#except maybe my swelling isnt as noticeable

[shehsart]

A coworker told me Selena Gomez has a scary internal illness that causes her face to swell

[planetjisungie]

détester- l.dh

characters; slytherin! haechan x gryffindor! reader ft. gryffindor! mark (its just a given at this point) and slytherin! jisung

summary; enemies to lovers, you and donghyuck had always just hated eachother. you dont know when it started, or why it started but it was starting to get annoying.

an; i WILL finish my hogwarts series tonight we only have chenle left but now we have more fluff than actual crack because simon says is playing

congratulations you have reached gryffindor level you lucky prick

only the finest gryffindor

you are the embodiment of courage, literally if there was a ditch and someone fell down while everyone was too scared to help them, youd dive in before they could even say ‘dumbledore’

and you just so happen to be the younger sister of mark lee

the infamous mark lee,, that is

lucky prick part 2

but one thing made you seem not so lucky

your sworn enemy, lee donghyuck

or haechan as he liked to be called because apparently all evil villains needed a fake name

thats what you said anyway, he just liked the name haechan for its meaning

but he was also the emodiment of a slytherin, ambitious, cunning, resourceful and he was a pretty damn good leader

hence him being the captain of the quidditch team (no we are not going down the jisung route)

you didnt actually know when you started hating him, in your first year he had just decided to tie your poor, poor cat like a pig for roasting (he was in his second year already)

mr snuggles was traumatized

after that day it was small things to annoy you

like when he put hair dye in your conditioner bottle, resulting in your hair turning out a seafoam green colour

which you actually didnt mind so the joke was really on him, you pulled that shit off

or when he put spiders in your school shoes

that was unpleasant

and he also put a cockroach in your pocket, scaring your poor best friend who was terrified of the creatures

jisung was shaking, he hates cockroaches

to this day you still didnt know why he was a slytherin, but you guessed it was because he was a pureblood, very ambitious and resourceful but not so scary

but today was no exception

you walked towards the gryffindor table, robe billowing behind you as if you were walking in a movie

you were a lee sibling, you were both good at literally everything and deserved all the praise on earth

you fucking go girl, i stan

jisung sat at your table, the gryffindors appeared not to mind, especially as he was actually super nice

"y/n haechan told me to give you this"

ah there it was

the small hufflepuff girl handed you the letter before scurrying off back to her table

"y/n im scared"

jisung was already frightened of what that letter would hold

and you were a good friend, who knew no good would come from that letter

so you shoved it in your pocket, letting it crumple up before turning back to your breakfast

rip donghyuck

that was a fat L for our boy

he just wanted your attention

at first at least, he just wanted to be noticed by you so he pulled the cat stunt, making sure he didn’t actually harm the creature because he is still a decent human being and the grey furry animal did nothing to him

but now he had taken things too far

and he realised that after the stunt he pulled which resulted in you

yes, you, the brave, courageous gryffindor, crying

yeah he fucked up

he casted an illusion spell that infiltrated your sleep, creating nightmares with your deepest fears

and he regretted that

prank gone wrong *nearly killed her* (not clickbait)

you were still pissed at him for that

but that letter in your pocket was no ordinary letter

it was a confession letter, because he; yes him, the infamous slytherin, was too scared to talk to you about it in person

yet you literally just crushed his heart

which he kinda deserved to be fair

but jisung sent you a grateful smile and you went back to your conversation of which cereal brand was better

the answer is obviously lucky charms or frosted shreddies pengers mate

so our baby slytherin needed to find another way to get his feelings across because he was failing

and brother mark was: not happy

mark was a friend of haechan but despite his complaints every goddamn time that he needed to stop his stupid jokes that weren’t actually jokes, he didnt listen

maybe he shouldve listened

mark knows best

apart from jenos fic, mark was a real bitch but this is mark 2.0

mark really doesnt know best

anyways moving on

its time for innovative hyuck™️

so its back to the drawing room, sitting next to yuta (his head boy) to discuss the next plan of action

cutie yuta felt that haechan opening up to him about his feelings was the biggest achievement during his time at hogwarts

so right, the next plan

it was to leave flowers on your bed and then when you turned around to see who put them there (hypothetically) he would be there and he could make his outstanding apology

but of course, this isnt some fanfiction where everything goes right

who do you take me for?

so later that day he gathered his flowers, tying them in a cute dark green ribbon

staying with the slytherin theme

and he put them on your bed

they were some seriously nice flowers

you noticed them as soon as you walked in and your heart swelled

unfortunately that wasnt the only thing that swelled

you were allergic to pollen, and your eyes had puffed up slightly, itching a little and you had some sniffles

that was another L for hyuck

and he ran, he fucking booked it out of his little hiding spot back to his common room aka the dungeon

"YUTA I FAILED"

"how the fuck do you fail giving someone flowers hyuck?"

"shes fucking allergic"

so you never found out who gave you flowers

but

but you did keep them, despite your obvious physical irritation to them

they were pretty :(((

so you pressed them into a random notebook you found, because seriously you couldnt just chuck them out

unfortunately for hyuck, he was not so slick to mark who narrowed his eyes on the boy

he knew something was up

what kind of torture device was flowers ?? this was too soft

and so he found out that the same boy who had been making your life a little

how should i say

s p i c y

had a fat crush on you and was just a pouty baby who wanted your love and attention

cute

mark didnt know whether to support this?? like ?? he knew that underneath your front of disliking the long legged boy, you had some feelings, maybe small but they were there

you wouldve called it fondness

because

i promise youre not a sadist or masochist

but you would see him in class

he was very focused and had a beautiful smile

and laugh

he may come across a little... stand offish and arrogant at first but hes actually a kind soul

from how he made a mess in the grand hall but when he thought everyone was gone, he stayed behind to help clean it, having fun conversations with the staff (elves? who tf cleans the great hall??)

that goddamn melodious laughter constantly ringing in your head

shawtys like a melody in my head

but moving on

you noticed the pranks he pull decreased

and that was because he was spending time with yuta and mark, planning the perfect, foolproof (unfortunately not jeno this time) way to confess

and he sent you small smiles ?? what ??

this is so unlike the hyuck you knew

like he did a 180

i did a full 180 baby crazy

i said this was gonna be less crackish but when regular comes on and you hear jaehyuns queso line you cant not feel qUirKy

(bbq- bb—s mY DIAMONDS I DONT NEED NO LIGHT TO SHINE- jungwoo)

okay so the next plan

you loved quidditch too, mainly because your brother was the captain for the gryffindor team

so the plan was for you to attend the slytherin v gryffindor match and

mark somewhat willingly agreed to have a friendly match so that hyuck could show off his skills

this was an awful plan

because it was raining the day of the match

so you and jisung huddled together for warmth, shivering as you watched the match

and hyuck couldnt feel worse, he felt like you were now going to be sick because of him

damn, you really couldnt catch a break

the groan of pure frustration yuta let out was amusing at least

he was just as invested in this as haechan at this point

like he was germinating a seed??? he was fathering this relationship

so with another L, haechan felt super super bad

and this baby cooked for you

he got his best friend jaemin to teach him how to make chicken soup

because you were actually not a herbivore

(thats the category i put vegans and vegetarians in)

omnivore tings

so he carried his little pot of soup, his fingers kind of burning as it was piping hot

he legit walked right past a suffering jisung in the slytherin dorm, the pot of soup still in hand not even sparing a thought about taking pity on the poor kid and giving him some

so he walked to your dorm, being let in by mark who was being big bro™️ and looking after your sick ass

you looked dead

pale skin, eyes closed, lips tinted blue, your body was shivering but you felt fucking boiling

peak peak times

but haechan still thought you looked gorgeous

mark vacated the dorms, leaving to his lessons so hyuck could look after you

this wasnt a plan ?? but hyuck rolled with it

setting his lil pot down he sat in a seat next to you, staring at your asleep awake form with closed eyes

his eyes held so much love and adoration for you, you really are lucky

he took off his robe, just sitting there in his shirt, trousers and green tie and watching you sleep

you were actually awake, just vibing and breathing to stay alive

and he had a lot on his chest

"i know ive been a massive prick to you and im really sorry. i know you’re asleep right now but im too much of a coward to say this to your face. i really only just wanted your attention because i seem to have feelings for you and i am sincerely sorry for going about it the wrong way"

your ears were {}

wide open

boy were you listening and taking this all in

oh shit

realizashun xx

so you fluttered your eyes open gently, watching his face morph into an expression of pure terror from his previous one of literal love

*whipping noise*

"youre awake!" he squeaked out, eyes darting around the room to look at anything but you

which you couldnt help but smile at

shifting to the side in your bed slightly, you lifted the covers, lazily patting the now open space

