#lemon haze shatter

[gsstownmedicinal]

Where Is The Best Same Day Weed Delivery Vancouver?

-The Many Benefits of Lemon Haze Shatter

Lemon Haze Shatter is one of the many benefits of using cannabis. This particular lemon haze shatter type of cannabis is known for its high THC content and its strong lemon flavor. People who use this type of cannabis report feeling uplifted and energetic, making it a popular choice for those seeking an invigorating high.

In addition to its strong flavor and high THC content, Lemon Haze Shatter is also known for its potent medicinal properties. This type of cannabis has been shown to be effective in treating a variety of conditions, including pain, inflammation, anxiety, and depression.

If you're looking for a strong and flavorful cannabis experience, Lemon Haze Shatter is a great choice. This potent strain is sure to give you a powerful high, while also providing a host of medicinal benefits.

-Why Lemon Haze Shatter is the New Go-To Strain for Medicinal Weed

Lemon Haze Shatter is the new go-to strain for medicinal weed. This powerful and flavorful indica-dominant hybrid provides users with long-lasting relief from pain, stress, and anxiety.

The high THC content and potent effects make it a popular choice for those weed seeking a strong and effective medicinal strain. The taste and smell of lemon and haze are present in every hit, making it a pleasant and enjoyable experience.

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted: Chapter 13, Uncomfortable - Pt. 5

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, Self harm.

Word Count: 2k

Previously On...: I can't even. Betrayal. Just, ultimate betrayal.

A/N: And we are back to our regularly scheduled programming! Nola was great! I had Lavender-Lemon beignets at Ruby Slipper Cafe, and holy shit! They were heaven on earth! 10/10, would eat again!

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Taglist: (Please let me know if you’d like to be added!) @jmeelee @cazellen @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @blackhawkfanatic @buckybarnessimpp @hayjat @capswife @itsteambarnes @marygoddessofmischief @sebastians-love @learisa @lethallyprotected @rabbitrabbit12321 @buckybarnesandmarvel @fanfictiongirl77 @calwitch @fantasyfootballchampion @selella @jackiehollanderr @wintercrows @sashaisready @missvelvetsstuff @angelbabyyy99 @keylimebeag @maybefoxysouls @vicmc624 @j23r23 @wintercrows @crist1216 @cjand10 @pattiemac1@les-sel @dottirose @winterslove1917 @harperkenobi @ivet4 @casey1-2007 @mrsevans90 @steeph-aniie @bean-bean2000 @beanbagbitch

Tumblr will not let me directly tag the following: @marcswife21 @erelierraceala @jupiter-107 @doublejeon @hiqhkey @unaxv @brookeleclerc

“Pocket! Oh my God, Pocket!” A concerned voice broke through your haze. You hadn’t even realized you were curled up into the corner of your shower until Wanda stepped forward, turning off the now ice-cold water and was crouched down before you, wrapping you in an oversized towel sheet. “Honey, what have you done to yourself?”

She gently padded at your skin, the soft white cloth coming away spotted with your blood where it had touched open wounds.

“I’m fine, Wands,” you muttered through chattering teeth, your entire body trembling against the freezing tile. “I’m fine. You don’t need to be here.”

“Like hell you are,” she retorted, her usual calm demeanor shattered at the sight of you. “You’re hurting yourself.” You felt her cool, slim fingertips trace gently over the lines of your harshly scrubbed welts. “Honey, what happened? Why would you do this to yourself?” Her gaze flicked around the bathroom: your discarded robe, the streaks of bloody water slowly circling down the shower drain, your ruined skin under her hand. She gingerly removed her fingers from your arm and you instantly missed their warmth. “What did Barnes do?”

All you could do was shake your head as you shivered.

The look Wanda gave you was brutal in its pity. “Oh, honey,” she whispered, enveloping your body into a fierce hug. At the contact, the last of your defenses broke, and your sobbing began again, a tidal wave of pain rushing through you as you clutched her to you.

When your sobs had subsided, Wanda pulled back from you, putting your face in her hands. “Can you get up, sweetie? We need to get you off this floor or you're going to freeze.”

You nodded, and with her assistance, managed to stand. Once you had yourself steady on your feet, Wanda’s hands began to glow red. “I just need to get you warm, okay?” she asked. When you nodded, she let her magic flow around you, and you felt your skin warm and dry, and your towel turned into a long, plush bathrobe. “There, that’s better, isn’t it?” she asked you hopefully as she led you back into the main room and deposited you gently in the corner of your couch. All you could do was feebly nod in return.

“I think we’re going to need some reinforcements,” Wanda said as she pulled out her phone, sending out a quick text. “Now, you just rest here and I’m going to start cleaning up the bathroom, okay?”

Before she could walk away, you reached out and grabbed her arm. “How did you know to come in here, Wands?” you asked. “How’d you know I needed you?”

She cast you a soft smile. “Bucky called me. Told me you’d had a fight, that he’d really fucked up and asked me to check in on you.”

You nodded. At least he was capable of doing something right.

“You wanna talk about it?” she asked gently. You shook your head, but took her hands and put them to the sides of your head, giving her unspoken permission to view the memory directly from your mind.

Wanda looked at you. “Are you sure?” she asked. You nodded, wanting her to understand, but not wanting to have to explain how absolutely betrayed you felt, to relive the pain of it. You felt the familiar warmth enter your temples as Wanda’s fingers began glowing once again. Unlike the last time she had sifted through your memory, this left you feeling hollowed out and empty inside.

“Are you shitting me?” Wanda asked in surprise when she’d finished, her fingers returning to their normal hue. “Is he a fucking moron?!” You couldn’t help but bark out a quick laugh at her response; it was rare for Wanda to ever use profanities, especially in reference to another person, let alone another member of your team, but it was nice to know that you weren’t alone in your assessment of Bucky’s actions.

Before either of you could say anything else, your bedroom door flew open and Natasha came bursting through. “I swear to God, Wanda, this better be a legit emergency, because I was just about to—” She paused at the sight of the two of you sitting facing each other on the couch, expressions forlorn.

“What did I miss?” she asked cautiously.

“Come help me clean the bathroom, Nat, and I’ll explain.” Wanda stood and held out a hand to Natasha. She turned back to look at you. “Rest a little bit. We’ll be right in the other room if you need us,” she said before pressing a kiss to the top of your head. Nat cast you a confused look before following Wanda into the en-suite and you sighed heavily. You were exhausted and you couldn’t believe the turn the night had taken. Where were you even going to go from here?

The worst part was, the only person you wanted to talk to was Bucky— not the Bucky who had said those horrible things, who had betrayed you, but the Bucky who had been your best friend, who you had trusted with all the dirty details of your past, who you thought understood you better than anyone else in the world.

Where had he gone, and who was this stranger that had taken his place?

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to keep the tears from falling once again.

“Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME?” Nat shouted from the bathroom. In seconds, she was storming back into the bedroom and out the door. “I am going to kill him,” she muttered to you before leaving, and a few seconds later, you could hear her banging on Bucky’s door across the hall.

“Oh dear,” Wanda said, coming out of the bathroom. “I should have anticipated that reaction from her.” She came to sit beside you as you both listened to the muffled shouting as Nat ripped Bucky a new one.

A wicked smile tugged at Wanda's lips, her green eyes sparkling with mischief. "Well, I did warn him. Barnes can't say he didn't see this coming."

You managed a weak chuckle and leaned back against the couch, feeling a little more grounded now, surrounded by your friends' protective wrath. It was oddly comforting, even if all you wanted was to be left alone to deal with your own heartbreak.

"He'll survive," Wanda said dismissively, her fingers absently tracing winding paths in the plush fabric of your robe. Her gaze drifted back to you, her expression softening once more. "The more important question is...how are you doing?"

You took a deep breath and let it out slowly, your eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. How were you supposed to answer that? You felt like your heart had been ripped open and then stomped on, then fed back to you.

"Better than Barnes," was all you said, eliciting a choked laugh from Wanda.

"That's not much of an achievement, sweetheart."

"I know," you replied softly, eyes still fixed on the ceiling. "But it's the best I can do right now."

She smoothed your hair. “Would you like me to help you sleep, love?” You nodded, grateful for the assistance she was offering. 

She took a glance at your bed. “Oh,” she said once she saw its stripped state. “Well, that won’t do.” She raised her hands and conjured up a luxurious bed set, with silk scarlet sheets and a downy scarlet duvet. “There,” she said, sounding pleased with herself. “That’s much better.”

You looked at your newly transformed bed in awe. “Is that, like, going to disappear at midnight or something?” you asked, transfixed by what you had just seen happen. 

Wanda laughed softly. “I’m a witch, sweetie, not a fairy godmother. It’s permanent. Dry-clean only, but permanent.”

You exhaled, beyond impressed. “If I were you,” you said, awestruck, “I’d be using my powers for all kinds of evil.”

“I sincerely doubt that,” Wanda said with a smile. She waved her hand and conjured up a satin scarlet sleep set. “Why don’t you go change and I’ll turn down the sheets?”

You nodded, picking up the night clothes she’d created for you and headed to the bathroom to change. When you came out a moment later, you saw Wanda had conjured herself a matching sleep set. “You didn’t think I was going to leave you alone at a time like this, did you?” she asked. “We’ll make it a slumber party, and Nat’ll get a matching set when she comes back.

“Thank you, Wands,” you said, rushing toward her and embracing her. 

“Of course, sweetie,” she said, patting your hair gently. “That’s what friends are for.”

You held each other for a moment, lost in the comfort Wanda provided. You were so grateful to have friends like her and Nat. 

As if you’d conjured her with your thoughts, the door creaked open and Nat slunk through. She made a face at the sight of the two of you in your matching sleep sets and scowled when Wanda raised a glowing hand, transforming her clothing to match.

“We’re having a slumber party, Natasha,” Wanda said, as if that perfectly explained why she’d given Nat magic pajamas. 

Nat’s expression softened. “Of course we are,” she said, coming over to the two of you and wrapping her arms around you both, effectively sandwiching you between her and Wanda.

“I hope you didn’t physically disable Barnes,” Wanda said. “Not that he didn’t deserve it, of course, but we’re already a man down.”

Nat snorted. “No physical violence needed,” she said, pulling back from the hug. “He’s beating himself up enough as it is.” She turned to you. “I don’t like saying this, because you know how much I hate the way he’s been treating you since Carthage showed up, but he knows how badly he fucked up. I’m not saying you should forgive him– you’re the only one who can make that decision, but once you’ve taken some time to process everything, I think you should talk to him.”

You swallowed and nodded. You couldn’t fathom doing it right now, but you knew you’d have to eventually. 

“That’s a lovely painting,” Wanda said, nodding her head toward where Twilight in the Tropics sat on your desk, and you were grateful for her for changing the topic. “Where did it come from?”

“Looks like a Stark Apology to me,” Nat said, then chuckled when you nodded. 

“Let’s get you to bed, Pocket,” Wanda said. “It’s been a long night and you must be exhausted.”

God, but you were. Every fiber of your body ached as you crawled into bed between Wanda and Nat, the new, magic silk sheets feeling delicious against your skin, and the duvet enveloping you like a cloud.

“Now, about that painting,” Wanda said, raising her hands again. “I think you deserve a little show after everything you’ve been through tonight, don’t you?” As her hands glowed, the lights dimmed and the painting lit up and came to life, as though you were looking through an open window onto the living scene as Frederic Church had painted it in 1874. The moonlight rippled on the water, the wind whispered through the palm fronds, and the sounds of a tropical night filled your room. It was breathtaking. 

“Holy shit,” Nat said in a hushed, revenant voice. 

“Thank you, Wands,” you whispered, squeezing her hand on top of the duvet. “This is amazing."

“Let it lull you to sleep, sweetie,” Wanda said, squeezing your hand back. “Goodnight, Pocket. Good night, Natasha.”

“Night, Wands,” you said, feeling a small smile touch your mouth. “Good night, Natty.”

“Night, Wanda,” Nat said, stifling a yawn. “Night, Pocket. Tomorrow will be better. I promise.”

<- Previous Part / Next Chapter ->

[v3nomly]

「 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞. 」

꒰characters...꒱ Astarion x Reader

꒰summary...꒱ It's been a long journey, and you find yourself with proper lodgings for the first time in weeks. As well as an opportunity for a tender moment with Astarion.

꒰warnings...꒱You give astarion a handjob.

꒰a/n..꒱Like the slut I am I couldn't stop thinking about Astarion, so here's a short and sweet soft moment. Enjoy this short ficlet while I procrastinate my longfic!

The smell of lavender and lemon hung in the steamy air of the room. A haze of mist collected on the small but ornate window veiling the otherwise bright moonlight. Leaving you to bask in the flickering candlelight, its warm orange flame casting a faint glow onto the normally pallid vampire's face. Astarion hummed as you brushed the plush rag across his skin. Crimson splotches stain his pale skin, like jewels on a nobleman. A king bathed in red, ruthless and victorious.

