meantime, Hazel was also mortified at the fact PJ and Josie had interfered right then and there. She hid her face with her hands which her friends mistook for anger.
Josie tried to calm her down, “Okay, I know that today was kind of a disaster and you made (Y/N) bleed, but after you left we managed to grow the spirit. Everyone’s into beating each other up now. It’s kind of working.”
“And, I honestly don’t know what just went on right now but… (Y/N) just said she’ll ‘see you later’. Which means it kind of worked for you too,” PJ added. “And it doesn’t seem like you broke her nose, which meant that you can actually control your power!”
“Are you still up for this, Hazel?” 
Hazel peeked out from hands, her face still red, her heart still sprinting, her mind still thinking about your lips— and how you said you would see her later. A smile tugged at her lips as she nodded and said,
“Let’s fucking do this.”
Tumblr media
Previous Chapter: The Origin
Next Chapter: The Set-Up for Chapter 4
496 notes · View notes