"c’mere"

your voice was kind of croaky and hoarse

that made hyuck feel guilty

baby it wasn’t your fault

but he complied, kicking off his leather school shoes and sliding besides you, staying as far away from you as possible

not to offend you, his heart was just going a million miles a second and there was no way you wouldn’t be able to hear it

this boy was like blushy sausage face part 2

arrogant hyuck has left the chat

you pouted seeing him shuffle away from you, shuffling to move yourself closer instead

power move, he either had to cuddle with you or fall off the bed

"can we just forget what i said earlier?"

that made you frown

the fuck?

hell no

"hyuck wait-"

"no dont bring it up its embarrassing"

whiny baby is back

"hyuck i-"

"nope nope nope nope"

"LET ME SPEAK FOR FUCKS SAKE"

he had no choice but to listen

your voice sounded strained already and he didnt want to make you feel worse

"i have feelings for you too you big baby"

double take

you what now?

haechans mouth just kinda froze open

so you shut his jaw gently

cant let him get jaw ache

"wait what?"

his soul has returned

he felt elated, completely happy, dare i say like he was high on a drug and said drug was not THC it was your TLC (LMAO GET IT IM PROUD OF THAT)

and so thats how mark returned to your dorm room to see you and hyuck cuddled in your bed, your head laying on his chest as his chin rested on your head, nuzzling into your hair (which was still half seafoam green might i add)

hyuck wasnt awake to celebrate, so yumark had their own small celebration, counting this as their success

you only found out he had put the flowers on your bed about two months after you started dating

a month after that you read the letter he gave you

[mccnyoongi]

buttercup ⇢ pt one

⇢ pairing: yoongi x fem!reader

⇢ genre: smut + slight angst

⇢ au: college!au, fwb!au, stoner!yoongi, assholeish!yoongi, fuckboyish!yoongi fwb to lovers trope

⇢ word count: 6k+

⇢ warnings: smut, honestly mostly porn, unprotected sex, recreational use of drugs & alcohol, dirty talk, praise, degradation, ridiculously excessive use of pet names, fingering, dom!Yoongi, unprotected sex, slight dumbification (whoops), hair pulling, creampie??, oral (f receiving), pussy slaping, reader has a thing for Yoongi’s hands because who doesn’t, reader and yoongi are both sarcastic and oblivious, this part is basically pwp.

⇢ synopsis: Min Yoongi wears leather jackets, fucks you like he hates you, spends most of his days on the wrong side of a blunt, and calls you the sweetest names when no one else is around. And you definitely aren’t falling in love with him.

⇢ author’s note: so yes, buttercup is being cut up into two parts thanks to a lot of my life getting uprooted this week!!! ill spare you the details but everything is really chaotic rn so im sorry this isnt exactly what i promised :( thank u for all the insane amont of love ive gotten so far. this is a pretty um... filthy piece of writing skfjsd and it’s definitely not perfect and id love to get better with everything i put out on here but i hope u guys enoy ily xx

If there was a magic lantern hidden somewhere on the campus of this university, you’d find it and your first wish would be to make it so that no one found out about this whole illicit affair you’ve been having with Min Yoongi. The secrecy was fun, sexy like you guys had a whole Mr. and Mrs. Smith thing going on. Or something. Your second wish would be to make his dick vibrate. 

But then he just had to go and go down on you in a bathroom during a party at the Beta Tau Rho house, not even a month into the fall semester, knowing you wouldn’t be able to be quiet or subtle at all. And he was so smug about it too, the fucker.

You can still feel the embarrassment buzzing under the surface of your cheeks from when you walked out that bathroom door and a dozen frat boys and mutual friends of yours and Yoongi’s were out there, waiting for the two of you to emerge and giving you a round of applause when you did. Yoongi had just laughed and rolled his eyes before leading you to the kitchen to get the pair of you some drinks. He’s always been particularly good at brushing that shit off of his shoulder. You aren’t, but you’re pretty good at pretending.

Maybe you should have ended it all that night. Of course, you didn’t. You figured, hey,  you’re young and in school so fuck making good decisions. Of course, the fact that no other guy has ever been able to dick you down nearly as well as Min Yoongi can is probably a huge contributing factor. 

Sure he might be grumpy, and sarcastic, and he tries way too hard to look cool and nonchalant, but he’s also the first guy to ever make you squirt. And you’re pretty sure that the way he waxes poetic about your pussy would make even Shakespeare swoon. So maybe the pros outweigh the cons, but only just.

“I can’t believe you’ve been getting Yoongi dick for almost three full months and haven’t divulged every single detail and vein to me, you cold, uncaring bitch-” Jimin’s voice is far too loud for the student-run coffee shop the two of you regulared every Sunday; a tradition that Jimin always insisted upon. He loves his traditions almost as much as he loves destroying any personal boundaries between the two of you.

“Keep going Park, see if I ever buy your coffee again.”

“Don’t change the subject,” You can’t say you’re surprised that Jimin is reacting like this. Self-proclaimed ‘disaster bisexual,’ Jimin was one of the very first friends you made back when you were a shy, barely functioning freshman. 

He actually introduced you to all his frat brothers, and a large number of the people you now call your friends. Including Yoongi, whose dick seems to be a reoccurring topic between you and… most people you know. Even if they weren’t at that dumb party, Jungkook made sure that every living being that stepped onto campus was aware of the newly found out fuckbuddies.

“We don’t keep anything from each other, Y/N,” He’s whining over his coffee now, full lips perched in that pretty pout that he regularly uses to his advantage. “I even told you about that time I puked on Namjoon’s dick in our second year!”

“Mmm, and I wish you hadn’t told me, Minnie-” The visual still haunts you, but Jimin has never had any predilections when it came to oversharing, especially not with people who have the misfortune of being his best friends. “‘Sides, I didn’t figure it was important, the whole Yoongi thing-”

“His dick, you mean.”

“Because it’s not like we’re getting married,” You carefully ignore him, a useful habit you’ve picked up three years into being his friend. “Just sex, remember?”

“So fucking what? You told me how you sucked Jeon’s cock in a movie theatre less than twelve hours after it happened-” You take a large gulp of your own iced coffee to busy yourself when the shameful memory is brought up. Not shameful because of the promiscuity of the act, no you’re an adult, thank you very much, but rather because of the boy you performed them on. Jeon Jungkook is now more of an annoying younger brother to you than anything. Not to mention he’s got a giant mouth that couldn’t keep a secret even if it killed him.

“Jesus you could’ve picked any other example-” You groan out as Jimin smirked, receiving the exact reaction from you he wanted. You think you’d have learned by now. “I’m sorry, okay? You big baby.”

“Hey, you’re on thin ice,” He points an accusatory finger at you and you have to fight the urge to smack it out of your face. “Now you have to make it up to me.”

You sigh- Jimin can really be exhausting when you’re only half a medium coffee in. “And how do you expect me to do that, Park.”

“Dick details, fucking obviously,” He says it like you’re a moron for even asking. And maybe you are. “Well details in general, I guess. You know, the basics; length, girth, does he make you call him daddy, is he good- I mean he must be un-fucking-real if you’ve been bouncing on it for three goddamn months, you whore.”

“I’m not giving you measurements, Jimin, I’ve yet to take a tape measure to it- and stop assuming everyone has a daddy kink just ‘cause you do.”

“Okay, vanilla bitch. You’re lucky I already know he’s got a monster cock from that time he streaked at that post-mid-term party next year.”

“Then why’d you even ask?”

“To see if you’d tell me the truth. It was a test and you failed.”

“I may be a college student but you’re gonna have to threaten me with a little more than a failing grade to spook me,” You roll your eyes playfully- there’s no real threat in his words, there never is.

“You’re right, I’m sure you’d much rather be punished by Yoongi, huh?”

                    ..............................................................................

Watching Yoongi roll a joint, his long, slender and experienced fingers moving quickly and deftly, has always had this near hypnotizing-like effect on you. His apartment smells like weed, the scent never surprising and would almost be overwhelming if you weren’t so used to it by now. The sight alone is almost enough to make you wet. But you’re stronger than that- except for when you’re not. 

Sexy hands aside, but unfortunately not on you, you’re thankful for his cannabis-related expertise because a) you can’t roll one yourself to save your life and b) despite normally reserving your consumption habits for parties, you feel like you deserve a fat one after the week you’ve had. What with, you know, the stress of having every student on campus knowing about yours and Yoongi’s torrid affair, thanks to fucking Jeon Jungkook. Brat. Plus incessant goading from both Jimin and your roommate, Irene- equally angry as Jimin about your worst kept secret- has only made you sink further into your insecure and paranoid thoughts.

The weed would help, you’d told yourself when your phone pinged with that much anticipated what’re u up 2? late night text from the raven-haired devil himself. Yep, it was the weed, the comforting blanket of getting high. And had nothing to do with the boy that was offering them. Not even his fat cock or magnetic pull he seemed to have on you. 

