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yunhoszn · 1 year ago

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save a horse, ride a cowboy

PAIRING jeong yunho x f!reader

WORD COUNT 12.25k

GENRES fluff﹒angst﹒smut

WARNINGS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, reader is a city girl but i tried not using too many gendered terms, cowboy!yunho RAHHHHH, mentions of food, reader has a boyfriend for most of the fic (an oc) but there’s no real infidelity, reader embarrasses themselves on what i’d say is a few occasions too many, yunho is down bad, masturbation (m! and brief f! receiving), lowkey voyeurism, a really bad dad joke, horse riding scene bc i feel that’s pivotal for a cowboy fic, lots and lots of kissing, marking, teasing, vaginal fingering x2, oral sex (f! receiving) x2, multiple orgasms, very slight edging, praise, pet names (baby, babe, and princess oops), unprotected sex (BE SAFE PLS I BEG), cowgirl position, pull out method, missionary position, creampie lol, ending is cute but also kinda up for interpretation? i guess <3

SUMMARY when your grandparents decided to retire and take a summer’s long vacation in celebration, they leave their house in your care. at least you don’t have to worry about feeding the farm animals. but you do have to worry about the tall, handsome cowboy who does.

MORE AND SHE’S DONE oh my god, this fic actually pulled so much out of me i think i was the one seeing stars by the end.. 😭 but i’m so proud of it and the goals i tried meeting while writing. first of all the length??? insane for me. i can hardly get myself to write anything longer thank 5k 😞 THATS ENOUGH ABOUT ME THO,,, this fic was heavily inspired by the django performance if u couldn’t tell by the banner 😝 and i’d first like to thank the academy aka @kimsohn for encouraging me to write this and fueling my delusions ilysm maya <3 i’d also like to give a huge thank u to @bro-atz TYSM FOR BETAING AND HELPING WITH SCENES BRO ur my life saver fr <3 PLS PLS PLS REBLOG IF U ENJOYED!!

Growing up, you weren’t the biggest fan of trips to your grandparents’ farm in the rural countryside.

You were born in a big city, full of all the glitz and glam. There were bright lights that lit the skyline at night, distracting from the stars that illuminated above. The wide open space was blocked by high towers and large skyscrapers. You were accustomed to the sound of bustling pedestrians and the obnoxious honking of cars in the streets. There was seldom an evening of complete silence.

Everything was so tightly packed together, within walking distance if you didn’t feel like hopping in a car for a fifteen minute drive. You appreciated the insanity of the train station in the mornings before school, the metro so busy with students and working class individuals. You came into contact with numerous strangers throughout your day to day life.

However, every summer until you were a senior in high school was a different story.

Your parents wanted to keep you humble, you supposed, shipping you off to your grandparents’ for three months. Living in the city kept people too sheltered, too primped and polished for the real world. They wanted you to have that exposure, to experience what it was like to live without the fanciness of urbanization. The nine months out of the year that you spent in the city stunted that exposure, though.

When you’d arrive at their farm, luggage stacked like you were taking a trip to London or Paris, you felt like a glorified version of Regina George. Maybe Blair Waldorf. Elle Woods? You weren’t even rich like that. Your parents were nice, middle class people. There was just something about cow manure and the fear of stepping on a freshly laid egg that made it difficult to adjust to the setting.

It was most likely your stubbornness throughout your childhood that held you back even as you got older and more educated. You thought after graduating high school, the three-months-long “retreat” would come to an end. You’d only need to visit when necessary, maybe a week max. And that was true to an extent. During your university years, you only visited the farm around once a year. You were too consumed with school to even go home sometimes.

And then your grandparents decided to retire.

Their farm had supplied the town over with produce and other home-grown items for as long as you could remember. But they were getting older and no one in the family was willing to inherit the farm or its responsibilities. In celebration of their retirement, they planned a grand vacation to visit multiple countries. Their itinerary spanned an entire summer, just like your trips to the farm when you were younger.

Because you were the only one familiar enough with the area, they enlisted you to housesit while they were gone. You tried to get out of it, but they didn’t trust anyone else as much as you, despite your convictions about country life. So you reluctantly agreed, packing up your things to prepare for another grueling summer at the farm one last time.

But there was a bit of a setback.

”What do you mean someone’s living in the farmhouse behind their house?” You shriek into the receiver, holding your phone between your shoulder and ear as you zip up your final bag. Your mom sighs on the other end.