Slowly you work, removing each blemish, until the visage of the man underneath you is unmarred. The evidence of the day's events washed away, leaving you two in a welcomed reprieve. A comfortable limbo between the dusk of today and the dawn of tomorrow. Astarion's eyes slid shut, leaning into your touch. It was moments like these that you cherished, moments where he allowed himself the comforts of affection. You drop the rag outside of the tub, before returning your hands, fingertips ghosting over his face, across his lips, and down his neck. Only halting once your fingers had found their home, threaded into his thick, curly locks.

"Everything okay?" you ask, voice barely above a whisper, not quite ready to disturb the peace that had fallen over you, but unwilling to let him simmer in whatever thought ran rampant in his head. Astarion opened his eyes only partially. Allowing you the faintest glimpse of his entrancing ruby irises. His plush pink lips part his mind working between a sarcastic quip and the truth. Before his words fall into the latter.

"Ruminating," he responds, his brows furrowing, as if the honesty distresses him. He inclines his head, causing your fingers to slip from the tresses, His eyes opened, a softer look to them than what you'd normally see in camp.

It seems the closer you got to Cazador the more Astarion pulled away. A far-off look in his eyes in the moments of calm. Or a near-nervous energy veiled by the excitement that surrounded him during a fight. Then there were these moments spent with you. Where he allowed himself to be more truthful than he had been in a long time. Still, he made an effort, against all odds, against the very fiber of his being. He never hid away from you.

You lean forward, lips brushing over Astarion's jaw. Causing his arms to tighten around your waist, pulling you closer. The bubbly water sloshes with the movement, threatening to spill over the wood of the tub. "You deserve peace," you say lips connecting with his skin, as if solidifying your words. Moving to the other side, you repeat the action, "You deserve happiness." You move to his lips, hands capturing his face in such a gentle embrace that he questions if you are real. "Astarion?" you call softly, afraid that he's drifted back into his thoughts.

He lifts his hand, water falling from his fingers, and for a moment he hesitates. Astarion had never questioned something as simple as running his fingers through a partner's hair, but with you, the action felt different, more important. "I'm here," he responds, fingers carding through your hair. His nose nuzzles against your own, a comfort you've grown used to. A simple yet, intimate mannerism he's picked up since confessing that he had grown to care for you.

Even now, when his mind slips into thoughts of the past or whatever turbulent future lies before him. Astarion moves to reassure you because while he'll never admit it out loud, his eyes scream the answer. 'I don't deserve comfort. I don't deserve love. I don't deserve you.' Your heart aches, practically shattering each time the look makes it past his perfectly crafted mask.

"Let me take care of you," a silent plea, his lips part, as if surprised that someone would ever wish to do such a thing, and he nods once as if speaking would rouse him from this dream.

Gently you push Astarion back. His body shifted to bask in the bath once more, shoulders pressed against the rim of the wood, arms placed to brace himself on each side of the tub.

Your fingers dance down his chest, playful and teasing. Under the water, they maintain their path across his stomach, over the defined lines of his navel.

His dead heart skipped a beat, his eyes filled with anticipation.

Your hand wraps around his aching cock, so gently as if he might just break, and with you maybe he would. His head fell back as the motion of your hand slowly stroked him. Astarion's chest hurt, with a peculiar kind of happiness. Each tender moment with you —the ones where you touched him as a lover deserving and worthy of affection— wanes the pains of his past only slightly, but still enough for him to grow into someone new.

"What about you?" he asks, voice filled with hesitancy, a vulnerability that he seldom allows even you to see. As if the idea of not proving his worth remains a truly foreign concept.

"Your pleasure is my pleasure," you watch as Astarion's mind works through his thoughts.

"In that case who am I to complain," his words are meant in jest, but you've known him long enough—intimately enough— to know exactly what he means. It is distinct in the way that his muscles relax and his fingers untense from the tub's frame. Astarion trusts you and even if he dare not affirm it aloud —in fear of ruining everything— maybe he's allowed himself to love you.

© 2023 v3nomly do not plagiarize, translate, or repost my writing to any other site.

[hwaightme]

Use me (part 1)

THIS IS 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI FOR HALAZIA'S SAKE (nsfw tags under the cut) (masterlist)

🌌 pairing: nonidol!mingi x afab!reader 🌌 genre: smut, angst, emotions 🌌 summary: You had a routine. Every Friday night, you would meet with your friends to hit the clubs, looking for fun. It was easy, it was emotionless, it was carefree. But what will happen when your usual wingmen are not around, and you only have your shy friend, Song Mingi to keep you company under the neon lights? 🌌 wordcount: 9.7k 🌌 warnings/tags: language, alcohol, intoxication, indications of past bad relationship experiences, not believing in love, emotional suppression, some of them want to use you, some of them want to get used by you... 🌌 taglist: @layzfeelit @honey-lemon-goose here's the drop 🌌 a/n: Hello there! This is my first attempt at smut, so please do be warned. Hope you enjoy, MINORS DNI, nsfw tags and content under the cut. (note: song referenced is BTBT by B.I)

🌌 nsfw tags: sub!mingi, dom!reader, mingi is a pretty princess, pet names, degradation(mingi receiving), cunnilingus, protection IS USED, one night stand energy, mistress, a lot of dirty talk, teasing, denial, overstimulation.

You were the centre of the universe. A modern-day Venus, swaying your delicious hips in time to the music, arms in the air spelling seduction. The earth-shattering bass was resetting your intoxicated heart like a defibrillator. The kaleidoscopic haze was surrounding you and embracing you like the sweetest hit of anaesthesia right before you went under. Nothing existed except you and the gazes that were scanning you, devouring every inch of your body as you made the dance floor your bitch once again.

It was all but a blur, just how you liked it.

The neon was your weekly escape, something of a routine that you had established with a couple of your closest friends: Wooyoung and San. You three were the lives of any party, igniting the atmosphere and not letting the scalding hot flame die out until you said so. And even then, in the hearts of all those lucky enough to witness your miraculous, dizzying passion would linger the burning remains of an unforgettable night.

Over time, your trio had established ground rules and fool-proof strategies for how to get the most out of any night out. From the elaborate preparations, dressing to the elegant elevens but ready to offer just the right amount of sleaze if need be. To the selections of drinks that give just the right buzz without letting you lose your head. To your personal favourite – the complex tango of aiding one another to capture the next beauty and wring their everything dry until they knew nothing except you, Wooyoung or San. All to experience the satisfaction of hearing another heart break the next morning.

This was your idea of love – a hit every Friday night, a fuck with no strings attached. If what drove them wild was for you to call them your beloved - you did not care. Things said in the night died a small death and turned to ghosts in the morning. Remaining in the afterglow. At least you did not have to remember their name. Their bodies also faded from your memory quickly enough. So, you came back, again, and again. In search of a wondrous, lust-filled temporary high.

It was the same tonight. Same club, same throngs of bodies glistening in sweat under the strobe lights, just belonging to different people. The DJ had recognised you, so he changed the set to play a couple more of your favourite songs. His wolfish gaze revealing a lot more than he wanted. Oh, how simple all these people were. And how easy they were to wrap around your finger. If only you had the same drive today. But San’s girlfriend, well now ex-girlfriend, decided that today, of all days of the week, was just right to break up with him, and Wooyoung being his roommate could not leave the blubbering dejected mess alone.

No amount of convincing could coax the two out of hiding in their newly renamed ‘bachelor’ pad. Not wanting to let the two buzzkills completely destroy your energy, you still tugged on your best dress, and strutted in, head held high, hair in captivating locks. There was something truly devilish about you, and you were normally not afraid to use it to your advantage. But there was something different about tonight. Probably because you had to settle for the company of another one of your friends. Someone a lot more demure, for the lack of a better word.

Even though it was a six-foot-tall man with a toned physique and the most attractive hands that you were talking about, you could not help but think of him as a pretty little princess. He was just so untainted, so harmless and prey-like. You could feel his nervousness whenever you approached. His fluttering eyelashes, a quick, shy bite of the lip as he attempted to conjure up a response to whatever you asked. This was Song Mingi. A friend who you had no idea how you made, and why he stuck around still.

He had just appeared one day, an acquaintance you had met through one of those closest to you back in university. Funnily enough, it was the mutual friend that you had ceased to speak to. Mingi was doing a different major, had a different lifestyle, behaved differently, even interpreted things differently, but he had been accepted into the group, nonetheless. Probably because one of your friends had an undeniable thirst for him. Not that he had ever noticed though.

Mingi had always been like that. A gentle creature. A ball of cuteness. If your whole friend group had ever sat together, it was always as though there was one soft, fluffy cloud amidst hurricanes, tornados and thunderstorms. Not a single drop of rain on anyone’s parade. He had the desire to please, and would always volunteer to do errands for others, even if it was so far out of his way it was foolish to do so.

He had stopped once you had explained to him that others were using him. Including your own friends. You had pointed out that he had the power to refuse, and that they were not going to admonish him, as a matter of fact, they would not particularly care. Mingi had taken your words as gospel, and since then, had taken to treating you like his saviour of sorts. Or at least that was how you had initially seen it.

First thing he had done for you after you had merely pointed out the obvious was gotten you your go-to order at the café near campus. How he knew or had found out – you never managed to pry out of him. Then there had been the ‘accidental’ (read: intentional, because Mingi looked like he had been loitering in that corridor for a weirdly long time) run ins during your transits from one lecture hall to another, so that he could walk with you to your class.

The attention had been a bit much at first, but you had grown to accept it as usual ‘Mingi behaviour’. After all, he was the princess, the fluffy cloud, the ray of sunshine. That had to be just how he was. And as such, you had never taken him seriously. A couple of your friends had pointed out that maybe he was trying to make advances, but you shut that down rapidly by reminding them that you had no desire to love, nor could you see anyone wanting to love you.

You had never seen that side of your life be so peachy. It was almost as if you had been born into heartbreak and were nurtured by it. The antithesis to love was where you had comfortably resided for so long, and only stepped out to reach for comrades in misery. That was how you had found your people. Your chaos. These amazing idiots with whom you could share everything, and they would accept you for the idiot that you were. And having someone from the other side, from so-called ‘paradise’, trying to trace your steps and meet you halfway – it felt wrong. It was wrong. It was not what you had written out for yourself in your own blood and conviction after you had seen and felt too much. You made a decision and turned it into an aspect of your identity. Like some people were awfully co-dependent, or mentioned their significant other in every sentence, you were proudly solo. Unaffected by that nonsense.

It was not meant for you, that whole ‘written in the stars’, sappy romance, soulmates bullshit. All of that was mere theory. A concept invented by some people who had no idea how reality worked. Your reality was all about giving into carnal pleasures if you needed to relieve some stress or craved some intimacy. The emotional satisfaction came from being with your crew. Your collection of people who were ride or die. As time had shown, even that could not last forever. At least you still had San and Wooyoung. The two who had you had instantly clicked with.

The two who were currently sitting at home, with San probably watching some guilty pleasure drama and sobbing into a plushie while Wooyoung had likely made his killer dakgaejang for the ultimate comfort. Thereby officially abandoning you and leaving you to your own devices. Well, almost. Tonight had to be the night when you had all agreed to invite Mingi along after a few months of his stagnancy in that department. Your trio wanted to show him how to unwind and have a good time. But now that responsibility fell solely to you, and you could not help but feel a little awkward. No matter how hard you tried, you could not get the man to loosen up. And in turn, he was ruining all plans you had in finding yourself a little fun.

With the glares he inadvertently sent every potential midnight suitor who approached you, Mingi was acting every bit a pouting, jealous boyfriend. This had only gotten worse after he had a couple of drinks. His eyes were only ever following you. Tracing your curves as you grinded against yet another ‘possibility’, trying to see where it could go. But that stare. It would not leave neither your body, nor your consciousness. From your position on the dance floor, you could only barely make out his form, leaning, arms crossed, against a black pillar. But it seemed that no matter what you did, Mingi would still find you. Much like he had done in the past and acted like your loyal puppy. A pesky little sunray.

With no success after a total of five songs, you decided to retire to the side lines and take a breather. Sauntering over to Mingi, you pointed at his hand, and received your drink that he had been keeping safe. A refreshing dilution of whatever the beverage was supposed to be. After taking a greedy sip, you spotted a more secluded seating area in one of the corners of the venue, which had not been reserved nor was occupied, and strode on over before anyone had the same idea as you. You did not need to check if Mingi was behind you. The only answer, ever, was yes.

Crash landing onto one of the couches, nearly spilling what you had left of the liquid nonsense, you gave a little yawn. It was a little too early for you to be getting bored, but without Woo and San to be the two devils on your shoulders and wingman collaborators, you were contemplating calling it a night and just leaving. If Mingi wanted to stay for a little longer he could: he was a big boy who could go clubbing on his own. But to you, the past couple of hours have been a continuous mission failed.

“Hey, if you are feeling tired, we could-”

That choice of pronoun, ‘we’, rubbed you the wrong way. You did not need this ‘we’ right now. You needed another someone, anyone to make that ‘we’ happen.

“Nah, don’t worry about me I just needed to sit down for a second. All that dancing and not taking a break? That’s how you know a person is on something.” You gestured at the dance floor again to emphasise your point.