“Alright, dove,” He says from his spot on his worn-out single-dorm couch- the names don’t tend to surprise you the way they used to. You kinda figured that the affection-starved Yoongi had just you know… gotten comfortable with the girl he had been fucking for the last couple of months. No big deal. Sure they made your heart swell and your panties dampen, but then it could be looked at as a positive. 

He looks up at you from his spot on the couch, where he’s uncomfortably hunched over the table as he works and notices how you’re looking rather spaced out- not entirely rare for you. He’s used to the hundred-mile stare you tend to adopt when deep in thought, though it’s considerably less common for a sober you.

“Dove?” Nothing. “Y/N?” It’s the use of your actual name from his lips that finally grabs your attention.  You finally turn your head to look at him, the glaze of deep thought finally leaving your eyes. An eyebrow quirks to let him know you’ve heard him, but his gaze remains piercing and unwavering on yours. “You need to stop worrying so much, dove.”

“That’s what the weed is for, Yoongs.”

“The weed? You’re just here so I can smoke you out then, huh? No ulterior motives, hm?” His tone is as dry and sarcastic as ever, qualities he had quickly become known for around campus. He shurgs “Fine. Just here to sesh. C’mere then.”

You scoot closer to his side of the couch, not even thinking twice before listening to him. His tongue is tantalizing as he licks the rolling paper, even if he doesn’t mean it to be. He’s almost always tantalizing to you.

“Don’t be grumpy. You invited me over,” Your words are softer than you meant, but your proximity to him makes you feel stilted. He was right, you really needed a smoke, more on edge than ever.

“Well, technically,” He starts, unlit, perfectly rolled joint now perched between his lips. He grabs at your legs before continued so that you were resting sideways on the black couch, legs strewn over legs, thighs touching thighs. “I invited the best pussy on campus over.” You crinkle your nose at his bluntness.

“Yoongi-” You scold indignantly and pinch at a well-toned bicep. “Don’t be an asshole, you asshole.” He grins despite the insult like he’d expected it. Or he’s revelling in it.

“You know I’m just fucking around, angel,” His arm tucks around your waist comfortably, pulling you even closer. “Tryna chill you out. I can tell when you’re all strung out. I know how you,” He pokes you in the middle of the forehead, still grinning, as you pout from being called strung out. “Tick.” 

He really does, doesn't he? The thought is mildly terrifying, and you think that Yoongi might be too smart or his own good sometimes. When he’s not smoking himself into another dimension, that is.

He leans back into his seat, uncurling from around you to finally light up. A few sparks later and the room is fogging up with overly pungent smoke- the cheap smell makes you think that he probably bought it off of Hobi, too lazy to go any further off-campus than his own block of apartments to one of the nice but relatively affordable dispensaries. You crinkle your nose at the scent, grateful he’s too distracted to notice since he’d probably just tease you for liking the fancy shit more. At least you trust Hobi, and he lives only two buildings down from Yoongi. Truly an age of convenience.

A few passes, tokes, whatevers later, and you’re feeling substantially... floaty. You’ve completely relaxed, choosing to lie down rather than put the effort into sitting up, though your legs are still thrown across your equally high counterpart’s. What’s left of the roach is left to burn in one of many strategically placed ashtrays around the apartment, this one being on the living room table.

Yoongi has barely moved in the past while, head resting lazily on the back of the couch, black hair messy and his neck- which is somehow handsome to you- stretched out, and hands resting against your bare knees. You’ve barely paid him any mind, the silence nothing but comforting and easy. 

Which is why you can’t help but jolt just a little in surprise when those hands, the hypnotizing ones you’re so obsessed with suddenly start creeping up your legs, halfway up your thighs, carefully kneading the supple flesh he finds there. He chuckles at your reaction, finally picking his up his head to watch you through heavy-lidded eyes. “Bet you’re extra sensitive right now, huh petal?” He doesn’t have to bet because he knows it’s true, knows how needy you get when you’ve smoked. And he loves it- it’s why he never makes you pay for any of the times he smokes you out.

“Fuck off,” You whine at his light-hearted teasing, but Yoongi just giggles- he fucking giggles- in response, hands still travelling the expanse of your thighs. 

“Be nice,” His words are still jovial, but there’s a gruffness behind them that sends a shiver down your spine, despite the relative stuffiness of his living room.

“I am nice, you’re just a dick,” You pout- childish, but you can’t quite come up with anything more clever at the moment. The jab may be weaker than your usual quips, but Yoongi seems to have decided it’s enough to warrant a punishment of sorts, as he sends a quick slap onto your thigh. It’s certainly not the harshest hit you’ve received from him, it’s more playful than anything, but it’s enough to make you whine, not even noticing when your own hands jump down to grab at him and your now sore flesh.

His eyes take on a new sort of darkness, beyond the dilated pupils from the high he’s in the middle of as he grabs at your wrists, any assault you had planned halting in its tracks. His large hands that you’ve drooled over- figuratively and literally- many a time are big enough that he only needs one of them to hold both of yours steady. He uses his grip on you to yank you back up to a sitting position, where your noses almost touch and you can feel his breath fan across your lips.

“I told you, I know how you tick,” He lets his tongue swipe out to wet his lips, the act distracts you and makes you mimic it with your own tongue and lips. The smirk he gives you is all at once wicked and panty dampening. “Which means I know you like it when I’m mean. I know you like when I treat you like this, like my little slut,” The word makes you draw in a breath as your face reddens in humiliation and tension. “And- and I know you’re probably soaking through your panties right now, all over my couch. Making a fucking mess.”

It infuriates you to no end how right he is as your breaths come out shaky and uneven as you feel your pussy flutter around nothing beneath your shorts and panties. 

“Aren’t you?” His tone doesn’t leave room for playfulness anymore, and you’re nodding dumbly before you can give it a second thought. “Good girl.”

He doesn’t give you any time to bask in the praise before he’s leaning in to capture your lips in a searing and sloppy kiss. He’s domineering even in the way he kisses you, teeth biting and tongue sweeping into your own mouth as he revels in the small sounds that escape you. His hands leave your wrists, freeing them so you can grip onto raven locks with a newly freed hand as his own wrap around your waist. 

Every sense is filled with him, and it is all at once comforting and exhilarating.

He tugs and roughly manhandles you so that you’re properly astride his denim-covered thighs, your lips never untangling in the process. When your lips finally do come apart, it’s with a lewd sound and a gasp from your mouth. He’s still smirking.

“Gonna fuck you so good petal,” Yoongi has always been so blunt and unforgiving, whether in bed or out and it had been one of the things that first attracted you to him, besides his obvious good looks. 

Before the two of you had even gotten together, when you were friends who didn’t fuck on the regular, you had even mustered up the courage to touch yourself to the thought of him speaking to you like this- your own fingers circling your clit and delving into yourself without abandon. You had only been able to imagine up a fraction of his sexual prowess. 

Like the time only a few weeks ago you admitted to him in a foggy haze, high than you think you’d ever been. how you’d brought yourself to climax with images and soundbites of him flitting through your head. He’d immediately made you put on a show for him- recreating those nights, but this time with him sitting feet away from you and ignoring your pleas for him to touch you.

Right now, however, the only things keeping you grounded in reality is the feeling of the muscles in his thighs flexing beneath you, though nowhere near where you truly ache to be touched, and one of his hands brutishly tangled in your hair, pulling harshly so he can have easy access to your neck. Plush lips start soft, kissing and licking at the skin there, before his teeth join in, biting and sucking like he loves the taste of you (because he does).

“Y-yoongi-” You’re trying to keep the whimpers at bay, like maybe if you stop yourself from seeming so turned on so fast it’ll get him to fuck you faster. “C’mon, just fuck me already.”

“So demanding for such a needy bitch,” He has you squirming on his lap and you don’t know why you thought you had any power over him left. “Have you forgotten your place? Can’t think of anything else but getting fucked, huh?”

You nod in agreement, but find out he must want a verbal response when you’re met with a sharp spank to your ass that has you squealing and bucking into his lap. “Yeah, yeah Yoongi ‘m sorry, just need it.”

“I know, baby, I know, you can’t even help it when you get all messy like this, I know,” You can’t decide whether his words are sweet or patronizing when he coos at you like that, but either way he’s got you another pair of panties.

“Need you to fix it, Yoongs,” All pride is out the window when he’s got you like this, and you love pleading with him to give you what you want almost as much as likes making you beg.

“I will,” He gives you one more harsh bite to the junction of your neck and your shoulder that you know will blossom into a bruise just in time for your 10 AM class tomorrow and you hiss at the mingling of pain and pleasure. “Now fucking get up,” He pats lightly at your thigh twice at the order.