”Your grandma just only now told me, apparently it slipped her mind,” you can hear the sympathy in her tone. ��He’s this boy who grew up in the town and he’s gonna take over the farm for them on the condition that they still live on the property. She said he shouldn’t get in your way and he’s expecting your presence. You’ll only see him if you ever actually go out to the farm and when he brings groceries to the house.”

”Great. Another thing I didn’t sign up for.” You mutter, giving your bedroom a once over to make sure you’re not forgetting anything. “Is there anything else I should know before I get there, like a secret pet or maybe a family living in the attic?”

”Watch the attitude, Y/N,” she warns, and you shut up immediately. “Look, I know this isn’t ideal. You’re a grown adult and you’d rather spend your summer going out with your friends, but you already told your grandparents you would do this for them. It’ll be over before you know it.”

You sigh, nodding even though she can’t see it. At least you didn’t have to worry about caring for their farm animals. It was time to think of this as a staycation rather than torture. Sure, your friends were going to be living it up in the Bahamas for a week and your boyfriend was going to be here while you were surrounded by nothing but flat landscape for acres.

Perhaps it was good for you that there would be someone else on the property. You might’ve started to feel scared being alone in the middle of nowhere for so long. Though, your boyfriend probably won’t be the biggest fan of you staying within the vicinity of another man for three months. You’d just deal with that later.

The drive to your grandparents’ farm is actually more peaceful than anything else. Driving for long periods of time wasn’t your favorite thing to do, but doing it by yourself with nothing but your music filling your ears was a sort of therapy. It allowed you to come to terms with your fate for the summer and what it could entail, even if it wasn’t exactly what you had in mind.

Seeing the lush greenery for miles upon miles as you neared their home evoked a sense of tranquility within you. If you kept a positive outlook on your situation, you would make it through these next few months unscathed and your sanity still intact. Maybe you despised the wide open space for years when you were a kid, but now that you’re an adult, you think you could learn to appreciate it and its beauty.

As long as the guy living in the farmhouse didn’t bother you like your grandmother said, everything would be—

Oh.

You pull up in front of the house, already thrown for a loop by the tall, very handsome stranger walking his dog back from the mailbox. His dark hair obscured his eyes, a bandana tied around his neck to match with the one hanging off the Border Collie’s collar. The two turn around at the sound of your engine, stopping in their tracks once you’ve parked.

He brings a hand up to shield the sun from his eyes, watching cautiously as you park slowly. You don’t know why you’re so anxious, it’s not like you’ll be interacting with him much during your stay anyways. There’s something about his slender figure and the fact that he was so clearly dedicated to what he does upon first glance that it makes you feel shy. You suck in a sharp breath before deciding to exit your vehicle, wiping clammy palms on your denim shorts. You’re starting to regret not dressing a little cuter, a little more presentable.

His features soften upon recognizing you, the pretty granddaughter that your grandparents showed him prior to leaving for their trip. The hand sheltering his face falls to his side and he gives you a warm smile, somehow warmer and brighter than the sweltering summer sun. You’d always been told not to talk to strangers, to keep your distance for your own safety, but you can’t help mirroring his expression with a small wave.

“H-Hi,” your voice wobbles and you kind of want to die just a bit. “I’m Y/N. My grandparents mentioned you lived in the farmhouse out back, but didn’t give me a name or face to expect.”

He extends his arm out and you shake his hand, albeit slightly nervously. His eyes squint when he glances between you and his dog. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Y/N. I’m Yunho, and this is Yeoreum.”

The name is fitting for the red and white colored Border Collie, her tongue sticking out as she stares up at you with big eyes that almost resemble her owner’s. You bend down to pet her, patting the soft tufts of fur on her head and appreciating her licks of excitement. Yunho laughs, whistling to catch her attention.

“Yunho and Yeoreum,” you repeat, a tiny grin on your face. “Befitting. Does she come with the property?”

“Unfortunately, no. She’s spoken for,” he teases, a pout on his features. “But she can visit whenever you’d like. Jokes aside, did you need any help moving stuff into the house?”

”That would be great, actually!” You scratch the back of your neck, lips pursing. Yunho waits for you to unlock the trunk of your car and places Yeoreum’s leash in your possession, making quick work transporting your bags inside. What was just supposed to be some light assistance, has evidently become him doing everything on his own while you stand and look pretty with his dog.

You didn’t bring too much with you since you didn’t have plans to leave while you were housesitting and your grandparents weren’t so old fashioned that they didn’t have a washing machine. Still, you felt useless allowing this stranger you’d just met to do all this manual labor on your behalf.