From a distance, it really did look like an unstoppable, pulsating jelly fish that emanated neon fluorescence. Your natural habitat. Your rhythm. Fuck it. You were going back. You did not want to be in the company of this cutesy dullard. At least not right now. In a few quick moves, Mingi was left standing alone by the couches, as you clicked your heels across to the dance floor, joining the chaos once more.

How breath-taking you looked. Mingi was stunned as your lithe form glided past him, in that little black dress that beautifully hugged your figure. You were royalty under the moonlight. A seductress out on the prowl, unknowingly having laid claim on his soul long before you had ever thought you could. Mingi had never understood how he had fallen so hard for you, but this was an abyss that he would never be able to get out of, as every waking day gave him a new reason to love you.

He had been the only one out of his school to go to the university that he did, and since it was a distance away from the family home, he had to move, live alone, work alone, sit alone. There had been some positive aspects to that lifestyle, like he had all the time in the world to study, but the loneliness began eating away at him, gnawing into his anxieties until it had become almost unbearable. That was when he had reached out to someone he knew had good social networks in the university, and in a matter of weeks had found himself a group to be in. Your group, to be more specific. Everyone had been welcoming, but he had convinced himself that he could not be anything except a burden, and as such he had turned into something reminiscent of a butler. A boy at beck and call, just because he wanted to have friends and thought he had to continuously prove himself worthy. It was exhausting, but once he had started, it was near impossible to stop. People got used to good things far too quickly.

But then, there was you. An angel who had taken him by the hand and led him out of the maze of his own making. The only one who had stepped in. The one who had shown they cared. At first, he just wanted to show you his gratitude and help you out as best as he could in return for your gesture, but the more time he spent with you, the more he found out about you, the more he ended up wanting everything to do with you. Sure, you had presented yourself as being above feelings, he knew that, but he was not bothered by it. It was your comfort that mattered to Mingi. If that meant keeping everyone besides a select few friends at arm’s length, then so be it. At least it was your arm, and you were not refusing his company entirely.

That was how he had ended up being a sort of satellite to your system. A little moon orbiting around you while you and your friends were a galaxy, and order of planets. It was clear that the group was not as impressive as it had been, and that he was still the odd one out, nevertheless, social outings were still being organised, and he could sometimes attend them. His heart had swelled when you, Wooyoung and San had reached out to him with an invite to a night club. And now, even more so that the duo could not make it, albeit for an upsetting reason.

Mingi knew why you went to this club in particular. It had a good crowd, quite a few ‘lookers’, and people did not hesitate to spend their money. You had frequented it enough times for you to be very amiable towards nearly all staff, even recognising that one of the barmen was a new hire and wishing him luck. You were so amazingly attentive, and your ‘focus face’ had not changed at all since Mingi had known you. Forever his first love that never seized to threaten to break out of his chest in a burst of pent-up affection.

Of course, there was another reason why you were here, one that did not sit quite as well with him and was why he was rather sulky and unable to appease you in being more carefree and becoming one with the heavy beat that was roaring over him. And it was that you had your focus trained on others. Studying man after man for their ‘potential’, checking their energy or whatever it was that you could feel through their trousers. You were a dangerous balance of audacious and coquettish, able to physically entice and mentally capture.

But the disgusting, lascivious leers that those you tested the waters with sent you, and them groping your ass, snaking their arms around your waste, or openly palming their groin as they approached you was about to make Mingi go insane. Was this the kind of treatment you suffered through every single Friday night just to satisfy your own needs? Did you have to listen to drunkards call you vile names just for a night of passion? He could not comprehend how anyone could ever deserve it just because they wanted something special.

Fuck it. He could not stand you being attacked in that way anymore. He needed to join you on the dance floor before this could continue. Not for one second could he believe that you were enjoying this. It was dangerous. It was degrading. It was… it was not the you that had been his friend. It was the you that had evoked a different kind of desire within him. An insatiable want for you, and you alone. As he stalked forwards, closer to the centre where you were currently swaying to the more melodic interlude of rhythm and blues as a man clearly double your age was trying to woo you, trying to roam your body with his grimy hands. One look to the left and there was another, a woman who looked to be in her early thirties, unabashedly looking you up and down, likely having undressed you a thousand times in her mind. You were unstoppable, but Mingi desperately wanted to try. So, he silenced his mind’s protests, tuning into a darker hedonism, and swept you away from where you had been dancing and pushing you deeper into the mass, making both of you disappear into its music-enchanted waves.

You were astonished at your friend’s bout of bravery. Raising an eyebrow in suspicion, you studied him as he tried his best to guide you in the dance, however failing to do so without a newbie’s rigidity. A smile crept onto your face as you placed both of your hands on his upper arms, taking note of the well-sculpted muscle concealed by his shirt, and slid them down, nice and slow until you could guide Mingi to rest his own hands right on your waist. Now tonight was getting interesting. Finally. Without as much as a one word exchange you two continued indulging in the trance, and as the song changed, and changed again, time allowed the two of you to completely sink into the addictive feeling.

When my eyes are on you

숨 막힐듯한 전율

Oh, you know you get me loose

Make me go 비틀비틀

It was a push and pull. You wanted to take Mingi to the limit. Since he finally wanted to communicate with your senses, you wanted to show him all that you could do, what this atmosphere could do. The electricity between you and him was undeniable, and as you got more confident in one another’s presence you had fallen into a shared rhythm, taking every breath together, translating every beat into body language.

A dance floor made for two

달이 부르는 선율

Oh, it's only me and you

Make me go 비틀비틀

This ray of sunshine called Song Mingi was glinting in a much more tantalising manner than usual. All that following you around did appear to do some good at least – he could match you well. Almost frighteningly well. His movements were smooth, and he was very light on his feet. And most importantly, he was fully immersed in being your dance partner, to the extent that a club had the space for and considered as paired dancing. At some point during the song, his gentle grasp on your hips had become more needy, and he transferred it to your hips, while still keeping time to the song. As he pushed you closer to him, you could feel heat rolling off his body, and spot a single bead of sweat making its way down the side of his face.

Without thinking about it much you moved to swipe it away, which made Mingi stiffen and falter. He responded to your touch, leaning his head in which you took to be a sign that at least you would have a good night in the club. He was not going to go anywhere and was at your mercy. Very loyal. And all over you. You did have to admit, that once he had dropped the observation game and acted, he was turning out to be a lot more of an exciting person to have around. On top of that, you were getting your fill of more personalised attention, with an enviable man as your companion.

Again, the song changed to a slowed rhythm and blues piece, and both of you took it as a sign to get even closer. Your arms were now draped over his shoulders and loosely crossed behind his neck, and your lower bodies were mere centimetres apart. The previous energetic sequence was all gone, replaced instead with an unmistakeable burning. As your orbs met his in a near-showdown fashion, you could see Mingi’s irrefutable change in demeanour. How did you not consider this man before? This other Mingi? It was like you were meeting somebody for the first time. Somebody who you would not mind making your body.

Your breath was becoming his breath as he inched closer and closer to you, so tentative as though he was asking permission for every tiny movement. He halted right when your noses were touching, and so dangerously close you could almost taste him.

Mingi was going into overdrive. His everything, you, were right within reach, and yet your soul was nowhere to be felt. You were a succubus, tempting him by the way you were toying with his hair, so carelessly, like you did not know what you were doing to him. Tempting him by the kittenish expression you wore, your half-lidded eyes hinting at a future that he had only dreamt of with you. His sinful fantasies about you had all awakened; episodes that he had drafted in solitude wanting to be re-enacted. How he yearned for your touch. For him to be able to melt into you and give himself up. Be only yours. Forever. So, you did not ever have to do what you had been doing all this time before tonight. He let out a shaky breath, affected by the lust that was already clouding his vision. Voice low, and a little hoarse, Mingi momentarily shut his eyes and whispered right against your cheek:

“Use me.”

You tried to step back a little, surprised at Mingi’s sudden proposition. But he would not let go, instead pressing you flush against his frame. You could now feel that he was not kidding, his blooming arousal greeting you through the layers of fabric. Because you had not responded to him, nor showed any signs of being interested, the notes of roughness in his tone disappeared entirely, leaving behind something closer to a whimper:

“Y/N… please. Use me. You… you don’t need anybody else. Can just use me.”

In awe, you were staring at Mingi. Now this was something you had never predicted for this Friday night. In your musings, you had bet that by now, you would have been in your own bed, watching a music show and drifting off to sleep. Not about to make a decision that could change the course of your life while in a not so lucid state of mind.

“Then tell me, darling, how do you want me to use you?” you asked back, hearing a sharp and shallow gasp from Mingi. He was unwinding right in your hands, and you had barely done anything.

“I’d rather show you, Y/N, if you will let me.” He mumbled, beginning to trace your jawline with soft, feathery kisses.

“And I’d rather bend you to my will.” The retort sent a shiver down his spine, and he ceased to pepper you with the manifestation of his desirous state. “After you take me to your place.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“I could get used to this. Lead the way, darling. Your place.”

With one arm wrapped around your waist, tracing abstract patterns on your dress, and the other being used as a wedge to part the tightly knit bodies, Mingi immediately answered to your request. He had not changed his positioning as he flagged down a taxi, and continued holding onto you, although now it was your hand in his, for the duration of the drive to his home. Whilst the tiny droplets of possessiveness masked most of Mingi’s disposition, there was an endearing aspect to it. In some ways, Mingi was like a little kid who had just discovered something extraordinary and was ready to tie himself to it to ensure that it did not disappear. Even with his present actions unveiling nothing but an unprecedented lust and unbreakable certitude, Mingi still had remnants of his day-time self clinging onto him. Which was the first thing you focused on ripping way once he had finished fumbling with the keys to his front door.

You were tightly bound in each other’s arms. The air was thick with anticipation while Mingi closed the door with his foot and haphazardly threw off his shoes. You followed suit, and upon having done so, observed your ‘human offering’. You could see that he was not sure in how to proceed, having stopped midway through the entryway corridor, but the grip he had was on the contrary, more possessive. If he wanted to be used so badly, then he would not mind if you ruined him.

A harsh pull of the shirt collar and a stifled mention of your name later, your red-tinted lips locked in with his in a perfect harmony. In that moment, he was like your oasis, a discovery of a paradise after eons of suffering, a salve to your numerous wounds. The kiss swiftly transformed from the first phase of introductory exploration, luxuriating in the delectable tension, to a faster and more fervent collision of sexual ardour.

He was so malleable in your hands, giving into your control and honouring it with the unholy groans that were building up in his throat. To think that you had such an effect on someone and so quickly! It sparked a stronger desire to make him unravel and proudly share with you just how good, how satiated you made him feel. You wanted to hear him submit to you and follow your laws.

As you toyed with the hem of his trousers, pulling at the belt and letting your noticeably colder fingers glide against his skin, you elicited a growl from Mingi, who broke away from your lips to trail kisses down your neck and stopped right at the base, nuzzling into it and masking his responsive eagerness.

“Bed… room…” his demand came across more as a suggestion due to his feeble tone, but you felt nice, for now, and obliged, and let him take the lead in your tango across the living space and through the half-open door straight across from where you had been.

You were illuminated only by the moon and the streetlights that shone through the window, leaving you standing in an ethereal glow. Shadows that fell across Mingi’s face as he pulled away from you, his breathing ragged, only amplified the near-animalistic want etched onto him, another mark of his submission to you. He did not dare make a single move, again, standing in wait. An obedient boy, letting you turn his back to the bed, pushing him down until he was sat on its edge. You straddled him, your dress riding up to reveal the panties of a lacy lingerie set, and languidly grinded against him a couple of times to drive up his desire. He stifled a moan by biting his swollen bottom lip in an attempt to hide his craving for you, but that bashfulness was not on your agenda.

Motivated by his shallow pants, you slid your hands with fingers spread far apart under his white, now crumpled shirt, sliding them lazily up his torso, feeling for every ripple, every response to you. You stopped at his chest, paying particular attention to his nipples as you stimulated them, repeatedly making circular motions with your index fingers and pinching them until you saw Mingi tilt his head back a little and make haste to adjust his hold on you, moving to your voluptuous ass. Pushing himself against you he tried to chase his own high, giving into the first gifts bestowed upon him in the form of your caresses. But not so fast, you were not going to let him have so much fun so early on. Not when he had pledged to listen to you. To let him be your toy for the night. With a devilish smirk, you abruptly stopped, making Mingi’s eyes shoot wide open, and dart across your features. The nervousness did little to make you merciful, for instead you found you took pleasure in taking away what others enjoyed. He was confused, unable to read your expression. Just as he was opening his mouth, still decorated with your sweet saliva, you used his lowered guard against him and toppled him backwards. You took him by the wrists and pressed them by his head, right into the disturbed sheets. He looked so pretty under you. Pretty little princess. Those doe eyes, searching for an answer from you. A command. Anything.

“Did you not say I could use you, hm, darling? And now what do you think you are doing?” you purred, hovering over him.

Mingi let out a desperate hum and tried to buck up his hips against you. You knew that he could overpower you at any moment. And that made your present power of him that much sweeter. You held your ground and ignored the heat rising in your core. When he denied you a response, you removed your hold from one of his wrists, instead taking his chin and gripping it to make him see only you through his daze.