You’re in no position to disobey, and you know from experience that not listening to him will end up with a sore ass and no release in sight. You stand up on shaky, doe-like legs and he grins at the sight of you. He stands up with you, his lean form and strong stance making him look taller than he really is. Then his long fingers are pulling at what little clothing you have, stripping you of both your tank top and your shorts and your bra isn’t far behind. Soon you’re clad only in your panties while he’s still fully clothed in black form-fitting jeans and a plain white t-shirt. Thankfully he leaves his cliche, but devastatingly sexy leather jacket at the door.

He doesn’t make any move to undress at all and you hope to god he will eventually- you love seeing his honey-coloured skin covered in a thin layer of sweat as he fucks you into oblivion. But for now, he stays fully clothed and he roughly pulls you by your upper arm until he can bend you over the arm of the couch, panty-covered ass high and perfectly on display for him.

“God, you’re fucking dripping,” He taunts, fingers running over your pussy through the thin cotton, making you whine into the rough cushion your face is resting on. “All this from almost nothing, huh? You’re such a fucking slut for me, shit.” He sounds genuinely amazed by you and when you uncomfortably crane your neck back to get a good look at him you let out a proper moan. He must have stripped his shirt off when you weren’t facing him, because his chest is bare for you to gaze at, or you would gaze at it if you weren’t distracted by the hand that isn’t on you, which is lazily working over his cock, rock hard and aching through his jeans.

He smirks when he notices what’s grabbed your attention, knowing you’re only moments away from quite literally drooling on his pillows. “Is this what you want? Hm?”

“Ye-yeah your cock, Yoongi, need your cock,” Your face burns red and blood burns hot as the crude words leave your mouth.

“And you’ll fucking get it, dove,” The cute name contrasts the second harsh spank he lands on your ass and you moan at the delicious sting. 

You think that he must be about to tear your panties off and sink into you, but that would be too predictable and Yoongi loves to keep you on your toes. Instead, he disappears from your line of sight, a dull thump coming from the hardwood as he drops to his knees, feline gaze now level with your cunt. 

“Yoongi-” You’re whining again, and you even have to hold yourself back from stomping your foot childishly because, god, you just need him to do something.

And then he finally does- he licks a thick stripe, right from your clit to your entrance, still over your panties, and you gasp in surprise. He does it again, twice, three, four times until your hips are bucking and you’re whining because you need more, you need him to actually touch you and not be a giant fucking tease for once in his life.

“Be fucking patient,” He hisses out, but at least he’s finally rolling your underwear down your legs to toss them somewhere across the room. “Or I swear to god, I’ll hold you down just like this so you can’t even squirm while I get myself off all over your messy cunt,” His hand is running up and down your bare pussy as he speaks, spreading the wetness around, to your clit and your thighs and your ass and then back again. “And then I’ll send you home without touching you or cleaning you up, so you’ll have to take the subway home covered in my come and fucking trembling. So be fucking good.” At the last word, he lands a mean slap against your gushing cunt and you let out an embarrassing squeak.

“Shit-fuck- Yoongi, please, just-” You stutter through your words, needing to get them out, though you don’t know why. “I’ll be good, okay? ‘M your good girl, I am, promise, I’ll be good.”

He doesn’t respond, at least not verbally. But you have to assume he’s happy with your desperate response when he finally delves into your pussy like a man starved, tongue licking into you, the muscle sending spasms up and down your legs. You have to muffle your moans by biting into a pillow, not needing another altercation with his neighbours, but you want nothing more than to yell his name as loud as you can until your voice goes hoarse when he shakes his head from side to side, tongue still buried inside of you and one of his hands now roughly circling your clit. 

It’s too much, but it’s not nearly enough. It’s when he switches positions between his hand and mouth that you think you might explode; his mouth latches onto your clit, tongue circling and playing with it and two fingers fucking into you, preparing you for the impressive girth of his own cock.

Your teeth let go of the strong grip it has so you can warn him of your impending orgasm. “Yoongi- gonna come-” You manage to choke out between barely quieted moans.

You know that he wouldn’t be able to respond if he was still suckling on your clit, but you still whine and wiggle your hips as he pulls away, earning you yet another spank to your rear, where you can only assume a nice handprint is forming. “Yeah? Want you to come all over my face, like a good messy whore- gotta come for me before I can fuck you like you need.” 

When his mouth finds your swollen clit again, you can’t help it as your orgasm barrels through you almost violently, every muscle tensing and fingers grasping at whatever they can find, neighbour’s delicate sensibilities forgotten as you moan out Yoongi’s name. He licks you through it, fingers no longer pistoning into you. When the last of the tremors have faded he finally pulls away, using his clean hand to wipe your mess off of his chin, though it hardly cleans him. 

“Good fucking girl,” The roughness with which he was grinding his still covered bulge into your now sopping wet center would be impossible to ignore even if your head weren’t a million miles away. But for now, everything is Yoongi, every single scent is filled with him and you think that that might be making your head even fuzzier than the drugs coursing through your system, but you’re too far gone to be sure. Or to even care.

Because all you can think about is his mouth-watering hands kneading at the slightly pinkened skin of your ass, his mouth-watering cock rutting against you and his mouth-watering, well, mouth pressing wet kisses and occasional bites up and down your spine. “Yoongi,” You meant to speak with at least a little more conviction, but his name comes out as little more than a mumble.

“Hm,” He hums against your skin and even those slight vibrations reverberate straight to your heart, which starts beating faster at the thought of what’s to come. “What, is my babygirl still needy?” 

The use of the word my in front of the affectionate name makes your heart jump, but you don’t even have time to scold yourself for thinking with your post-orgasmic pussy before he continues talking with that sinful mouth of him. “Such a greedy, desperate girl, won’t be happy ‘til you’re stuffed full of my fat cock,” His words have you whining and grinding back against him, where you don’t have to look to know you’re leaving a stain on his favourite jeans.  If you’re unlucky- or lucky depending on your mood- he’ll make you clean it up with your tongue as further delicious torture. 

But smoking makes Yoongi needy too, no matter how much he teases you for the effect it has on you, and he can’t wait much longer, not with his cock so hard he was a razor blades’ edge from losing his mind. He needs to be inside you as much as you need him.

Which is why you don’t doubt him for a second when he’s murmuring things about how he’s ‘gonna fuck you so good, gonna fuck you stupid,’ and you can only respond with even quieter whispers of ‘I knows’ and ‘pleases’ as he strips himself oh the rest of his clothes, hissing from oversensitivity as his cock makes contact with the air. It’s wonderfully overwhelming and he’s not even fucking you yet.

You can’t even explain how grateful you are when Yoongi turns you around because you love just seeing his cock. You’ve never been one to describe guys’ dicks as pretty before- except that TA you managed to fuck before Jimin sunk his claws into him, Kim Seokjin, because, well, you’re not blind. But Yoongi’s dick is gorgeous. It’s not the biggest thing you’ve ever seen, and it doesn’t have to be, not when it’s girthy enough to make you salivate with a curve that points to the heavens. Gorgeous.

He’s pulling you on top of him so he can sit back down and you’re back to straddling him, and you don’t complain because you know he’s tired both from the pot and crouching on his haunches for access to your center not two minutes ago. Plus he loves when you ride him, breasts bouncing in his face, wetness making a mess out of his lap and full access of your entire body for both his hands and lips.

“Need you to bounce on my fat cock before I fucking explode, baby,” And you’d have to be some sort of a madwoman to deny him.

“Need it too, Yoongs,” You don’t know why you feel the need to remind how desperate you are for him, surely he can feel it, your swollen pussy resting only centimetres above his throbbing length. “Can’t think of anything else.”

“I know,” He’s rubbing the angry red tip against your sopping folds, tinges of overstimulation making you jolt. Or you would jolt if his hands weren’t heavy on your waist, keeping you steady so you couldn’t a) get away from his cock or b) properly sink down onto it. “So pathetic and perfect for me like this, all cock drunk and fucked out and I haven’t even fucked you yet, huh?”

You nod frantically, and you can’t even find the energy to be embarrassed when a hand comes up to pet your hair with a condescending ‘awe’ as he pouts at you. You bat his hand away with a whine and furrowed eyebrows, but all that gets you is his hand tangled in your hair, yanking sharply in retaliation. “Careful, slut, or you won’t be coming for the next week-”

“Please, Yoongi-” You don’t let him finish, knowing from experience to always take his threats seriously. “I’m sorry, I’m fucking sorry, okay just please-”

You cut yourself off with a high pitched, tea kettle-like squeak as he uses his hands on you as leverage to have you sink down onto his cock in one fell swoop. “Shit, god, you’re always so fucking tight around me, fuck me.”