”Does he always do this?” You murmur to the Border Collie, falling to a seat on the lowest front porch step. She doesn’t give you a response (not that you expected her to), but pants happily in lieu of one, craning her head so you can scratch the spot behind her ear.

“You’re a guest, it’s just good hospitality for me to help.” Yunho says as he comes out of the house, stationing himself in front of you with his hands on his hips, thumbs in his belt loops.

“There’s a difference between helping and doing the work yourself. You’re just being modest,” you push yourself up to hand him Yeoreum’s leash. “But thank you anyway, that was really nice. I’m so tired from driving up here, so I think I would’ve collapsed doing all that back and forth.”

”You should go rest,” he glances at the house behind you. “There’s a whole three months of farm life ahead of you, so don’t wear your pretty little self out just yet.”

Yunho salutes to you and takes his leave, walking around your grandparents’ house toward what you assume is the farmhouse. Your eyes are wide and your cheeks feel hot, and you’re well aware that it’s not because of the summer heat. Your fingers clutch at the material of your t-shirt and you shake it to fan yourself.

It seemed like you were in for a bumpy ride these next few months. But like you reiterated prior to arriving, everything would be just fine so long as you and farm boy went your separate routes and lived your separate lives.

Yeah. Things would be alright. You hope.

It’s a week into your stay on your grandparents’ farm when you bump into Yunho again.

You’re toweling your neck after getting out of the shower, heading into the kitchen to make yourself another bowl of cereal for breakfast. So far the only downside has been your inability to cook a decent meal. Takeout or your boyfriend sleeping over were usually your saving grace, but without having either of those options, you’ve stuck to microwaveable things.

The sight of Yunho unloading groceries onto the counter has you squealing and nearly jumping out of your own skin. He flinches at your volume, knocking over the bag of rice resting against the vase in the center. Thankfully it was still sealed shut, if not there would’ve been a mess of rice grains all over the island counter. His clumsiness has you slapping a palm over your mouth to silence your giggles, not wanting to embarrass him.

”Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you…” You apologize sheepishly, folding your towel over your arm and placing it on a barstool nearby.

“N-No, you’re fine! I shouldn’t have just let myself in, it’s kinda just a habit. You deserve your privacy without having to worry about whether or not I’m gonna barge in unannounced.” He dismisses your apology with a wave of his hand. “I’ll just put these up for you and then I’ll be on my way.”

”Can I help?” You waddle over to him, fingers laced behind your back. “I’d feel bad watching you put my groceries away for me after going out and getting them.”

Yunho gestures for you to occupy the space beside him with a small smile that takes solace at the corner of his mouth. The two of you do everything in complete silence, still not entirely used to each other’s presence because of the lack of crossing paths. As you’re finishing up, you start grabbing the items you need for your cereal. He raises an eyebrow at you.

”You don’t want something a little more filling?” He suddenly questions, jutting his chin at your bowl.

”I would love that if I knew how to cook,” you laugh. “Ironic isn’t it? The granddaughter of two farmers can’t cook to save their life.”

Yunho shakes his head with a chuckle, ruffling his hair. “Well, I don’t have to feed the horses for another hour if you’d like for me to whip up something better than a bowl of cereal.”

“Really?” Your eyebrows furrow. Despite growing up with the mindset that you were above the farm life your grandparents tried to impose on you, you hated feeling like you were coming across as entitled. You didn’t want Yunho to think you were lazy or that you were too good. “You don’t have to do that. I can survive on instant ramen and cereal, I swear.”

”Y/N,” he says your name with a certain authority to it, and you’ve never loved the sound of your name coming out of someone else’s mouth so much before. “I want to. I’m not the world’s greatest chef or anything, but I have a couple tricks up my sleeve.”

”Okay, then,” you nod, taking a seat at the island. You watch in awe as he dances around the kitchen and prepares something for you. It’s weird, not in the sense that you feel awkward around this complete stranger, but because you feel the opposite. You feel comfortable around him, like you’ve known him for a while. It’s almost like Yunho has been a casual part of your life for much longer than a week. He’s easy to get along with, easy to mold into what you’re used to.

And that’s weird because you have a boyfriend. A boyfriend who cooks dinner for you most nights, but somehow has never made you feel this taken care of. It throws you off. That should definitely not be the case. How is this man doing this in one week and your boyfriend couldn’t in two years?