“I will repeat, what the fuck do you think you are doing, huh?” you were centimetres away, hissing the question right into his ear before softly exhaling, leaving a few kisses and cautiously biting the lobe. Mingi’s chest rose and fell sharply as he took in the sensation.

“I… I want you. I want you so bad, Y/N. Please.” He begged, letting his free hand rise to try hooking the strap of your dress, but before he could slide it down your shoulder, you switched your position again, now no longer holding him down, but tearing his shirt apart to feast your eyes.

“And where did your obedience go, darling? Do you think you deserve what you want?” you applied pressure on his clothed member, mocking how you could so easily ride him.

“I… sorry, Y/N, I cannot think, I-”

“Shut up. You said to use you. Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Yours, Y/N I am yours-”

“That is mistress to you, you little bitch.” You snapped, back to peering into his clouded orbs. On instinct, you moved to give his throat some ‘affection’, applying light pressure on either side as you continued: “Pretending to be so innocent, whoring yourself out to me. I bet this is what you do on the daily, batting your eyelashes looking all pretty and in a matter of minutes becoming a lascivious little slut.”

“Y/N-” he yelped, but you were not having that kind of disrespect, so you tightened your rip and moved one hand behind you to fish for his belt.

“It’s mistress, darling.” You uttered, an ominous darkness dripping from your words. Mingi shuddered as he felt you masterfully removing the pesky accessory, discarding it with one throw.

“Okay, m-mistress, ah fuck…” he moaned as you let go of his throat and fully exposed his throbbing member, taking it in one hand and rubbing its tip with a thumb. He desperately wanted to see how you unwounded him, but you remained sat right on his pelvis, hiding your act with your body.

“Is this what you want, darling? Me pleasuring you? Me taking you apart with my touch?”

“Ah- yes! Yes, mistress!”

“What a good boy, see it was not so hard to learn. Now tell me how far do you want to go.” You broke your act just a little, to check if Mingi was still on board. You had no idea of his experience, nor of his boundaries, so it was a matter of respect.

“All… all the way… Y/N, sorry, mistress.”

“Good. Then I expect you to follow my every command. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes.”

“Good little fuck toy.” You praised, sliding your hand down his dick, spreading his precum down the length and giving him one pump, only to fully remove yourself from his body and sit on your knees by his side. You traced his abdomen as you pondered out loud, amused at his dedication – he was not moving a single inch, wrapped up in your presence.

“I have been far too generous, don’t you think? Giving you all the pleasure, whilst you are making a mess and not thanking me for all I have done. Filthy.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much, mistress.”

“For what?”

“For treating me so well. For making me feel so good-”

“Oh, you eager little slut, such a pleaser. Sweet talking your way into getting some more. How greedy!” you laughed, crawling closer to his head and running your fingers through his locks. “I will need a lot more than that to forgive you for being so demanding.”

“Anything.” He answered airily.

“Then make me come with that mouth of yours. Show me what your tongue can really do.”

“Yes, please, mistress.”

“Tsk-tsk, how cute. Then on your knees, darling right there. In front of the bed. So I can see just how delightful you look worshipping my cunt.”

In a matter of seconds, he was making his way off the bed, and simultaneously discarding the rest of his clothing that you had unbuttoned. Stark naked, he dropped to the ground, just as you had commanded him to. The moon illuminated him once more. A lustful little angel.

You took your time in removing your dress, feigning a lack of want. As if you were doing Mingi a favour by being here, and by letting him eat you out. You wanted to make it a point that your orgasm was his highest reward, and that he better get used to it quickly if he wanted to be used by you. Mingi gaped at you as you were left in your bra and panties, the article now leaving barely anything to the imagination. On all fours, you crawled towards him, every bit a dangerous wildcat ready to pounce. Before taking a comfortable seat for your pleasure, you cupped his chin once more and pulled him into a sultry kiss, tilting your head to seek entrance with your tongue.

Mingi gripped the sheets and tried to rise to pull you closer into him, but upon seeing the too positive response, you sat right back, and slid your legs down into position. You rested your weight on one arm, while the other absent-mindedly played with Mingi’s hair as he placed his hands on your thighs, and began to take your panties off. For a couple of seconds, you played along, sitting up slightly so that the material could escape from under you, but just as he thought he had it all in his power, you stopped him by yanking him to attention by the hair.

“Now, not so fast, did I say I wanted to see what your hands could do?”

“No, mistress.”

“Exactly. Use your mouth, pretty boy.” He obliged, even going so far as to put his hands behind his back. He took the material between his teeth, and worked at it, little by little, downwards, until it appeared as though he was bowing to you, right at your feet. In one final move, Mingi tugged them off you, and rose up once more, an entertaining look of pride on his features.

You committed each step of this intimate sequence to memory and continued watching the show that he was putting on for you. The throw of the panties away from him with a move of the head, his gaze trailing down your body, his kitten-like nudges to your thighs, pleading you to spread them further apart. Not wanting to wait any longer, you did as much, and wriggled yourself forwards a tiny bit more.

As he kissed your clit and ran his hot tongue between your already soaked folds, you realised just how riled up you were. He would do anything for you, and that turned you on unbelievably. You tightened your jaw and shut your mouth to suppress any sound as you let your head fall back a little, your hair streaming down behind you in a waterfall. He was lapping up your nectar like a parched man, not leaving a single bit behind. With a flick, he switched his attention back to your aroused bud, and began to circle it with his tongue, occasionally pursing his lips to give the sensitive blossom intemperate sucks.

It was challenging to hold back any more of your sinful moans as he returned to your wet hole, penetrating it with his tongue and twisting in an unrepeatable motion. You felt your core begin to tighten, as a high was alerting you of its imminence. You tugged gently at Mingi’s soft hair and praised him for being such a good little boy, such a good darling, for fucking you so good with his tongue.

His delighted hums sent a vibration against your dripping cunt, and you groaned in pleasure, only making Mingi pick up his pace. His tongue was moving in and out, gliding against your folds and playing with your clit. As he buried his face in your pussy, wanting nothing more than to drown in your juices, your climax was fast approaching. As your breaths turned shallower by the second, and you pressed Mingi’s head right against you, he took the signal and gave your clit one final lick and curled his tongue upwards, right inside your hole. He was beckoning you, begging you to cum for him.

“Ah fuck, Mingi I-” his name slipped out of your mouth as you gave into the awaited orgasm, shuddering at the unforgettable feeling. He reacted to your exclamation with unexpected vigour, kissing your sex and hastily drinking in your release. This further stimulated you as you let go of him and leaned back onto your elbows, to not fully collapse.

Taking deep breaths in, you composed yourself and returned from your high. You glanced at Mingi, whose lips were glistening with your wetness. He dared to give you a shy smile after noticing your observation, like he was awaiting more praise for his hard work.

“What a good little slut my pretty boy is. Making mistress really happy.” It was hard to keep your voice steady, but you tried your best, seeing as you had to maintain dominance.

“And I am so happy too mistress. Thank you… can I ask something?” he inquired, as you rose onto your knees again and unclasped your bra, making him lose track of his thoughts for a moment.

“Go on ahead.” You enjoyed when men scrutinised your so hungrily. How your shapely breasts managed to make them forgive and forget anything you wanted them to. As you watched Mingi swallow some spit, eyes trained on your chest, you began to knead them for full effect, “you were saying?”

“Oh… I… I liked when… when you called me by my name… mistress…” he forced out, rising up onto his feet as you motioned for him to do so with your index finger. Now this was problematic. You never liked using your temporary lovers’ names during sex, as you felt it to be a little too personal. Yes, there had been times when it slipped, but Mingi had been the only one to take notice and express his liking of the fact.

“Well, one time’s enough baby boy. You need to work harder for me, you hear me?” you turned the game around, evading the possibility of him asking you to stop with the pet names and degradation. After what looked to be a flash of disappointment, Mingi returned to his obedient state and mumbled a low ‘yes mistress’.

You commanded that he lied down, just as he had before, his member now completely in the air and almost unbearably hard. You moved to sit right before it, your legs spread and straddling his thighs, pussy just within reach. But not just yet. You had a little more you wanted to do; you wanted to return the favour – you were just that nice.

Mingi was in a state of pure bliss as you spat on his cock and rubbed the viscous liquid over it. It was only a matter of moments before you heard him emit a low, husky moan. He cursed at the feeling, eyes rolling back a little as he gave into you, again. It was almost more pleasurable watching him plead for you to go faster than satisfying yourself. How his cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink when you played with his tip. How he shivered when you decided to give his dick a blow of cold air, making Mingi’s mind go into a frenzy. He wanted you to take him whole, bucking up his hips as he noticed you moving closer, but that only made him receive a slap on his abused member, and a sharp command:

“Princess. I make the rules here. And if for one second you think that I am going to let your whored out dick touch my lips, I will not hesitate to punish you until you can’t walk.” You threatened, and continued pumping rhythmically as you heard a series of melodic whines in response.

He was so easy to read. Spread on the palm of your hand, a simple, innocent Song Mingi. So, you knew exactly when to cut his pleasure short, abruptly recoiling and removing your legs to be positioned to his right. You observed his pulsing cock as Mingi cried out in frustration, moaning for you to continue, just a little bit longer.

“Silence, darling. I am bored again, and I think you will like what I am planning.” You explained, twisting at the waist to reach for your handbag that you had thrown in the direction of the side table in the corner.

Upon fishing out a condom and unrolling it on Mingi’s member, you thanked your lucky stars that it was the right size. The friction made him tense up again, and you chuckled. So sensitive. So malleable. All yours to use for the night.

“Are you ready, darling?” you threw the question out in a manner similar to that of asking about someone’s day. Like this really meant nothing to you. Even though your core was pleading for you to hurry up.

“Yes, mistre- ah!” he could not finish his answer as you directed his cock right outside your entrance, and eased it in.

As you took Mingi’s whole length, you put your hands on his abdomen, and peered over, glazed over from the sensation of him filling you up, against your walls in all the right places. You needed a moment to get used to it, as the impossibly ideal match left you on the verge of sanity. The heat of your pussy, and its clenching as you wiggled a little to get your positioning just right was making Mingi see stars, detuning from any reason or logic that he may have had left. Now, there was only you and him. Bound by the night.

You commenced your ritual. The sensual rise and fall of your body as you engulfed him more and more with every move. His whimper as you rocked forwards to glide over his length made you groan in response, and you leaned in to kiss him, still managing to taste your own climax on those soft lips. Before you could move away, he cupped your face and pulled you in closer, nearly making you lose balance – you had to move up and push into his chest.

He gazed right into your eyes. It felt like a fire, burning through you. You were comfortable with lust, and had seen it many times before, but there was something deeper, something more lethal behind Mingi’s carnality. But in your present disorientation, you dismissed it as a building thrill to accompany the knot that was steadily growing within you. It was impossible to look away as he powered through the numbing gratification and kept you level with him. The way he looked to be committing you to memory, your every freckle and blemish forming constellations in his universe, was almost frightening.

As your pussy began to pulsate with more frequency around his member, Mingi clenched his jaw and let out a low growl. Unable to stay at the same pace any longer, but still having to remain in his place, he began to toy with your breasts, just as you had done while undressing him, flicking the sensitive nubs until you dug your nails into his skin, feeling the stimulation totally collapsing on you.

“Y/N… please… please mistress… can I… can I please fuck you harder. I want to make you feel so good. As best as I can…” he pleaded, his wish being granted almost instantly as you guided him back to your hips.

Just as you had done while moving a little way up before, he rocked you in the same direction, his length almost completely escaping you, only to be sheathed back again. As he got more comfortable with you in his grasp, he picked up his speed, the gentleness being replaced by steady pounds. He rolled his body up against you, joining you in the race to a long-awaited high. Your moans were becoming uncontrollable as you struggled to stay on top of him, which led him to flip you over and take his position on the bed. You were too hazy to protest as he kissed your neck, your cheeks your nose, your lips, and intertwined his fingers with yours as he quickened his pace even more.

The sound of your juices being pumped again and again was making you and him lose your minds, feral from the sexual delight. You could not care less that he was now groaning out your name with every stroke, and that his face was showing nothing but adoration. You were using him, after all, he had to fit to your demands. And how he was now having his way with you was making you go mad with lust. Your cunt could not take this perfection much longer, and you could feel it cramp around Mingi’s dick, signifying your unravelling.

“Ah… shit… darling… I… I am about to...”

It was challenging to find the words, let alone form them into a coherent sentence as you cried out and came undone once more. You wrapped your arms around Mingi’s broad shoulders, bringing him to you as you muted your yelps with his kiss. He continued pumping into you until he, too, began to falter, and soon enough was moaning right into you. Both of you collapsed into one another, your sweaty bodies becoming one in the moonlight as he relished in the feeling of your ecstasy warming his cock.

Using the last of the strength he had left, Mingi pushed himself off you and rolled over onto his back. Breathing heavy, you focused on the settling silence of the room. As your eyes had fully adjusted to the semi-dim illumination, you could finally take your surroundings in, and when your inhalation and exhalation returned to a reasonable pace, you could make out the noises of traffic coming from outside. Barely there, but a reminder that you were not on cloud nine.