I am, is what you wish you were coherent enough to snark back with, but you’re sure no one would blame you if they could feel what you feel right now. And what you’re feeling right now is how well Yoongi feels inside of you, like no cock you’ve ever had. Every ridge and vein on his cock fills you up to the fucking brim, no room left for a pinky or a thought that has to do with anything other than Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi.

And then he starts with those devilish moments of his hip, fucking into you shallowly and slowly to start and it’s all Yoongi’s dick. 

“Fucking bounce on it, dove. Fuck yourself on my cock, show me how much you need it,” He speaks through gritted teeth, each word a struggle as he tries not to fuck into you without thought. And it’s with the satisfaction you get knowing he’s just as desperate for you as you are for him that you find the strength to do as he says.

With quivering thighs, you push up and off of his cock, the two of you sharing a harmonious groan at the feeling, foreheads pressed against each other, skin sweaty. And this all just in the calm before the storm. 

It’s not long before the both of you are moving frantically, mere seconds, really. It’s intense and all-encompassing, as you grind and roll your hips, cock deeper than you knew to be possible, and his bucking his own hips into you roughly, no doubt as deeply in some sort of euphoria as you are. His hands are everywhere and so are his lips. He sucks marks into your tits and gropes your ass, controlling your movements to the best of his abilities.

All of that, plus your clit grinding against his pelvic bone every other second and your head just might be in another universe. 

Yoongi’s words are swirling around in your head, though you’re not properly taking any of it in- his velvety voice goes on about how wet you are, how tight you are, how you’re a good girl and it’s all another instrument in your downfall. You’ve never been much for heights but being with Yoongi feels like something akin to what you assume bungee jumping is like, and you’re just about at that point where your cord runs out of length and your heart drops to the bottom of your stomach.

“Tell me you’re fucking close, baby, c’mon,” This is as close to pleading as you can ever get Yoongi but you’re still swimming in pride. He brings a hand off of your ass to cup your cheek, brushing away your now mussed hair and a single stray tear and you drink in the look in his eyes, dark red-rimmed and needing. “Gonna fill you up with my come, just like I know you like, my perfect little cumslut, fuck, just need you to come first, yeah? All over my fucking cock.”

And with a particularly hard grasp at your ass, bringing you to grind your clit against him again, you’re gone. It’s considerably less intense than the previous one, as many second orgasms are, but your head is still spinning and you think you might have drooled a little, but you don’t mind and you know Yoongi doesn’t. Your attempts to stifle your moans are unsuccessful as the name of the man attached to your favourite cock falls from your lips like a mantra.

And where your orgasm is, Yoongi is rarely far behind- he loves seeing you fall apart around him, because of him and you always clench so fucking hard around him in the peak of your pleasure how could he fucking not. He’s grunting, moaning, damn near growling as he spurts his own release as deep into you as he possibly can, coating every inch of your delectable pussy, vague mumbles of how he’s filling you up, just like you’re meant to be that you can just barely hear.

Shakey breaths hit each of your faces as you come down, now still and worn out. Your chests move up and down and you don’t know when you’ve buried your face into the crook of his neck, but the warmth and smell are more comforting than any hit you’ve ever taken off of one of his blunts.

“Shit, buttercup,” He chuckles, the vibrations rumbling through his chest and where you’ve tucked yourself He runs a hand through his sweaty black locks, the other hand locked around your waist. “I don’t know how we’re gonna move without making this couch fucking disgusting.” Mood killer.

“Don’t give a shit.”

“Yeah, but I do. Especially if Joon or Hobi someone finds it and makes a big fucking deal out of it, like no other guy in his twenties has some come stained furniture.”

You pull back from the spot you wish he’d just let you fall asleep in so he can see your pout. He can’t find the sight of you… adorable? Your hair matted, bruises, courtesy of yours truly littering your tits and chest, a thin sheen of sweat making your skin glow and bottom lip jutted out exactly enough to be overexaggerated and so fucking adorable. 

At that moment he’s glad that about three weeks ago the two of you had started to break the unspoken no sleeping over after sex rule because he just wants to clean you up and feel you curl yourself around him like you like to.

You don’t know what time it is, just that it’s late and that it doesn't matter, because this was certainly time well spent. You wonder how much sleep you’ve given up in lieu of Yoongi’s pretty dick. Of course, it does matter... because you have a 9 am class tomorrow morning that you can’t miss, but that’s for future you to worry about. For now, it’s time to try to get up without defiling this Ikea couch (you failed miserably and giggled about it while Yoongi groaned in mock pain), burn out just one more joint, steal some clothes for bed and some snacks from his fridge, and pass the fuck out on his bed, which you think is way better than yours, but that has nothing to do with the boy in it or his comforting warmth and smell.

                     ..............................................................................

Past you is a dumb bitch. Also maybe current you. Point being, you hate you, because you’re sore and stiff and ten minutes late to your dumb 9 am class and it’s all Yoongi’s fucking fault. You texted him this much, calling him a ‘little bitch boy’ for not even waking you up to make you a cup of coffee with his fancy instant coffee machine before you left. He hasn’t responded yet because holy fuck does that guy sleep like a rock. A really cute, cuddly, sex-god rock.

But, as usual, Jimin came in clutch, handing you off a coffee as your paths crossed on campus, each of you heading to your respective classes. He gave you a one-armed-too-tight hug and a comment on how you have that very glamourous ‘I got fucked by Min Fucking Yoongi last night and you didn’t so I’m better than you look.’ You tried to take it as a compliment as you thanked him for the coffee. He gave you a cute kiss to your forehead that reminded you you could never even be annoyed at him for too long.

And now you’re in class. Headache from not getting enough sleep getting worse by the second while you tried not to think about what judgements people must be passing on you, with your sunglasses inside and hickeys you didn’t have time to cover up.

When your phone pings you assume it’s Jimin, with something slutty or sarcastic or both. But it’s not. It’s Yoongi- well, it’s what you have Yoongi’s number saved under, aka the drooling emoji three times over… You’re surprised he’s awake, you’re pretty sure he doesn’t have shit to do until the afternoon. 

You have a fleeting thought that it could be a dick pic- yeah it’s a little early for that kind of dumb fuckboy behaviour, and you’d previously thought that too, but Kim Taehyung proved you wrong last year. 

Yoongi isn’t a dick pic kind of guy anyway. No, he’s the guy that sends pictures of his hand around your throat that one night you let him take artsy photos of you two fucking on his film camera. The kind of guy that sends you audios of him jerking off and moaning your name that you listen to through your earphones in between classes because he knew you wouldn’t be able to help yourself. He’s the guy that drives you crazy because you can never quite predict what he’s gonna do next.

[9:23 am] From 🤤🤤🤤: you could have woken me you know dummy

[9:24 am] From 🤤🤤🤤: subways are gross in the morning

[9:25 am] From 🤤🤤🤤: i could have u know, driven u…

[9:26 am] From 🤤🤤🤤: cant really say no to u buttercup.

You don’t know why you’re heart’s beating so fast so you reprimand yourself for thinking with your pussy. Min motherfucking Yoongi is gonna be the death of you.

[rhodesmystery]

um. smutfic. i joked about 3hrs but then got embarrassed about posting until i bought my vow hoodie from bungie and got such a rush and now here we are lmfao 

2.5k words of pwp. god bless. charlie x mc

Charlie finds her standing by the window. Not so unusual, all things considered. One of the first places he always thought to look, whenever they happened to be together. Something about staring out, letting her thoughts get away, eased her. He knew that much. 

However, Charlie had mostly found her clothed in the other times. Or as close to it. A shirt of his that was barely hiding anything wasn’t passable, and it wasn’t the first time he was thankful they had enchanted his windows to be one-way only. He didn’t want to think what would be said about some poor soul walking past and seeing Natasha the way she was. 

With a yawn, loud enough to alert her, and a roll of his shoulders, Charlie steps completely into the room. Mismatched, with parts kitchen, living and dining, all in one. Not that he minded, as it was his. Much like her, as he happily thought, when Natasha turned. Never a hint of sleepiness in her, with bright eyes and lips half turned up into a smile. Yeah, he knew she already knew that he was awake, but it was the entrance that mattered. Especially when he scratches his chest, stomach, only to rest his hand idly on his thigh.

“Morning.” Once, Natasha told him that she loved his voice in the morning. Didn’t tell him what exactly it was she loved, but he had made a note since then to take full advantage of it.

Natasha is surprisingly quiet with her response. A tumble of ‘morning’, that’s soft and private. Charlie might’ve thought something was wrong, if her eyes weren’t pointedly south. That gets a smile out of him.

“Thought you’d still be in bed.” Idle conversation, to fill the gap between him and her. Until he took those seven exact steps to stand before her. “Missed you.”