The guilt settles in the pit of your stomach quickly. Sure, your boyfriend might’ve had a habit of forgetting important dates and didn’t give you half as much attention as he should’ve, but did that warrant the emotions brewing in your chest? Could that excuse this notion that maybe it was time to finally call it quits?

You zone out as Yunho finishes cooking your breakfast, too inside of your head to even fawn over the doting and slight coddling he was doing. Maybe you need to have a long conversation with Seojun about your relationship and where you want it to go. Perhaps it was a nice idea to invite him out to visit the farm, it could do you both some good.

“Ta-da!” Yunho holds out a plate to you, the sparkle in his eyes effectively pushing out any thoughts of your boyfriend and the shame that was picking at you. You can’t help but reciprocate his expression when you see how delicious the food looks.

He’d made you omurice, the ketchup on top in cute squiggly lines to form whiskers and a little dog face. You accept the plate gratifyingly, your fingers brushing as you do so. He smiles shyly, eyeing you carefully while you take the first bite. You don’t remember the last time you had a home cooked breakfast, accustomed to the occasional muffin at the coffee shop near your house.

”’Not the world’s greatest chef’ my ass,” you grumble, pouting at his humbleness and his inability to be bad at anything. “I might just ask you to have breakfast with me every morning if you can chef it up this well.”

That melodic laugh of his rings in your ears, his elbows resting on the island and his chin in his palms. “I’m sure Yeoreum would appreciate a companion who isn’t me.”

“How long have you had her?” You ask, shoveling more omurice into your mouth. If you weren’t so hungry and so appeased by how delicious it was, you’d feel bad for ruining his hard work. The ketchup no longer looked like a dog, but rather a splatter of red all over your plate.

“Almost four years now. I had her for a year before I met your grandparents. She adores them, so it’s no surprise that she likes you too.” He has this fond gaze in his eyes as he talks about his beloved Border Collie and it makes your heart ache.

The fact that he has such a good relationship with your grandparents seals the deal for you. Well, it would seal the deal if you were single. Yunho is like the ideal man that every parent would want their daughter to bring home. He knows how to cook, knows how to clean. He’s adept around the house, skilled in yard work and other random jobs like fixing leaky pipes and installing new appliances. He’s gentle, but doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty.

Your parents would never meet him, though. After the summer was over, you’d be back in Seoul and he would still be here, a distant memory. You forcibly laugh away the thought, excusing it as your response to his words and continuing the conversation about his dog.

Perhaps this stay would be harder to get through than you thought.

As the weeks pass you by, you find yourself becoming more and more infatuated with Jeong Yunho.

Cooking breakfast for you in the morning has become a regular thing. Monitoring him at the stove with sleepy eyes and a mug of fresh coffee in your hands has ingrained itself into your routine. Yeoreum called the spot beneath your stool her own now, laying there as her owner made your food. You think the transition from seeing him as just this comforting presence, this kind individual, to wanting something more was almost too smooth.

Especially right now as you sit on the back porch sipping on some lemonade, admiring the cowboy as he transfers bales of hay from the bed of his pickup truck to the pigpen and the cattle pen. He pauses in between trips, stripping off his flannel and tying it around his waist. He lifts the hem of the white tank top he’s wearing and uses it to wipe sweat from his forehead, revealing the toned abdomen he had been hiding from you up until now.

You feel like you’re going insane, trying to pretend like you’re reading your book as you not so subtly gawk at his muscles straining with each bale he lifts. It’s crazy really, the effect he has on you doing his fucking job. You’ve made it a habit to sit out here and stare at him under the guise of various other things. Aside from being borderline obsessive, it’s horrible because you’re still very much in a relationship.

Most people would feel a hell of a lot worse than you do, like their entire world was crumbling between their fingertips just for finding someone else attractive. But for some reason, as time has continued to roll on, that guilt— that self-preservation— has faded. You’re dipping into another emotion that you’re too scared to explore.

Yunho takes a break from his labor to guzzle down a bottle of water, his chest heaving up and down from exertion. Had you been paying attention to anything other than the view of the handsome man, you would’ve noticed the glass sliding out of your grasp, the condensation becoming far too dense to keep a solid grip on the cup. In the midst of drooling over him, your lemonade falls to the ground with a loud clanging noise.

Your reflexes are only swift enough to save your book, but the drink spills everywhere else and you wince at how embarrassing the situation is. You hurry inside to grab a towel before he can see the mortification enveloping your features. He seemed like the observant type, like one scan of your face could tell him everything he needs to know without a single word exchanged. Your fingers curl around the edge of the counter, blowing a raspberry while you attempt to regulate your blood pressure.