It was time to clean up. You were quick to regain your senses, thanks what could be considered as training, while the same could not be said about Mingi. He was practically motionless, only the beating of his heart and breathing giving away that he was a living, but totally spent man. You removed the condom, tying it in a knot and throwing it in a bin you spotted in the corner.

It was fairly easy to find the bathroom, with its entrance being right outside. As you dolled yourself up again, which was pretty much just wiping away some mascara and eyeliner that had decided to stain your cheeks, you wondered whether Mingi was already asleep, or if he was going to meet you in the shower. Not wanting to wait, you took the liberty of stepping in and dousing yourself in the cooling water, careful not to ruin your hair more than it had already been tousled by passion.

No change. You unceremoniously dried yourself using the closest available towel, throwing it into the laundry basket under the sink. Mingi was definitely asleep. Or just so exhausted that he could not function. You chuckled to yourself, your ego swelling – a common occurrence on a Friday night for you. But a little seedling of suspicion had risen within you as you turned of the light and stalked back to the room. The intimate eye contact, the kiss to ride out the climax, the hand holding. This was a little… personal. Much like his reaction to you calling out his name. You were using him, you repeated to yourself. He just offered himself to you. A loyal friend, right? Helping another in need, apologising for cockblocking you for nearly the entire evening. What the fuck were you even saying? There was something off about this. You could not place a finger on it. But Mingi, poor Mingi, answered all your doubts in one go.

As you stood by the bed, about to lie back down to let yourself drift into a peaceful rest before exiting the scene in the morning, he stirred. You chose to not make any further motions to join him. You glanced at his form, now curled up and reaching towards the side where you had been. This pretty little angel. Who had fallen for the night to satisfy your sin. Just as you were about to step towards the window to take in the scenery, Mingi mumbled out the one thing you were terrified of.

“I love you… Y/N…”

Your heart stopped, and you froze in place.

You knew he was irrational. You knew he was fucked out and on the verge of slumber. Hell, you heard others say this to you before in a post-coital bliss. But something about how those three little words fell out of Mingi’s bruised lips tore at you, and how he said your name was a direct shot through the heart. By barely doing anything, just giving into his nature, his mind’s calling, Mingi made it clear that this really was a truth that he had harbouring for so long, and that only at his most vulnerable, while with you, could he reveal it.

In those couple of seconds that it took to utter the sacred confession, he had unlocked his world, one that revolved around you. If the past did not exist, and this was all a movie, the audience could almost believe that this was all domestic. That in a matter of seconds you would be crawling back into bed, to someone with whom you were sharing your life, to fall asleep in his embrace.

And not to be scrambling for your belongings that had been strewn around on the floor, careful not to alert your ‘not so much a friend anymore’. You felt panic rise in your throat as you let out a couple of shaky breaths.

“I love you”

Was it that easy for him to say?

“I.”

“Love.”

“You.”

Why were you so affected by it? Why was this the first time that these words, in that order, did matter?

You sent one apologetic glance over your shoulder as you tip-toed out of the bedroom, sex still heavy in the air. Your high heels were still in your hands as you crept out of Mingi’s apartment, out of fear that he could awaken at any moment, and you would not be able to stay indifferent enough to brush his pleas away.

Would he say your name in the morning?

Would he miss you when he realised you were gone?

Shit. You were in deep trouble.

You pulled down your dress a little, flipped one of the straps that decided it was not the time to look neat, and shoved the tights that you had not had the time nor the courage to stay and put on into your handbag. There was no chance you were going to stay in that same space as him. The adoration was borderline suffocating. It was so pure. So… honest. It made you sick to your stomach, and you were not sure if it was from disgust or from butterflies.

This was supposed to be just like any other Friday. A satiation of basic human instincts. A moment that was meant to be erased and the space filled by somebody else. But you had committed a fatal error. And you were sure of it. You had foolishly chosen Mingi: the one person who could not comprehend, nor have ‘no strings’ with you. In fact, all strings that he had ever been bound by led only to you.

In retrospect, it was obvious. All the years you had known him, he was always on your team. That silly boy. In university, he had brought you medicine when you were sick. Followed you and your ‘gang’ of troublemakers around almost like a groupie would follow a rock band. Stayed up with you in the campus library just to keep you company as you crunched out some report.

And now, even when life had thrown peers around different cities and countries and your friend group had whittled down to a tight-knit squad, he was still there. Loyal to you. Satisfied even if it was just you rejecting him repeatedly, selecting man after man, sometimes right in front of him, to bring home for the damned Friday night. All because at least before that moment, he could spend some time with you.

What were you thinking, falling for the trap of accepting a lover’s self-sacrifice?

A true libertine, you had chosen the primrose path of dalliance to tread. It was only a matter of time before you had to pay for it in full, for there was nothing in the world that could fix Song Mingi’s heart of gold if it were to break.

You stumbled outside of his apartment building, finally remembering to tug on the heels as your bare feet hit the biting cold concrete. It was barely three in the morning. Much earlier than you had ever left a one-night-stand’s place before. But this was different. In every way it was really fucking different. You hobbled away, cursing yourself over and over as you fished out your nearly dead mobile phone out of your bag, searching for the number of the only one you could call when the apocalypse was upon you.

He picked up after the third ring, just as you were passing under a streetlight. The roads were completely deserted, the residential district wrapped up in a cosy blanket until the morning. Somnolent trees lining pathways and sidewalks were barely rocking, and the only sounds that filled the air were the rumbles of distant traffic.

“Yeah? Y/N? What happened? You normally don’t call-”

“Wooyoung. I fucked up. Really badly. I really, really, badly fucked up.” You felt tears beginning to well up and sting you, threatening to spill over at any moment. Your friend was so concerned about you, launching to try and comfort you. It made you think back to those damn words that had imprinted themselves in your mind. Replaying again and again.

“Wait, wait, what happened, hold on? Are you okay? Are you safe? Where are you? San and I are coming to get you right now-”

“I slept with Mingi.” You cut him off. You were no longer walking; your legs were barely supporting you anyways.

“WHAT?” silence on the line as you heard shuffling and hushed, indecipherable whispers. “So, by that do you mean like, uh… heavy petting and foreplay or-”

“Since when does SLEEPING WITH SOMEONE mean THIRD BASE in our vocabulary, Woo?” you yelled, though without much conviction – you sounded too choked up.

“Fair point… well was it worth it at least?” you were not surprised that Wooyoung would inquire after that even when you were on the verge of melting down right on him.

“Oh, for fucks sake, YES, yes it was good. Very good in fact. More than good.”

“Then hey, at least that’s a positive. Then why are you so distressed? I know he has eyes for you but you know, so do like seventy percent of the guys at work.”

“He said he loved me.” You forced out, attempting to regain some nonchalance.

“No way.” Wooyoung muttered under his breath.

“Yes way.

“Fu-u-uck… Okay Y/N where are you this needs some wine and a good game plan.” You heard the rattling of keys and rapid footsteps. You tried to imagine the layout of your friend’s pad. Anything to get you away from what you had just done.

“I am… you know what let me send you my live location.” You could not bring yourself to take a single step back, even though you had seen a street sign. Going back would mean getting closer to him.

“Cool, stay put,” Wooyoung ended your conversation, but before hanging up you could hear him shouting at San to ‘stop sulking over that bitch there is a real catastrophe happening out there’.

No better words to describe it.

You used Mingi.

While Mingi loved you.

[all-is-not-too-well]

A review on Bonjour Tristesse

Having just read Bonjour Tristesse and still being in that daze of trying to find my own footing in this world, writing a review was a sound way to make me come to the real world. The book made me relive summers that I recall only for their sweetness and their bright, breezy, lemony haze. 

Summers in the Aegean Sea with the burning sun and sand on my bathing suit. My father eating and drinking tea with me, when life was as easy as it could be for an 8-year-old.

 Cecile feels like a person I would’ve met on these vacations; for some reason, I would always find someone older than me. I don't know if it was guidance I was searching for and couldn’t find in my own life, but I’ve always surrendered myself to people older, much like Cecile. 

In a secluded villa, she and her father are to have the most joyous summer ever. Until this dream is shattered by Anne, a woman so wonderful and headstrong that Cecile sees her as an entity, not a woman, in a way I understand that, strong women have always had to forgo their femininity to gain power and respect in life, didn’t they? Like Lady Macbeth who screamed, ‘Unsex me so I’ll be strong,’ or Joan of Arc who wore men's clothes to end the hundred-year war between the English and the French and was later executed on the ground of blasphemy for wearing the same clothes. Anne wears the armor of a strong woman who doesn’t need a man at her age, but our illusion of her is shattered throughout the novel many times. 

Cecile only sees her as the person who will ruin her life, and hamper her happiness, but still, she is conflicted. In a way, she does wander about the life she would have with Anne; eating lunch at the same time every day doesn't seem so bad; a true connection and the feel of a family is something she never tasted, and sadly, she only sees the con side of it. Cecile is only a 17-year-old girl; she is wondrous about life and only wants fun and laughter. Growing up seems unnecessary, so why should she study for university? It is her father's belief that she will find a rich husband much like him, someone gay and also of aristocratic background. She needs no guidance or knowledge about life because she is already living it. What good comes from thinking about your shortcomings or things you lost? 

Cecile is a girl who lost her mother young, yet the absence of a mother is both so obvious and impossible to see. At first glance, Cecile doesn't lack flirtation or femininity; she is a lovely girl at the height of her beauty. The absence of a mother is only questioned when there is a girl whose hair is in disarray and whose clothes are dirty like Cecile was, but only for a moment. Her father looks at her with pity for her frazzled hair when he first comes to pick her up from the station and shows us that. She seemed to take care of this with Anne, who taught her how to care for herself. When talking about her father, she tells us that he was widowed young, but she never mentions how she was orphaned young. She rarely talks about her mother; maybe it is because she doesn’t remember her, but it mostly feels like something she ran away from. And in the end, it is something she runs for. 

The presence of Anne is something she can now only remember in pain. It involved robbing a woman of love, a man of a better reputation, and herself of a peaceful and settled life – something a young adult desperately needs. 

This Hellenistic way of living feels like the summers I’ve left behind and can never achieve again. Not a care about the problems of the living world; no massacres, earthquakes, genocides, or ethnic cleansings; only the sweet and citrusy aroma of lemons.

[ab-blake]

How To Use A Weed Crusher - 12 Helpful Tips

You might find it hard to imagine now, but weed crusher may be a thing of the future. With so much changing in technology and how we do things, there are many questions to answer about how this machine works and what you should do when using it. Pay attention to these 12 tips for using the weed crusher effectively!

Weed Crusher Basics

If you're looking to get rid of weeds in your garden, a weed crusher could be the perfect tool for the job. A weed crusher is a machine that uses blades to pulverize weeds into small pieces. This makes it easy to remove them from your garden without having to use your hands.

Here are a few basics about using a weed crusher:

Choose the right weed crusher for the task. You'll need something that can handle large chunks of weeds, as well as small ones.

Set up the weed crusher according to the manufacturer's instructions. Be sure to wear protective gear, such as goggles and a face shield, when using the machine.

Start by pulverizing the larger chunks of weed with the blades. Then, use the smaller pieces to remove any remaining seeds or roots from the plant.

Why Would You Use A Weed Crusher?

If you're looking to get rid of weed plants quickly and efficiently, a weed crusher is the perfect tool for the job. Weed crushers are used to break down the weed plants into smaller pieces, which makes them easier to remove.

There are a few reasons why you might want to use a weed crusher. If you have a large number of weed plants to remove, a weed crusher can help to speed up the process. It also allows you to remove large weeds without having to go through them one by one.

Another reason to use a weed crusher is if you have a lot of weeds that are growing close together. A weed crusher can break down these weeds into smaller pieces, making it easier to extract them.

Who Can Benefit From The Weed Crusher?

People who are looking to get rid of unwanted weeds quickly and easily can benefit from using a weed crusher. This tool is especially useful for people who have lots of plants to remove, or who want to reduce the time it takes to remove the weeds.

There are a few things you should keep in mind when using a weed crusher. First, make sure that the machine is properly adjusted. Over-tightening the crusher can damage it, and under-adjusting it can cause it to not function properly. Second, be careful not to inhale any of the weed particles that are being crushed. This can cause health problems if you are allergic to weed pollen. Finally, be aware of any safety precautions that need to be taken when using a weed crusher. For example, avoid operating the machine if you are pregnant or have asthma.

What Do I Need To Know Before Using My Weed Crusher?

Before using your weed crusher, make sure you understand the basics. Here are some key things to know:

First, you'll need to gather the proper tools and supplies. For example, you'll need a weed crusher, a bucket, and some gravel.

Next, clean the weed crusher before use. Wipe it down with a cloth or a damp paper towel to remove any dirt or debris.

Now, set up your bucket according to the instructions that came with your weed crusher. Make sure the bucket is big enough so that it can hold all of the gravel.

Finally, put the weed crusher into operation by loading the gravel into the hopper. crushes the weeds and produces mulch. Buy lemon haze shatter Canada.