“Did you now?” Natasha is facing him now, and he can see his shirt was open, not even buttoned in some vague attempt for decency. Like this was some grand scheme of hers (and he was playing right into her hand). “I’m sorry.” Her lack of sincerity was hilarious, and his laughter was infectious, as she giggles to herself. Enough to distract him again. 

Charlie always liked her tits. Or, maybe he should call them breasts outright, to add some politeness to the conversation. But Natasha clasps her hands behind her back, purposely jutting them out at him, that he can see the swell of each, and how the shirt was barely holding on to cover her nipples. He was definitely going to commit this to memory.

“You should be.” Still trying to keep his tone vague. Not focus on how he could almost follow an arrow that pointed down, between her breasts, over her stomach. Like everything was shouting look at me, and he ate it up. Taking a lot for him not to just sink to his knees and eat her until she screamed his name. Forecast was telling him that was his immediate future.

With a fleeting look back at Natasha’s face, to gauge where she was at, Charlie gets a rather satisfied smile. Yeah, yeah, she read his thoughts, thought herself to be so smart about it too. Not like he wasn’t being obvious about it, cock at half mast already just thinking about her. Natasha, in his shirt, unbuttoned and open, and legs spread just enough, leaning against the window, a hand idly running down her front. Like he hadn’t already had that image in his mind since he’d walked out the bedroom.

“What ever can I do to make it up to you?” And the lines were corny, something out of the really bad movies she was fond of mimicking, except with the way she punctuates her words, making it different. Implications abound.

Charlie moves in a bit closer, a half step forward. Until there’s not else in his vision except her, her lips, her eyes, the spattering of freckles over her nose and the mismatched scars along her jaw. Practically swims in the green, noticing they were darker than any other day. And he loved why he knew that happened. Natasha kisses him, and it’s slow, deep, the only touch. Just the tilt of their heads, the slide of their tongues, and each other. Nothing more, nothing less.

Eventually, it’s his turn to make the move. And not to romanticise their positions, knight takes queen, pushing her against the window, pressing against her entirely. Never breaking the kiss, just hands trying to pull the shirt off, to find skin, only to end up with it tangled around her elbows. To trace along the curve of her spine as she arches into him. Natasha moans against his mouth, her nails burning into his shoulders, Charlie please. Please, the real magic word. Held a lot of weight, when applied properly. Like how it sits pleasantly on his head, as he begins a trail down.

Soft kisses, trying to catch every inch he could. Charlie could never tire of this, even if he knew how embarrassed she got. How she insisted on reciprocating. Not that he minded that outcome, of course, but there was something to be said for how Natasha’s face would look, when he looked up at her. Always partway there to covering her mouth, eyes heavy and hair a mess. Chest heaving, and a flush that coloured her pink. He didn’t know how many times he was up to, with calling her beautiful, but he was bound to crack a thousand eventually, surely. 

Natasha just snorts, trying to play off her embarrassment. Hand on his head, edging him down further. Charlie can only grin, kneeling as comfortably as he could, hands on her thighs. Encourages her wider for him, further still. Fingers tease her nipples, and Charlie can only savour the first strong lick in response. 

Something almost like a hiccup escapes her, and Natasha visibly shudders. With two fingers, Charlie parts her lips, and finds exactly what he wants. What he knew would have her all but shake on him. Charlie sucks, nips, laves her clit with attention, trying desperately to keep his eyes closed, but unable to stop from looking up. He loves when she looks like that, flustered and letting control go. 

Fingers that had spread her move to touch, to feel. Dragging across her seam, barely pressing against her. Charlie has to stop from smiling, when he feels the telltale buck as with one finger, he drives in a little further, but never quite enough. So soon? he thinks, but doesn’t complain. Not like he wasn’t in the same boat. At that thought, Charlie runs a hand over himself, pulling away from her clit only to look down, notice he was leaking. 

Not that he wanted to hurry, but with another twist of his wrist against his cock, he turns back. Ah well, he could make it up to her later. 

Tongue pressing against her, Charlie edges in. The slick sounds, normally off-putting in any other circumstance, always made Natasha a little weaker in the knees. Or it might’ve just been his good work, as she’s saying his name, muffled only by the sleeve of the shirt. Fingers circle her clit, and his free hand pulls at her cheek, massaging, spreading. A barely there teasing touch, against her ass, until he leans back again. 

Switching hands, replacing tongue with fingers, Charlie turns to watching her carefully. How her face may contort into something other than pleasure, when he presses one finger in. Slow, turning, brushing along her inner walls. Last night she’d mentioned that she was sore, a little more than usual. Perhaps Natasha knew what he was looking for, in how she meets his eye entirely, whispering his name as a second finger joins the first. No outward signs of discomfort, especially not when her fingers twist in his hair, tugging strands with a certain amount of force.

“Feels good?” Charlie has to ask, anyway. Can’t help himself. 

Natasha huffs, sending hair flying up. “Yes, Charlie, Merlin’s beard, if you don’t make me come, I swear—”

Even though he’s laughing, he cuts her off. One somewhat satisfied customer then. Curls his fingers, thumb pressing against her clit, and laves attention on what skin he could find with his tongue. Scissors his fingers, free hand perhaps the only thing holding her upright as she all but presses her weight down on his shoulders. From how she bent over him, Charlie could hear her whispers clearer, her pleads. 

Nope, not letting go until she’d come, good and hard. She's shuddering, Charlie yes please right there god yes. Charlie knew about the muggle god that her father’s family worshipped. It was oddly satisfying to hear that name mix in with his, to the point where he didn’t know who was who, as he pumped his fingers in and out of her. 

Natasha comes with a low, long moan. Not her first orgasm, no sir, but definitely one that has her lock up and quiver all at once. Charlie rides her through it, slow circles drawn out, just how she liked. Knew exactly where to touch, where to hold, as she comes down. Time isn’t a concept, as Natasha struggles to push herself back up, eventually leans against the window for support.

And then she says: “You’ve gotten better at that.” As if she’s not heaving in air, sensitivity overloading with how Charlie can’t seem to run a hand up her legs without her nearly giving out.

“I’ve had practice,” is what he says instead. If only because he’s getting a kick out of how he splays his fingers over her stomach, and she has to close her eyes. Bite her lip. 

Puffs of air that resemble try to resemble a laugh leaver her. “Oh, really? What’s her name?” Natasha tries to keep the conversation light and teasing, but Charlie knew. Probably a light draft would have her tumble over once again, if aimed right.

“Natasha. You probably don’t know her. Great gal. Fantastic tits.”

When she laughs, it’s the best sound Charlie had heard in months. Head thrown back, genuine kind of laugh, that ignores the situation and encompasses it all at once. Natasha grins, slack and easy, running a finger over his lips. Charlie chases it, nibbling on the tip, which earns him a pointed look. One he was quite happy to keep around. 

Leaning in, Natasha kisses him. Hot and wet, far too much tongue, and he knows that she can taste herself. The knot in his stomach tightens, acutely aware of how he was running warmer than usual. Along her lower back, Charlie drags his nails, finds her hips. Palms her into turning around, breaking the kiss despite her noise of disapproval. And he might’ve told her that if she just asked him to come on command, he would’ve then and there, except Charlie manages to get her with her back to him, hands firmly planted on the window. 

As Charlie rights himself, one hand firmly stroking his cock as he lines himself up, does he notice how Natasha turns to look over her shoulder. As if regaining some bravado in that moment, she smirks, wiggles her hips. 

“This is new for you.” 

With a snort, Charlie can only settle for giving her ass a light slap. “Shut up.” Perhaps he was a little mollified. Not to say that he was the most adventurous, as he knew he wasn’t and more often than not blushed his way into Natasha all but dominating. Definitely not his fault that he was far more favourable of the lower end of the scale. 

Fine, fine. If she was going to be all smarmy about him branching out, then he'd show her! As long as he could figure out how to stop his ears from burning as he eased his way in. Charlie moans, as she's twitchy and wet around his cock, not helping how Natasha pushes up onto her toes, fingers pressed against the glass. With a few blinks, Charlie is able to see just how the glass steamed in front of her, with every breath she took.

“I’m gonna move.”

“Thank god.”

Chuckles dissolve into pitches in breathing. Like there was just not enough oxygen in the room, and Charlie was definitely a little dizzy, enamoured, whatever, when he grips her hips and pulls her back to meet his thrust. Pushes a hand up, moving the damned shirt up with it, following the arch of her back. Until he lets it fall back again, settling for her shoulder to hold instead. 