Through the window above the kitchen sink, you make out a confused Yunho, brows furrowed as he looks in the direction of the house. He worried over you entirely too much, particularly when you take into account the fact that all you did was think about him in manners not necessarily safe for work. Maybe you were just delirious. That was the only logical explanation for why you’re spiraling.

The high temperatures of the summer coupled with your surroundings are contributing to your change in behavior. Yes. That made sense. You weren’t crazy.

With a bit more reprieve, you’re able to grab a tea towel and head back outside to clean up your mess. (Not unaccompanied by a couple glances in Yunho’s direction, but that’s fine. Perfectly healthy even. It’s normal to check up on a friend. At least, that’s what you tell yourself, but who’s holding you accountable?)

“You know you’ve been making me breakfast every morning without asking for anything in return,” you speak up one morning, chin resting on the island. “Is there anything I can do to repay you?”

Yunho purses his lips as he hands you your plate. “Nah, I like cooking for you.”

You try to ignore the way that has your heart fluttering in your chest, try to ignore the warmth blooming beneath your skin. Your eyes glance down at your food to avoid eye contact, bringing your chopsticks up to your lips. “Okay, well I wanna do something for you.”

Despite mumbling the words, he hears you anyway and smiles to himself as he takes a sip from his mug. He rolls up the sleeves of his denim button up, reaching down to scratch behind Yeoreum’s ear, the area that you’ve learned is her favorite. She pants joyfully, jumping on his leg excitedly. He looks between the two of you.

”Missy here needs a bath,” he says, cooing at her. “I was gonna give her one later, after I cleaned out the stables, but if you don’t mind doing it.”

”I’d do just about anything for that precious girl,” you nod enthusiastically. “Consider it done.”

This is how you end up out back, dog shampoo in one hand and the water hose in the other.

Yeoreum’s signature bandana and collar lay on one of the rocking chairs on the porch, the dog looking so different without her accessories as you prepare to bathe her. You wet her fur generously, squeezing enough shampoo into your palm to lather it on. Compared to your childhood pets, she’s pretty well behaved.

She’s probably one of the only dogs who’s ever actually enjoyed taking a bath, sitting still for you while you scrub and rinse and repeat. You take your time with cleaning her, wanting to make sure you do your best as a thank you for every plate Yunho has ever made you. Usually, this isn’t something you would jump at the opportunity to do. Somehow, being back at the farm this past month or so has done everything your parents tried to do when you were younger.

It could’ve had to do with the desensitization of being here every summer for so long that it just never stuck when you were grade school age. But now, fully grown and experiencing this all over again on your own, with new faces at your side, it’s like you’re being exposed to something different. You can see why your mom and dad didn’t want the city life to become a dependency.

You preferred the view of cabs and cafés over cows and chickens in the past, but now you found a sense of familiarity in them. You’d always want to go home as soon as you got here. Unlike other kids, you wanted your summer to be over as quickly as possible. You couldn’t imagine going home after this, though. This unveiled attachment to the farm you detested when you were younger could only be accredited to one person, and it was a little frightening.

He constantly brought out parts of you that you didn’t know existed. This enigma, the one that emphasized how big of a role he’s fulfilling in the short period of time you’ve been here, drills itself into your brain every day. You knew you had to acknowledge it sooner or later, but it was just less of a hassle to act like it wasn’t screaming at you. Your fear of change was a more pertinent issue to ignore, so you let it consume all else.

While getting lost in your thoughts, Yeoreum starts shaking and startles you, causing your hold on the hose to loosen, water spraying everywhere. The diversion has you losing your footing and slipping in the mud. You shriek, though it does nothing to block the stream that drenches you, your clothes getting wet. The universe decides it’s not on your side, because you happened to wear a white shirt. Why you chose to do that when you knew you were bathing a dog, you have no clue, but it was a little too late for regrets.

Yeoreum jumps out of the basin you had her in and runs to the farmhouse just as Yunho’s walking out, fresh from the shower. You forgot that he was cleaning the stables at the same time you were giving the Border Collie her bath, but now you’re starting to wish you waited until afterward just in case you needed the assistance. And well, you definitely needed the assistance.

Plucking the tail end of the mishap, Yunho’s initial reaction is to laugh at your misfortune, but the closer he gets to the scene, the laughter dies out in his throat. Your top is sheer enough that he can map out the outline of your black bra. It leaves very little to the imagination and he thinks he might fall to his knees right here.