8 Helpful Tips For Using A Weed Crushe

1. Always be sure to wear gloves when using a weed crusher.

2. Keep the weed crusher level when crushing the plants.

3. Make sure that the weed crusher is properly leveled and adjusted before starting to crush the plants.

4. Use caution when operating the weed crusher as it can be dangerous if not used correctly.

5. Never overfill or underfill the weed crusher with plant material.

6. Always clean the weed crusher after use by rinsing it with water and soap.

7. Keep the weed crusher out of reach of children and pets in order to prevent accidents.

8. Store the weed crusher in a safe place so that it is not damaged or lost.

[moreeeeweedddd]

super duper high tonight 💖

[everything-high]

super lemon haze 🍋🚀

[dismyshit8]

Had a cute little setup for a dab sesh, broke this little master in 😉. Inlove with the bubble function.. seven star concentrates for a change~ lemon haze

[cannabisshouse21]

3 KINGS MARIJUANA STRAIN FOR SALE. Buy 3 KINGS MARIJUANA STRAIN and get up to 40% Off from Cannabisshouse. For more information regarding Marijuana visit the website.

[exoticthcvapes]

Super Lemon Haze Shatter

Holyhood Bl, 6300 W Los Angeles, California, USA Phone:+1(978) 434-0355 WhatsApp:+1(978) 434-0355 Email:info@exotic420thcvapes.com

[webehigh42]

Buy Afghan Black Hash has been developed in Asia and the Middle East for more than 4000 years, both as a fiber plant and as a medication. Restorative uses were depicted in Indian clinical messages before the fifth century BC.

[buyrealcannabisonline]

Buy White Wido Wax Online from Buy Real Cannabis Online 

White Widow wax is a hybrid strain very good for depression, stress, pain, and PTSD. Buy White Widow wax online from Buy Real Cannabis Online alongwith with other high quality products like OG Kush CBD, master kush shatter, Super lemon haze, and more. For more information, visit the website.

[littlepadika]

Eyes Full of Stars (1) l Jack Daniels x Reader

Summary: You move to Texas to help your grandma out with the farm. The farmhand who lives next door catches your eye.

Rating: M -> E (18+ only)

Warnings: fem!reader, semi famous reader, discussion of break up/cheating, angst, no use of y/n, age gap (legal), small town setting, farm life, competence kink, voyeurism, no beta

AN: Whiskey lives after Kingsman 2. I am not from Texas but I have been on a farm and I have ridden horses. I was nervy to write for Whiskey. Hope you likie!

Series masterlist here // Series playlist here // AO3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 1: Dancing is a Dangerous Game

You were in the truck but you were not in the truck. Heart break was weird like that. You dissociated sometimes. You ping-ponged between remembered emotions and real sadness. When he broke your heart, the hurt shattered the handle you had on reality. Your thoughts were fragmented, out of order. You twisted the bad and good memories in your head only for the torture of untangling them all again.

Doing anything on a broken heart always felt like some Herculean effort. Getting out of bed. Eating. Working. Simple things drained you of energy yet somehow you managed to pack your stuff and get on a plane. Through the waves of roiling anger and a haze of trauma, there were bits of shiny clarity to be found.

You had tried to live the dream. Your baking channel on youtube went viral, you moved to the big city, you earned more money than you had ever seen. To everyone it was the perfect life and you even convinced yourself even though you were unhappy. You were filming on cooking networks most of the day and not even baking anymore. People told you what to do, where to be, what you wanted. Your schedule was set for the next five years, snapping around you like a trap. The final straw was your boyfriend of two years, Cole (or as you were calling him ‘POS’ for piece of shit) had cheated on you with his secretary.

Fame and money was not all it was cracked up to be. Love was not all it was cracked up to be. Everything that happened confirmed your persistent imposter syndrome. You had thought you were special, destined for something, but you were no different than all the others who burnt out on their dream. Icarus: A fallen star among a sky full of stars.

Granny was getting up there. Her hair had turned white since you last saw her a few years ago. She was still energetic, waving vigorously from her truck at the pick up zone. She smelled the same too; like honey and hay and if you were being honest a bit like horse manure but you didn’t mind. You hugged her tightly.

"How was the flight?"

"Good."

The sun beat down on you both in the truck. Taylor Swift’s “Our Song” stressed the old speakers. AC blasted. You felt yourself relax as the busy streets of Dallas started fading into empty countryside. The homogenous landscape, yellow and brown, stood in contrast to your memories that were on a loop in HD. You were here but you were also still there.

“I saw you on the Food Network last month.” Granny’s warble brought you back to the hard leather seat you were sitting in. “You’re gonna have to make that cherry pie for me.”

“I will.” You mustered a smile. She was referring to a guest appearance you made on Best Baker in America. You had won the judges over with a humble cherry pie. “It’s your recipe, Granny.”

“Not exactly. As I recall, you added lemon juice.” She peeked over at you over her sunglasses.

“You don’t mind, do you?”

“Course not. But I’m gonna have to judge for myself. We’ll have a little bake off like when you were little.”

You laughed. The first time in days. It felt odd, like the muscles involved were stiff from lack of use. You had trouble thinking of what to say, how to put into words how excited you were to be back with her, in her kitchen. The place you discovered your love of baking. The place you prayed would make you feel more like yourself.

“I was surprised to hear you were comin’ out since you’re a big city girl now.”

“It hasn’t been easy. The city.” You blinked rapidly, frowning at the flat landscape. You trapped your hands under your legs on the fraying seat below you, trying to keep your mind from flying away again.

“I didn’t mean to upset you, sweetie.” She apologized instantly. “We are so proud of you. Our lil celebrity baker.”

“Thanks.” You felt your throat burn with unshed tears.

“Your momma told me a bit about what happened. I have half a mind to send that boy a dog shit pie, courtesy of Texas.” Granny shook her head in an attempt to quell her own anger. You laughed again feeling some of your tension lift. You kinda wished she would. He deserved it.

“I’m really happy to be here, granny.” You said, wanting to look to the positive. Even though you were running away from your problems it didn’t mean you couldn’t also be happy to see her.

“I suppose it’ll be nice for you to get a break. But I’m expectin’ you to help out ‘round here.”

“Of course. You know I love the cows.”

“We just got some new babies too. Oooh you should see ‘em. They’re so cute.”

“Oooh.” Your eyes widened. You were already feeling better. Cows were the best part of Granny’s farm. When you were young you used to stay out in the field with them, petting them, and chasing them around.

The town was just how you remembered it. The main drag featured small shops and restaurants inside dusty and crumbling buildings. If you didn’t see the paved road you may think you had just walked onto a film set for a Clint Eastwood movie. The cow pastures and corn fields stretched for acres around the town interrupting the dry yellow with splashes of green. There was no traffic, no internet, and no Starbucks. In short, it was exactly where you wanted to be.

Granny turned off the main road onto a gravel path leading to the house. You saw it peaking over the horizon, baby blue with white trim and a wrap around porch. The sun was low in the sky painting the windows in gold. Your nostalgia hit you like a freight train as you remembered all the times you came here year after year. Your mom would stop at the end of the path and race you to the house. She always let you win.

Closer and closer, the details of the house became clearer. The dusty windows, the boots outside the door.

"What the hell..." You muttered under your breath. A man. A very attractive man was standing shirtless on the front porch drinking lemonade straight from the jug. Your eyes moved on their own accord, tracing the soft lines on the man's tan chest: strong pecs, defined abs, curved stomach, and a light dusting of dark hair going down into light wash jeans hung low on his hips. The orange sun behind him made the sweat on his skin shimmer enticingly. His black stetson hid his face from you, but you could see his neck undulating as he swallowed. Was this a sordid commercial for Minute Maid lemonade? You looked away to stop your thoughts from nosediving straight into the gutter.

“Oh. That's Whiskey." Granny answered your question before you could ask. "He lives next door, been helpin' me out around here."

"I see..." You blushed down at your lap trying not to come off like you're staring. What a strange name.

"Hey Whiskey!" Granny rolled down her window. You chanced a glance back at the man. Whiskey looked up when he heard his name, giving you both a tip of his stetson hat. "Get a shirt on! I told you I was bringin' my granddaughter out here!”

"Sorry, Gracie!" The man winked over at you both before going back inside the house. You weren’t sure what you thought his face would look like with such a perfectly sculpted body but you certainly didn’t expect a crooked smile, an old-fashioned looking mustache, and big brown eyes. He was gorgeous. There was no denying it. Tall, dark, and handsome. Or as your granny had taught you, trouble.

“I don’t remember anyone living next door.” You said once he was out of sight.

“Wasn’t anyone until a 'bout a year ago when Whiskey came back to town.” Granny parked the truck. The engine groaned ominously before falling silent.

“Came back?”

“He grew up around here. Left for a while no one really knows where to.”

Tall, dark, handsome, and mysterious. Double Trouble.

You hopped out of the truck, taking a large breath of the warm air. The heat and humidity immediately cloaked your skin. The dusty path turned your black sneakers brown as you walked to the bed of the truck.


“Here, let me help you with that little lady.”

You smelled him before you saw him. Leather. Cedar. Cinnamon. Whiskey. He’s standing right next to you now in a white short sleeve shirt. You flinched when he reached over you.

“I- I got it.” You pulled your bag out with a huff, not liking the patronizing little nickname.

“Seems like you do.” He drawled an amused smile playing at his lips. “Only one bag? I would have thought a fancy city girl like you would have brought a whole plane load.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” You tried not to roll your eyes. You lugged your heavy bag towards the porch wincing as the wheels scraped loudly against the gravel. It was mostly baking things, your most prized tools and pans and recipe books. Whiskey probably assumed it was make up or something sexist.

“Whiskey, won’t you stay for supper?" You heard your Granny ask. "I bought a pot roast, special for tonight.”

“I don’t think so, Gracie.” You heard the man reply. His southern twang was a little different than Granny's. Smoother. More refined. “I’ll give you and your granddaughter some time to catch up.”

You had made it up to the porch. You pried open the screen door scooting you body and your bag through. It slammed closed behind you producing a loud crack. You jumped in surprise, a high pitched yelp escaping your mouth.

“Ah shit. Thought I fixed that.” Whiskey jogged back up to the porch. Though the screen you looked down in embarrassment, your cheeks hot. “Sorry bout that, darlin’.” He opened the door and tightened a spring or something with his bare hands. “Hope that didn’t scare you too bad.”

“No-no I’m fine.” You bite your lip looking up at the man. He was smiling slightly, his eyes crinkled in amusement. At this closer angle in the setting sun you could he had some freckles on his curved nose. The detail made him a little less intimidating. More boyish.

“Alright then. I’ll be ‘round later tomorrow. Gracie says you’re wantin’ to see the baby cows.”

“Yes please!” You lit up. Whiskey chuckled enjoying your gush of excitement. You blushed deeper suddenly feeling self conscious. “I-I love cows.”

“That’s swell.” For a brief second his bravado faded and smile softened. He seemed pleased that he had done something to excite you. It occurred to you that perhaps you were intimidating to him. “Well…tomorrow then” He stepped back and tested the screen door a couple of times making sure it wasn’t going to slam. Satisfied, he gave you another tip of his hat and walked back outside.

Up in your new room you could look out your window at his house. As a child, when you wold look over, the windows were always dark. Now a dim glow was visible in the top most window.

On your first day, you woke up slightly sweating in the hot morning sun. You joined Granny feeding the chickens and pigs and she put you to task fixing her busted printer. You ignored the repeated calls from your assistant and agent asking you to come back and reconsider. You ignored the multiple lengthy texts from POS. You knew you should block him, but a sick part of you liked that he was running back to you. All the days he blew you off, now you finally had a chance to show him how it felt. Still, your heart stuttered when you saw his name. Your hands sweat and tingled. It was like you were back in that room again, seeing him clamor out of bed with another woman. You hated it. You hated he still had this effect over you.

You turned to baking later in the morning, churning out a couple cherry pies. You threw your hurt into kneeding the pie crust, rolling it out, pinching it into the pan. Granny didn't have a blender so you mixed everything by hand, using your anger to make the whisk fly around the bowl.

Whiskey came by in the afternoon in a topless white Jeep Wrangler. You and Granny were out on the porch drinking sun tea. You were once again taken aback by how attractive he was. Perfect skin that made you green with envy and pouty lips that made you red with longing.

“Howdy.” He greeted you both with his customary tip of the hat.

“You get that hole in the east fence mended?” Granny asked.

“I’m fixin’ to do it later today.”

“And how are the little ones this mornin’?” Granny asked, referring to the calfs.

“Just swell. Most of 'em are stickin' to the shade ‘cause of the heat.”

“Well ya'll should get goin' before it gets too hot.” Granny looked to you. Whiskey inspected your athletic shorts and band t shirt and you were about to cross your arms when he finally explained:

“I hope you packed some jeans or somethin’ cause you can’t ride a horse lookin’ like that.”

"I'll change." You stood up. You had ridden a horse before. You weren't stupid. Then you remembered you didn’t have any appropriate jeans. You mostly packed baking stuff, not clothes. Okay, maybe you were a little stupid.

“I think I have some jeans your size.” Granny whispered as you went back into the house. She pulled down a box of old clothes from her closet. They smelled like mildew and dust but you didn't complain. The best pair of jeans you could find were one size too small but you managed to shimmy yourself into them. They were faded, dark blue at the bottom but washed out near the waist. You felt awkward with your ass and thighs pressing tightly against the material. The last thing you wanted was to split your pants in front of Whiskey.