Natasha isn’t quiet. Not by a long shot. Settled for thanking her later that she’d been the one to soundproof the house on her arrival. Faster harder Charlie pleasepleaseplease. And he tries to keep up what she’s saying, how he lets go of her hip to palm his way to her front. Find her clit and rub at it furiously, which does nothing except have her cover a moan with her arm. Even as she twitches, tries to pull away, tries to keep meeting him thrust for thrust, Charlie keeps at it. Nothing if not consistent. One of her hands joins his, Natasha’s fingers slipping along his, brushing what was exposed of his cock as he continued to move inside her. 

It's when he presses his forehead between her shoulder blades, does Charlie struggle. Hand slipping from her shoulder, he finds her hand against the window, threading fingers and gripping until his knuckles turn white. Embarrassingly so, holding her firmly against him as he comes. Moans against her skin, something that was definitely her name if a little garbled, until she follows only seconds later. 

Charlie doesn’t know how to move. Limbs felt heavy and light all at once, as if he moved even one foot, he’ll just fall flat on his face, either way. Blinking, the world doesn't stop spinning. Not yet, but he gingerly slides himself out. Regrettably, and “sorry,” when he spies the telltale spill begin to trail down her thighs. Too bad he was tired, or it might’ve been able to roll him into action, strangely so (except, he was acutely aware that his lower half was almost numb, brain fuzzy, eyes only trying to find her face).

As she turns, Natasha faces him with heavily lidded eyes, and a very pleased smile. “It’s fine.” But she’s leaning against the window, as if she didn’t trust her own legs too. With a blush that spread to the tops of her breasts, hair mussed and eyes dark, Charlie knew she was beautiful. And told her just that.

Eventually, she slides down, landing on the ground with a grunt. Charlie follows suit, wobbly and flushed, bumping shoulders when he’s beside her. Natasha kicks a leg over his, idly playing with what he could now consider her shirt, until she pulls it up and holds it at her front. Tilting his head back, Charlie closes his eyes, finds her hand, and squeezes it fiercely. 

For several minutes they sit just so. Until, with a sigh, Natasha rolls her head towards him. “Want breakfast?”

Charlie grins, one that slowly builds, that doesn’t even try to hide what he was going to say next. Opening one eye, he looks at her. “I already ate.”

[tobebugjewce]

nightmare log

i dont remember the exact night i had this nightmare but strap in because its very detailed;

it starts off with me traversing an old crumbling building, it only has two or three floors, and me and my sister are leading a group of strangers. we’re all carrying flashlights, either its night time or the building interior is very poorly lit. its dusty, old-smelling and nearly every other surface is covered in thick cobwebs. we barely get a couple minutes into exploring until something happens; it feels like a bomb strikes the building, i dont know for sure but all i do know is the ground shook and there was smoke everywhere, and there was a really really faint small sounding alarm, almost as if it was coming from a long distance away. it was still audible though. my sister and i traverse the even worse state of this building, its now blocked up more than it was before, some rooms are impossible to enter or you have to crouch down to crawl underneath the collapsing walls. we move forward and the group of people that were following us stay behind, theyre very adamant about staying and NOT going further, theyre scared, terrified. we have no idea what for, so we keep going. we go up into a second floor, i think, but all i know is in the dusty, old, wooden floorboards match the doors of the rooms in the second floor. i crack open a door and it creaks so loudly, its so so dark in the room i look into, and in the room is a small wire framed metal bed, like ones you woudl see in an orphanage or an asylum. or a prison. i see a huge lump on the bed, wrapped in a linen blanket, it looks like a body. it is a body. its a frail, old old woman. she sits up and looks around, shes confused. lost. her eyes are sunken and she looks like shes been alive for more than a human should be. she blindly looks around, and she asks me “natalia?” its all she says. i say no, im sorry. im not natalia. my sister looks into another room as i close the door to the old womans room. she finds an empty room, and i go to the last one, its a weirdly small upper floor considering the downstairs areas were much much larger. theres only 3 rooms in this upper floor. i go to the other door that my sister isnt looking in, and i see the exact same layout as the old womans, except this time its an old man, just as old, just as frail and skeletal. he asks the same thing, “natalia???” i say no again, and that im sorry, im not her. i walk down the stairs, which feels like im in a different area, like the path behind me is an opposite staircase, but i walk down and go towards a door, one i assume to be the exit. its not. or at least i wouldnt have known because i hear my sister screaming for me, shes shouting so i turn around, but as soon as i turn my head, the building is different. its stark white. its clean, bright, too bright. there’s people walking around, in business clothing. dress shirts, slacks, pencil skirts, ties, holding clipboards wtih papers on them. there’s a woman that stands out, because not only is she dressed in an all white jumpsuit, shes frantically scribbling on the wall, which is a chalkboard, whcih i only noticed when i stepped closer. its like i was suddenly transported into an optical illusion. i tried stepping closer to the scraggly looking woman, her hair was frizzy, and she had a lot of it. she looked like she got struck by lightning because of how much her hair was sticking up and around and looking frazzled. she looked frazzled. i feel like i was looking at someone who wasnt natalia, but maybe knew her. or knew what was going to happen. she was scribbling nonsense on the walls, not words, not drawings, just sprawling lines and circles. i could sense that she felt like the only sane person in the building, despite looking like the most deranged one. i blink and suddenly the building is crumbled again. im back. i dont hear my sister anymore. the door i thought was the exit hasnt changed, but i was right, it was an exit. and i think now this is perfect, we can get the group out. we can get out. we go back up to see the old people again, it was exactly the same as last time. i open a door and i see the old woman again, she sits up again, she asks the same thing again. “natalia?” i dont answer her, i just close the door. i can still hear her frantically asking “natalia? natalia?” through the wall. the old man is exactly the same. i open the door, he sits up, he asks “natalia?” i close the door. i feel weirdly angered. my sister and i go back down to where the group was hiding, we have to go through a small hole in a closet to find them. we move to get them out, but i open the “exit” door, and suddenly im outside. im on a street, farther away from the building. it looks weirdly new again. like im back to where it was before it was a crumbled abandoned mess. i apparently was running, i feel like im escaping something. someone. im suddenly back inside the building. right in front of the door again. i step forward to try to leave, but i physically feel a restriction. i step back and feel warbled as im realizing im not in the pristine white building anymore, its rubble again. i step forward and feel like im pushing past a barrier, the more force i exude, the whiter and newer the building becomes. like im stepping into an illusion, a false reality where this building is back to its glory days, not a broken abandoned mess that only contains two living, old, old “humans”. 

i dont want to write this post anymore.

but im going to continue.

its getting irritating now, but im back outside. i decide i want to escape this horrid building, i run. i keep running. im at a 4 way stop in this street, i cant tell what time it is because each direction i look its a different time of day. i run left and down, the road is watery, it then appears im standing in water that reaches up to half of my shin. its running but slowly, like a small creek. the asphalt below the water is cracked and crumbling, its no longer a road that cars drive on. i look to my left and see it flow into a lake, or an ocean. to my right is a collection of trees that are growing in this river road. the roots of these trees stretch out very very far. in between two trees are two women, they look like theyre just a little bit older than me. theyre so gorgeous. one is in all black, but has white hair, and the other is wearing all white, but has black hair. theyre holding hands. they refuse to separate the entire time they talk to me. they ask me if im lost, where i need to go, who or what im looking for. i can barely answer. i feel like im going to cry. but not of fear, not of anger, just the feeling of water swelling up in my eyelids and pouring down my face just feels like a separate emotion i wanted to happen as i kept talking to these two beings. i close my eyes and suddenly im walking down a steet into a neighborhood. it looks rich. i dont belong. the houses are all painted white and are disproportionately tall, too too tall and not wide enough. they look like huge cheese sticks. weirdly skinny. small black windows. even starker white window frames. im shaking. an old man walking his dog walks past me, telling me if i need anything hes got it. he tells me to have a good day, i try to say something polite back but i dont know what language im speaking in. i get frustrated trying to find my way out, the houses are so packed together and they spiral, i keep ending up in tiny backyards. i look down at the white tiles im stepping on, i look up and im back in the river road. the women ask me to follow them. we swim into the lake and i try grabbing onto the wood pillars of a rotting, broken pier. there’s heads on top of the wooden posts. theyre all talking, laughing, some trying to get my attention, one telling me i might beat a new record time for swiming fast. i try not to look at them. my eyes are filling up with lake water and salt-less tears. i see a figure, but my vision is so blurry the person standing at the end of the pier almost doesnt seem real. all i know is she has red hair, its short, she looks placid, she looks like a mannequin in uncomfortable clothes. its natalia.

i wake up.

[femslashy]

begin again | chapter two

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It’s been three years since Baz left the sleepy Isle of Mage to attend university in London, and he hasn’t regretted a thing--except maybe leaving Simon behind. Convinced he’ll never be forgiven, Baz refuses to even visit until a frantic phone call from his stepmother sends him running home. Once there, Baz is forced to confront his past, question the future, and maybe, just maybe, get that second chance he’s always desired.

genre(s): angst+fluff+smut (in later chapters)

chapter length: 1743 words

triggers/warnings: none for this chapter

author’s note: a giant thank you to @amandaisnotwriting & @rainbowbaz for the beta/britpicking! full acknowledgments will be posted with the last chapter

(@arituzz​ i meant to get this chapter out on your birthday and i didn’t but it’s still dedicated to you 💜💜 happy belated bday!!)

I’m still here.

I’m still in Watford, still on the island, and I tell myself it’s because Daphne is anxious and scared, and won’t leave my father’s side. I tell myself it’s so Andrea can have a holiday alone with her girlfriend without me third-wheeling. I tell myself it's because my siblings miss me.

(I tell myself and I tell myself and I tell myself, like if I do it enough, I might actually be telling the truth.)

On the subject of Daphne, I’d nearly given her a heart attack of her own when I came down for breakfast my second day back with bruises under my eyes and swelling around my nose. She wouldn’t stop stealing glances at me as I ate my eggs, but didn’t ask any questions. (Not that I would have told her anything. As far as my parents knew, Simon and I were secondary school rivals who could barely stand to be in the same room together.) (I never bothered to correct them when those circumstances changed.)

One week—and many cold compresses from Vera—later, the swelling is gone, but the bruising still remains. I scrunch up my face at my reflection in the mirror, hissing as I remember why I shouldn't do that. Fuck Simon.

I’d just wanted to push him a bit, see if he would yell. In hindsight, I should have seen it coming. Simon’s never fought with his words, and me egging him on could have only ended one way. I just wish it hadn’t involved my nose.

I haven’t shown Andrea yet. I’m afraid she’ll think it’s the reason I’ve cancelled on  our holiday. Maybe I should, actually. Then I won’t have to admit the real (much worse) reason. Except she’d just cover up the bruises and drag me to the beach anyway—one of the downsides of being friends with a makeup artist; you can never get out of social gatherings because of your appearance. (That doesn’t mean I don’t try.) (It never works.)

After determining my reflection a lost cause, I leave the bathroom, bumping into Daphne in the hallway.

“Oh, Baz,” she says once she notices it’s me, “I was just looking for you. Can you take the twins to football club again today?”

I nod, because of course I will.  I can’t say I intended to spend my hols as a nanny, but I’m finding that I don’t mind all that much. It gives me something to do. (It gives me excuses.)

Normally Daphne would be the one taking them places, but  my father’s heart attack had shaken her more than I’d initially realised. According to Vera, she’d been out shopping for most of the day when it happened—apparently she and my father had a row—and she’d returned just in time to see him being loaded onto an ambulance.

She’s been glued to his side since he came home. As if on cue, Cecily and Roseline—my six year old half-sisters—come tumbling out of their room. They’re followed closely by Winston, Daphne’s black and tan corgi, who makes a beeline for me almost immediately. I brace myself for an assault on my ankles, but before he can get to me Daphne’s scooping him up, admonishing him in sickening baby talk while he licks at her face. “Why is that dog so obsessed with me?” “He just wants to be your friend,” she replies, and I frown—I don’t like dogs, and I especially don’t like Winston. (This has done nothing to dissuade his love for me.)

“I don’t want to be his friend.”

Daphne just shakes her head and laughs—like she always does when I voice my opinion on her dog—and looks past me at the twins. “Are you two ready to go?”

They nod.

“Do you have your bags ready?”

Wide-eyed, they run off—presumably in the direction of the bags, and I grab the keys, rolling my eyes at Daphne as she tries to get Winston to give me a kiss goodbye.

***

We’re barely out of the garage when Cecily lunges forward and shoves a CD in my face. “Play this.”

“No,” I say flatly as I bat it away, “no, we are not listening to One Direction. And put on your seatbelt.”

“But you said no yesterday. And the day before,” she whines.

“And I’m saying it again: no.” “I’ll tell Mum you’re being mean.” “I don’t care.” “I’ll scream.” “I’d rather listen to that. Seatbelt. Now.”

“You’re in trouble,” Roseline sing-songs; Cecily drops the CD and swats at her.

“Cece! Leave her alone,” I snap.

Roseline looks smug, and Cecily sulks and kicks my seat. “I want my music.” “Put your seatbelt on.”

She does. “Can I have my music now?”

“No.”

She continues to kick my seat for the duration of the trip, sticking her tongue out whenever I glance in the rearview mirror.

It’s a long drive.

***

As soon as we arrive, the twins jump out of the car and run to the pitch, screaming and jumping around once they reach their friends. I go to say hello to Coach Minos; only it’s not Coach Minos standing next to the watercooler. It’s Simon.

“What are you doing here?”

He jumps, and the ball he’d been bouncing on his knees falls to the ground. “Hey, Baz.”

“What are you doing here?” I repeat. “Where’s Coach Minos?”

Simon shrugs. “Dunno. He just asked me to fill in, so I am.”

“But you’re terrible at football.”

“I still know how to play,” he says defensively, “I can still help. And I’m not that terrible.”

I scoff. “I think we played enough together for me to be a fair judge.”

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I’m remembering how those games usually ended—with tackles and kisses and me accusing him of cheating. (Judging by the look on Simon’s face, so is he.)

“I, um, I have to go now. The kids need me. I’ll be…” he points in the direction of the pitch, “there.”

“Right. And I’ll be…” I gesture to the stands where the other parents are sat, “there.”

Simon nods and jogs off. I force myself not to watch his retreating figure (or the way his back muscles flex under his shirt) and find a place to sit down, away from everyone. I spend the next hour pretending to be engrossed with my phone, and trying not to stare at Simon.

(I don’t succeed.)

***

After that, Simon is everywhere.

At the pharmacy when I’m picking up Mordelia’s allergy medication. At the bakery where he swipes two of my scones. Still filling in for Coach Minos at the twins’ football club. Running on the beach where I’m playing with Alfie. Stopping his run to build a sandcastle with Alfie. Knocking over said sandcastle with Alfie and immediately earning himself a best friend for life. (Which isn’t that impressive, considering Alfie’s three and loves everyone.)

I’m lying on the floor in my room when my phone buzzes in my jacket pocket, alerting me to a new message from Andrea, my flatmate back in London. (I suppose you could call her my best friend—she does—but that’s such a juvenile term that I avoid it whenever possible.) (Which is always.)

hows the isle of exbfs

Don’t call it that. Boring.

masochist just come home if its that terrible

I didn’t say it was terrible.

I almost pocket my phone then, mostly because I don’t want to deal with her questions right now, and a little bit because I’m afraid I’ll spill everything.

Andrea’s shockingly good at getting me to confess things.

I saw Simon today.

(Sometimes without even trying.)

!!! is that good??

My fingers hover over the screen as I contemplate my answer. I don’t know

are u going to see him again?? I’m not. wht not??? *why

Because it’s not like that. I didn’t mean to see him.

but u wanted to u wanted to see him right??

It’s not like that. We’re not like that.

but u want to be I don’t want to talk about it. Her next message is just a picture, one of those inspirational quotes that she’s so fond of. It reads: Everything you want is on the other side of fear. The paper is grey and the frame is black, stark against the white wall. It’s very aesthetic, very Andrea, and very much not what I want to think about right now.  I scowl as I type my response. I’m not scared. She responds with a gif of a laughing duck. alright luv And it’s not what you think. I don’t want Simon. who mentioned wanting simon ths isnt about wanting simon Andrea. i didnt bring up wanting simon u brought up wanting god baz stop talking about wanting simon all the time its embarrassing ur better than thsi grosd *gross baz baz basil dont be scared basil basilton bazzybazzybazzy i know ur reading these philippa says i need to leave you alone now oh she just took her top off what a clever distraction

The messages stop after that (thank you Philippa), and I set my phone back on my stomach. The floor isn’t the most comfortable place to lie down, but I can’t bring myself to get on the bed. It’s bad enough that I have to sleep there, in the ancient four-poster, with its dark red canopy, and gargoyles. (An excessive amount of gargoyles, really.)

I’m weighing up the pros and cons of sleeping on the floor when I feel a new message coming through. I snort and pick it up to tease Andrea about finishing too quickly—except it’s not from her.

I didn’t even know Simon still had my number, if I’m honest, and my heart is pounding in my ears as I read his words.

If I answer this, if I say yes, then we’ll cross the line from casual-friends-who-bump-into-each-other-sometimes to Friends Who Text, and there’ll be no going back—not without the potential for fallout. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what I even want to do. My hands are shaking so badly that I can feel my phone beginning to slip from my grasp.

Everything you want is on the other side of fear. I take a deep breath, curse Andrea for jinxing me, and reply.

chapter three