“Now don’t do any weird kicks or splits okay?” Granny snickered, eyeing the seam with some wariness when you did a little spin for her.

“Oh dang! I planned a whole cheer routine.” You joked.

When you walked back outside Whiskey had a palomino horse for you tacked up and ready. He was already mounted on a black horse a few hands taller than yours. You pet the mare feeling her sniff you.

"That's Goldilocks." He said "And this is Cash."

You took a moment to scritch Cash's long nose, giggling when he nudged you.

"Careful! He likes purdy girls." Whiskey commented, using his feet to readjust the horse.

You squinted up at Whiskey, noticing him looking down and away from you. He cleared his throat nervously. Was he flirting with you?

"You know how to ride a horse, don'tcha?"

"Yes." Your happy buzz from his earlier compliment extinguished, replaced by annoyance. To prove your point you pulled yourself into the saddle and surged in front of him.

The ride out to the pasture was a quiet one. Your annoyance dissipated. You enjoyed the slight breeze in your hair as Goldilocks trotted though the field. Whiskey got ahead of you, liking to swerve all over the place, humming under his breath. His low voice would ride the wind back to you, distorted so you couldn't tell what the tune was. He looked completely at peace. You envied that.

As a baker you had quite the nose. You could smell the dried brush, the river a click away, and you could smell him. It wasn't an overpowering cologne like POS wore. The cinnamon and leather and something more masculine that had your stomach tightening whenever a breeze hit. You became self conscious of what you smelled like to him. You didn't bring perfume. You couldn’t tell but Whiskey could smell the pies you just baked, the smell clinging to your hair. It made his mouth water.

"You gonna glare at the back of my neck this whole time?" Whiskey turned around in his saddle. You quickly looked at the ground cursing under your breath. Way to come off as a creep, you scolded yourself.

“So how long have you been working for Granny?” You asked, picking up the pace until you were beside him.

“I’m not workin’ for her. Just helpin' out.”

"You aren't being paid?" You were being nosy but you knew Granny didn't have any money. You didn't want her be taken advantaged of.

“You city folk and money.” Whiskey shook his head disapprovingly.

“I feel like it’s reasonable to ask.”

“Money ain’t an issue for me, little lady.” Whiskey gave you a smug smile. “Can’t a guy do something nice anymore?”

“So all this- you’re doing it for free?” You gestured vaguely at the scene around you.

“It’s called service, sugar. And being a good neighbor.” He wagged his finger at you.

“Okay if that’s- look I didn’t mean to imply- it’s just...” You felt bad. You weren't trying to start a fight. You tried to remember what you were even asking in the first place. Just wanting to get to know him better not trying to piss him off.

“Stick ‘round long enough and you’ll see. That's just how we do things in these parts.” Whiskey stopped his horse with a gentle tug of the reins. “See em over there.” He pointed and you followed with your eyes. Cows swaying under a patch of knarled apple trees.

The cows seemed to realize they had company. They started walking over to your end of the field. You dismounted and led Goldilocks under a shady tree, tying her up next to Cash. You pulled yourself over the fence wincing as the tight jeans stretched dangerously. You were busy trying to get your leg over without ripping the seam so you didn’t see Whiskey take a long hard look at your ass in those jeans. He loved a woman in jeans and you looked amazing. He felt his breath catch almost in hopes that the seam might tear. He shook his head as if trying to clear those thoughts before climbing over himself.

You eagerly petted the first cows in your reach. The adult ones were nearly as tall as you, sniffing your person for treats. The babies were more shy, hiding in the back. There were about a dozen full grown cows and four babies.


“Hello!” You cooed rubbing each in between their ears. “Hello!” They mooed and snorted affectionately, pressing their heads into your hand.

Whiskey watched on with a dopey smile. He was pleasantly surprised that you weren’t afraid of such a large animal or grossed out by the smell. Whiskey always thought animals were the best judge of characters and they all seemed to love you.

“That’s Misty-" He stepped forward trying to coax the babies from behind their mamas. "The little one over there with the patch of white on her back.”

You feel a nudge on your leg and you look down to see a sweet white calf head butting you.

“That’ll be dumplin'” Whiskey smiled.

“Dumpling? That’s so cute!” You looed over at him with wide eyes and a grin. “Did you name all of them?”

“Well your granny had some input.” Whiskey came over and patted Dumpling affectionately ignoring the way your joy sped his heart up.

“And that little guy over there is Gimp.” Whiskey pointed to a black calf walking away from the group. “He was born with a twisted leg. Turned out alright though. We put him in this little brace until he could walk straight.” Whiskey’s voice softened talking about the little bull who just parked himself under a shady tree. You could tell he was Whiskey's favorite.

“That’s sweet.” You cooed, giving Dumpling another scratch.

"And that is the runt, Toffee..." Whiskey pointed to a little brown calf who was a few yards away. "Trying to escape. The little devil!" In two large steps he was able to pick up the calf. Your eyes widened. Wasn't Toffee like 100 pounds? His biceps bulging were the only sign that Toffee weighted anything. "That's why ol' Whiskey is fixin' the fence today, innit Toffee?" The cow jerked out of his grasp. He laughed with his head tilted back watching her run off. Carefree. You envied that.

You spent the rest of the afternoon playing with the cows and reading in the grass. You stole glances at Whiskey as he hammered away at the fence 50 feet away. Toffee stood by him as if resentful that her escape route was cut off. She moo'd now and then, making Whiskey look up from his work and give her a pat. You laughed at this once you caught onto her pattern. Whiskey looked over to you and you looked away.

You wondered what he had done before moving here to learn how to mend a fence and fix a screen door. Things you had no idea how to do yourself. He was juxtaposition to everything you had experienced before. POS was lazy, preferring others to do things for him. He would never break a sweat for anything. You had always hated that. You were taught to see the value in hard labor. In getting your hands dirty and working for something.

You wondered...other things as well. In the heat of the Texas sun, he had taken off his shirt. His back shone, browning in the sun. You watched his shoulders flex and roll with each movement and you wondered if that's how they would look when he fucked.

What's wrong with me! You walked back to the shade and away from temptation. You hadn't experienced attraction like this in a long long time. You blamed your broken heart. You blamed the sun. You blamed POS.

"Water?" You gathered enough resolve to approach him. He was grunting, shoving the board into place, two hands on it and his hips pushing it into the notch. The image and sound burned into your mind, making you clamp your thighs together. You held out the water-bottle with shaking hands. Once the board was in place, he stood up taking it gratefully. His warm fingers enclosed yours for a brief moment leaving a smear of dust.

"Thanks, sugar." He removed his hat to wipe the sweat from his brow. His black hair flopped onto his sweaty forehead.

"How's-how's it coming?" You swallowed hard, watching rivets of water slide down the corner of his mouth as he took a long drink.

"Well..." He slapped the new board. "Wood's about as sturdy as a screen door in a cyclone but it'll hold."

"So...not sturdy?" You giggled at his slang.

"That's right." Whiskey winked. You felt your stomach clench under his gaze. It felt nice to have a little back and forth with him. To be the subject of his charm rather than the brunt of it. "The fencing is old. Worn down. The whole thing needs replacin' but that's gonna be a lot of work."

You frowned looking around the pasture. You didn't know how much it would cost but you knew Granny didn't have the money for that.

"I should take you back home 'fore I close up for the night." Whiskey put his hat back on. "Say there's get together at the ol' barn this evening. You should come."

"Oh." You felt your heart flutter. Was he asking you out? "Granny... I should probably stay with her."

"Grace'll be there. Hell, she's the life of the party."

"I mean-If she goes I guess- I'll come." You stuttered, trying to contain your excitement.

"That's swell." Whiskey matched your grin.

You felt like a teenager again, rifling through your closet to find something to wear on a first date. You didn't really pack clothes, let alone nice clothes. You didn't know what people wore down here for events like this. Granny was no help, telling you she was going in what she was wearing all day, which was a pair of jeans and faded Elvis Presley t shirt.

You looked down at the box of old clothes still in your room from earlier today. There were moth eaten sweaters, more jeans, and a lone sock. Finally at the bottom was a dress. It had bright orange and yellow floral pattern, the long skirt was flowy like a hippie dress. It wasn't sexy but you thought it was pretty in a vintage sort of way. And most importantly it fit. You put some hoop earrings in and a bit of lip gloss. It was mostly to boost your own confidence. It's not like-well-if this was a date...

"Ah that dress..." Granny was standing in the doorway watching you twirl in front of the mirror. "You know I met your granddaddy in that dress? Many years ago. He came by the public library where I was working. I was wearing that dress. He'd never read anything. He just wanted to see me." Her eyes misted over as she remembered your grandfather. He died when you were young. All you remembered was him teaching you how to ride a horse, setting up a little obstacle course out of hay bales. It was a nice memory.

"That's cute. I never knew that's how you two met."

"Indeed. Just down the road for here in fact." Granny wiped her eyes. "Dress worked for me. It might work for you."

"Ha." You laughed bitterly. "I don't think it'll be much help considering my track record."

"My my you're so dramatic, you know that? You're so young. You got a whole life to find your one true love."

You decided to just agree and not argue.

The barn was either haunted or enchanted. You opted for the latter. The night painted everything in black but the barn floated in the distance like a ship on the sea. The holes in the ceiling where slats had gone missing allowed some of the golden light and merriment inside to spill out into the night. The dilapidated fence leading up the road was littered with scratched couple's initials and hearts. A + M forever. S + J forever. Some were old and faded. Others were fresh. You felt odd walking down this path, where so many lovers had trod, alone. The grass crunched beneath Granny's old cowboy boots. Crickets hummed in the background. You saw a few lightning bugs in the distance.

You knew you made a mistake coming as you stepped in. The party was much larger than you were expecting. People of all ages laughing and stomping their feet. A full band playing on a raised platform. Beer flowing from kegs in the corner. You were clearly not dressed appropriately. Everyone was very casual. No one was in a dress that you could tell. Other girls around you immediately frowned at your dress, standing in cliques in their tight jean skirts and tank tops topped off with gaudy belts.

“Where did she get that dress?” Someone sneered to the left of you.

“Looks like it came out of her Grandma’s closet?” Another girl whispered not all that quietly. You grit your teeth bolting to the other side of the room. You thought you left the pettiness and jealousy in the city.

“Hey-“ A middle aged woman stepped in front of you. “Have I seen you before? On food network! What are you doing here?”

“Uh- sorry.” You pushed past her not wanting to have to discuss your fall from grace.

The other side of the barn wasn’t any more comfortable. You found yourself standing by the "Whiskey fan club". About six girls around your age were crowding around him as he was playing darts, giggling and cheering every time he hit the red bullseye. He had changed into some dark wash jeans and a blue plaid button down and of course his black hat. He didn’t seem to notice you, though all the girls around him made the time to give you a glare when you passed by. Clearly you had read the signs wrong. He didn't care if you were here or not. He didn't seem to be hurting for female attention.

“Fuck this…” You huffed, skirting the hay bales around the walls and looking for Granny. She was over playing bingo with some other old ladies.

“What are you doing over here, dearie?” Grace seemed surprised to see you.

“Can I play with you guys?” You asked hugging yourself.

“Well of course but I thought you'd be wantin' to hang out with the young folks."

"No." You grimaced.

"Well where is Whiskey? Thought you two were getting along."

You felt your chest tighten in shame. "Nah he's busy."

"Alright then, sweetie. Pull up a chair.”

She handed you a faded bingo board and some chips. You soon found yourself relaxing. The women playing bingo were a lot less judgmental of you. Many were too absorbed in their own stories and memories to ask you questions. You toe tapped to the beat of the songs. The country twang in the melodies was infectious.

The ladies cleared out looking to go dance or get a drink and you were once again alone. You chuckled as Granny line danced with the energy of a woman half her age. She was happy. Everyone here was so happy.

Whiskey found you leaning against the back wall. He had been looking for you all night. He thought he saw you over by the bingo tables but by the time the music started you were not there.

"There you are, sugar. I've been lookin' for ya."

You didn't respond.

“Nice get up you got there.” He eyed you appreciatively.

“Shut up.” You groaned.

"Pardon me, what have I done to offend the young lady?"

"You haven't-" You chewed back your retort. "I stick out like a sore thumb. I didn't realize-I'm overdressed."

"And that's a problem?" Whiskey joined you against the wall standing shoulder to shoulder with you, watching the people on the dance floor. “You look as pretty as a magnolia in May.” You just shrugged, ignoring the fire his compliment ignited. So maybe he did notice you. The band faded out before starting up a new jig. There were whoops of excitement from the crowd. This must have been a popular song.

“Wanna dance?" Whiskey cocked his head towards the floor. "My mama taught me to never leave a pretty girl out of a dance.”

“I-I don’t know how.” You lamented. People lined up in front of the band and started doing various foot work and coordinated moves.

“I’ll teach you, sugar. Don’t you worry.” He held out his hand. You spent a second thinking it over. What the hell? You took his calloused hand and followed him.

It wasn’t a fast song thankfully. He explained the simple foot work and you surprised yourself when you managed to get the hang of it. Criss cross, step forward, step back, kick. It was satisfying hearing the other people in the line dance hit the ground at the same time as you. Whiskey had his own flare. You watched his feet stomp and slide and kick to the music adding little taps and scuffs here and there.

“I think you got the hang of it!” Whiskey clapped his hands together. You just blush. “This is where you say ‘Dang you’re a good teacher, Whiskey!'"

“Spin your girl now ya’ll!” Someone shouted from the stage.

“Wait-what?” You looked around anxiously seeing couples start to come together.

“Hold on tight, sugar.” Whiskey smirked, pulling you around into a spin under his arm. He caught you pulling you into his body. Next thing you knew he was dipping you towards the floor. You tightened your grip on his arms instinctively. His large hand supported your entire lower back, keeping you from falling. He pulled you back up. Your hair flew around your face. Your dress swished against your ankles. The little shot of adrenaline from the movement had you breathing fast. He was laughing. Not at you. Just laughing joyfully at the sight of you.

“Wait spin me again!” You requested, needing that feeling again.

“Gladly, sugar.” Whiskey repeated the motion. This time you were ready for it, turning with more momentum into his warm chest.

You giggled as the world was turned upside down. He dipped you lower than before, you felt your hair swing with gravity. Hanging upside down should be marketed as a cure for broken heart you thought. Maybe it was the only way the hurt could be drained.

You were coming to expect this from Whiskey; Little peaks of euphoria where you feel like a kid again. Like your body was waking up. He pulled you back up. This time your laughter tangled with his.

The jig slowed down into a sweet toned melody. Jack showed no signs of wanting to leave the dance floor. His arms felt nice around you so you stayed. You readjusted your hands to hang over his shoulders. His eyes were soft in the warm lighting of the barn, his mouth slightly parted. A brief glance to the side made you suddenly acutely aware of the other girls watching you. Jealous. You found it amusing. Like obviously Whiskey was handsome and charming. Any woman would fall under that spell, including you, but still... you were reminded of how you would primp and beg for Cole's attention when you were together. It only set you up for greater hurt in the end.

"What'chu thinkin' about?" Whiskey interrupted your thoughts, not liking your falling smile. You came back to the moment. The sweet croon of the banjo and fiddle in the background. Whiskey's warm shoulders beneath your pulse point. His hands clasped behind your waist.

“Whiskey isn’t your real name, right?”

“You don’t like it, sugar?” He feigned hurt.

“I’m just curious.” You shrugged. “Trying to make conversation.”

“Whiskey ain’t my real name but it’s what everyone calls me.”

“Is it what you want to be called?”

“I guess.” He replied after a moment of consideration. No one had ever asked him that before.

“You guess?”

“Where I come from a code name-er-a nickname is the greatest gift one can receive.”

“That's a nice way of thinking about it.” You tilted your head.

“What do people to call you, sugar?”

“My name.” You raised your eyebrow making him laugh.

“See that just ain’t as much fun when I could call you sugar, honey bunches, baby cakes, sunshine, sweetie pie…”

You giggled, averting your eyes as your face heated up. “Aren’t those all… a little intimate.”

“Suppose it’s all a matter of perspective.” Whiskey used your name and you realized it didn’t sound as nice. You frowned making him laugh loudly. He was messing with you.

“I see what you did there." You sighed, unable to stop your lips from curling into a shy smile.

"I'm still workin' out what to call you." Whiskey sobered, his dark eyes scanning your face.

"I'm sure you'll think of something." You replied suddenly feeling bold, bringing your hands down to his chest.

"Hey you two..." Your moment was interrupted. Granny was waving a few feet away. "I'm thinking of going home. Your cherry pie is calling my name."

"Oh." You dropped your hands reluctantly. "Yeah- I made pie if you want to come by. For pie. There's plenty." You cringed internally at your wording.

"Ah...that's mighty sweet of ya." He stepped away, eyes looking everywhere but you. You immediately felt like you had done something wrong. Was he just upset you got interrupted? "Maybe in a bit. I'm gonna stay awhile."

"Okay." You tried not to worry.

Granny and you enjoyed the cherry pie out on the porch listening to the crickets and frogs sing in the distance. Minutes ticked by and you accepted that maybe Whiskey just wasn't coming. You decided to wrap up the uneaten half of pie and walk it over to his house, leaving it on the porch.

"Does Whiskey not like pie?" You asked Granny. You came down in the morning to find the parcel sitting on the porch, untouched. You failed to not be hurt by the rejection.

"Hmm?" Granny looked up from the hose watering the flower bed. You pointed to the evidence. "Oh honey... Whiskey likes every pie but cherry pie."

"Oh. Why is that?" Was he allergic or something?

"He just doesn't." Granny shut off the water, starting to walk around the house and away from you.

"Granny what aren't you telling me?" You placed your hands on your hips. Clearly, from what Whiskey had said and what Granny said there was something larger at play. Something connecting him to your family and you wanted to know why.

"It's not my story to tell, dear." She sounded apologetic.

"Well is he coming by later?"

"He doesn't on Sunday."

You were at a loss. Obviously it wasn't something as easy to explain as an allergy or aversion to cherries. Something about cherry pie that he didn't like... maybe a memory? You could empathize with that. Bad memories. POS loved caramel and you would never eat caramel again.

You decide you had already embarrassed yourself once so why not keep it up? You spent the morning crafting a lovely peach pie. Not as crowd pleasing as cherry, but it was tasty. You laced together the pie crust in your favorite formation. You took extra time to brown the peaches just right.

Walking over to his house you felt your heart quicken in anticipation. His words echoed in your head from the past night. He had been looking for you. He danced with you.

When Jack opened the door you immediately squeaked when you saw he was shirtless again. You felt your smile drop when you saw a woman visible through the opening of the door lingering on the stairs behind him. He was with someone. Fuck. The imagery triggered your worst memories. Walking in on POS with another woman. His pathetic surprised little gasp when you had discovered him. The same dumb face that Whiskey was making right now.

“I’m so sorry. I just wanted to give you this pie.” You thrust the dish into his hands, looking at the floor boards. You blinked rapidly against a swarm of humiliated tears. You could smell her. Not the secretary, not that memory. The girl Whiskey was with. She was all over him. You scrunched your nose up in distaste.

"Thanks, sugar, but I should have said that I don't like cherry-"

"It's not cherry pie. It's peach pie. I made you peach pie." You practically spat the last part, holding back, 'like a fucking idiot'.

“Thanks.” He said quietly, taking the pan from you.

“Sorry to bother you.” You muttered, leaving without a second look. With your back turned you let your angry tears fall. He made you a fool. Flirted with you but when it came down to it went for the easy thing. Just like POS. He didn't want you. You heard his screen door shut. You started to run.

Jack couldn’t get your hurt look out of his mind. When Becca pulled his dick out he just couldn’t get back into the moment. It wasn’t exciting anymore. It just felt wrong. He should have followed you. Explained. Explained that he was a piece of crap. Explained that he wanted nothing more to spend more time with you but at the mention of cherry pie he latched onto his worse vices. Now he had just another regret to try and bury.

“Sorry. Drank too much.” He lied when he failed to get hard.

“We can always try later tonight?” She looked up from the floor with hope in her eyes.

“Nah I think I’m gonna take a nap.” Whiskey felt his stomach churn. He felt like he was going to throw up.

“Another time then?”

“Sure thing.” Jack lied again.

Whiskey Taglist: @hnt-escape, @niiight-dreamerrrr, @evildxad, @phoenix-of-loki @pcrushinnerd

Permanent Taglist: @ajeff855 @what-iwish-you-knew @kirsteng42 @fan-of-encouragement @sleep-tight1 @pascalisfairyy @ceniington, @prettypedros 🧁, @pascal-rascal424 @axshadows @prideandpascal @frenchyjuju

[the-pen-pot]

Tears (For Sherlock Watson Holmes)/Comfort (For The-Reading-Lemon)

He hadn’t cried, not beyond those first, desperate tears of shock and horror. How could he, when it all felt so wrong? Sherlock wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be. It didn’t matter that he had seen him fall - had seen him lying there, bloody and broken in ways no doctor could fix. It just didn’t make sense.

He didn’t cry when he finally got home, feeling like a ghost of himself, worn thin and painted in shades of white and grey. Baker Street settled around him, just as they had left it. Dirty plates and coffee cups, experiments that would never get finished now…

The silence was wrong. Gone was the comfortable peace that came from Sherlock’s voyages into his mind palace, or the quiet companionship they’d shared. There were no rustling clothes or chiming crockery. It was all too still: a home-cum-tomb, and John wanted to scream just to break the peace.

He couldn’t stay, but he didn’t have the strength to leave, either. He padded about, picking up dirty cups only to put them down again, leaving them like some kind of twisted requiem to the man who had lived here.

The flat felt like he did: purposeless. Sherlock had defined them both – Baker Street and blogger alike. Now, he wasn’t ever coming back, and where did that leave them? How could he –? What was he meant to–?

His thoughts shattered into knife-sharp slices, cutting his composure to ribbons as his next breath left him in a stuttering stream. His throat throbbed, locked tight around sobs that clawed at his chest, desperate for release. Tears bit his eyes at his lip wobbled, only to be restrained by the vicious clamp of his teeth. He wouldn’t cry. He wouldn’t because that meant it was real. That meant – that meant –

John sank gracelessly to the floor, his knees banging against the boards as his vision swam and his chest heaved around great, wretched sobs. Desperate words that carried no hint of his voice fled through his lips: rasped and useless. They were meaningless pleas to a God he didn’t believe in and knew damn well wouldn’t be listening, but what else did he have? How could this be it? How could this world, this life, this reality be his?

Sherlock was gone, and all that John held dear had died with him.

***

'I'm sorry.'

John's breath hissed in between his teeth, acid upon his tongue. He had answered the door to his flat thinking that maybe Greg had dropped by for a beer and a chat, or perhaps Mary had decided not to wait until their next date tomorrow to see him again. Instead, there was the last person he expected to set eyes on ever again; The only person he ever wanted to see, just one more, impossible time.

Sherlock.

'You –' He stopped, his words clumping into jagged stones in his throat as a sick, cold sweat broke out across his skin. His hand was so tight around the door handle that his knuckles were cramping, twisted into claws as his heart punched against his ribs. 'You –'

John closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to clear his vision of whatever delusion had appeared in front of him, but Sherlock remained, staunch and steadfast. He looked as he had before that day, before he jumped from the roof of Bart's and broke himself upon the pavement. That pale face held a hint of life's precious hue, and those eyes gleamed with the presence of the powerful mind behind them. He looked like everything John had ever hoped for.

Too good to be true.

'You're dead,' he croaked, the cold buzz of shock replaced with a sudden, hot flash of shame. 'I saw you. You were dead. We buried you. It was all a trick?'

Sherlock squared his shoulders and shifted his weight, bracing himself, John realised. His hands were behind his back, not raised in any kind of self-defence. He was expecting a punch. A punishment. Even as part of John snarled in satisfaction at the thought, something in the pit of his stomach curled up tight and small, horrified.

The veil of disbelief fell from his eyes, removing its haze and allowing him to really see the man in front of him. Not the same after all. Thinner, for a start. Thinner, even than when John had first known him. He looked stark out there in the hallway, the Belstaff more a suit of armour than anything else. It hung from his shoulders, the thick wool falling like broken wings. One or two touches of yellowish-green stained his skin at his jaw and temple, old bruises, almost faded from sight. How many other injuries lay underneath his clothes? How many other hidden hurts stood testament to the truth?

'You've been fighting.' He let go of the door handle, his fingers itching to reach out and touch, but he held himself back, folding his arms across his chest and setting his jaw hard, tamping down on the awful morass of conflicting emotions that boiled in his gut. 'Without me.'

Sherlock swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly. He ducked his head, looking at the floor, his lashes fluttering as if he were fighting off some appalling, bone-deep exhaustion. 'Moriarty had gunmen trained on you, and others. Others that mattered. I saw it coming, to some extent. Saw him carving the path for my own ruin and planned accordingly. I just didn't see –' He shook his head. 'I never thought I'd be gone this long. A week at most, not...'

Years. John did not say it: couldn't bring himself to name the length of his sentence of grief. Too long. It had been too long, but an hour ago he had believed it would last a lifetime. Instead, Sherlock stood in front of him, bruised and, John suspected, broken in ways he couldn't see, but alive.

He moved suddenly, ignoring Sherlock's shocked flinch as he all but threw himself at him, making him rock back as his body impacted with Sherlock's chest and his arms banded his back. Another time, Sherlock's rigid surprise would be hilarious, but instead John could only relish it: the warmth of him, the way he stood there, real despite it all, and at last, the way those slender arms wrapped John's body in a comforting embrace, gentle at first, then squeezing tight as true relief began to bleed through.

God knew what Sherlock had been through, and he would find out. He'd know it all. How Sherlock had survived the fall, how he had lived, and how he had fought his way back to John's side.

That came later, though. For now, they clung to one another, light and leaden with relief in equal measure.

Together again.

AO3 | KO-FI | PATREON