Since your grandparents told him that you’d be house sitting while they were away and proudly showcased a photo of you, he’s been enthralled by you. You had the face of an angel, or maybe a really enticing demon, he hasn’t cogitated it much yet.

He swallows thickly, hoping to keep his composure as he makes his way to you. His hand is a little shaky when it reaches to take the hose from you, squeezing his eyes closed and switching off the water. He stays there for a few seconds to mentally prep himself for an up-close-and-personal look at you, even going as far as holding his breath.

“Uh— you— um— you should go inside and dry off before you catch a cold,” Yunho keeps his eyes cast downward. He’s grateful that you don’t note how red the tips of his ears are, or how he thinks the sky is suddenly much more interesting than your face.

Your head cocks to the side in confusion. “What do you mean ‘before I catch a cold’? It’s, like, a million degrees out.”

“The temperature drops at night and the sun’s setting soon. I’ll handle it from here. Yeoreum ran off, so I gotta chase after her anyway and I don’t think you want her to soak you more than she already has.” He’s insistent on shooing you away and getting you inside of the house. You huff.

”Okay… If you say so…”

Reluctantly, you spin around and traverse back. The draft of the air conditioning has you shivering, rubbing up and down your arms as you enter the bathroom to inspect the damage. Your eyes almost bulge out of their sockets when you finally see yourself. No wonder Yunho was so adamant on staving you off like you were the plague.

In your defense, you didn’t think the hose won the battle by that much. You assumed you’d just gotten everything above your shoulders wet, but no. You were practically doused head to toe. And the clear display of your brassiere under your clothes was the last thing on your mind.

He was stronger than you. Actually, he was a more respectful person than you. You would’ve gawked at him shamelessly if the roles were reversed. But at least you’re self aware! Right? The first step in recognizing that you have a problem, is admitting that you have a problem. That’s what you think they say in those addiction commercials, but you could be wrong.

Wow. Now you were comparing him to drugs. Though, you suppose there isn’t that huge of a difference. Both had equal success rates in terms of getting people high and then making it hard to wane off their effects.

You really had to quit it with the metaphor usage.

It’s around midnight that night when the lightbulb in the bathroom goes out, halting you from finishing your bedtime routine.

You’re exhausted to say the least, face damp from washing it and one of those fuzzy hairbands with the animal ears perched on your head. You were ready to crash out, but there were still a couple things you needed to do before that. It was proving to be a little difficult in the pitch black bathroom. The window above the shower was too narrow to provide any sufficient moonlight.

With a low grumble, you shuffle into your slippers and make the short trek from your grandparents’ house to Yunho in the farmhouse. You hug yourself when a strong breeze blows past, your flimsy t-shirt and sleep shorts doing hardly anything to block the cool summer night’s air.

A piece of you feels a little bad for bothering him so late, but you have no idea how to change a lightbulb. You don’t even know where the lightbulbs are. Besides, you think you’d electrocute yourself if you made an attempt to do it on your own.

You huff out a sigh and bring your knuckles up to knock at his door, waiting patiently for a response. He’s not asleep, you know this because he’s mentioned that his internal clock doesn’t turn off until two in the morning. Circadian rhythms were an odd concept, so to each their own.

“Yunho! It’s Y/N! Open up!”

When a few minutes have passed, you try the knob. Maybe it was a bit… too presumptuous of you to enter his home without explicit permission. Yes, you’d known each other for the better part of a month and a half, and yes, you’d gotten very close in that timeframe, but did that constitute your actions?

Whether or not the answer to that question was a yes or a no, you really wish you would’ve just waited outside. As you venture further in search of the cowboy, you stumble upon something you shouldn’t have.

Standing in the hallway on the other side of his bedroom, the door ajar at least an inch, you catch a glimpse of him on his bed. That white tank top you’re so used to seeing him in is between his teeth, eyebrows knit together in pure pleasure as he fists his cock with a purpose. His nostrils are flared and whiny moans escape from behind the fabric.

His head falls back every now and then, eyes fluttering shut when he runs his thumb over the slit. He’s so focused that he doesn’t notice you, too entranced with chasing his high. Your lips part as you watch him fuck up into his hand, his shirt slipping from his mouth when he groans out a curse.

Just as quickly as you become distracted by the sight of Yunho jerking off, you become aware of what you’re doing. You flee the scene before you get yourself caught, exiting the farmhouse as quietly as you can. The lightbulb can wait until morning, it wasn’t that important, honestly. You’re in a daze the entire walk back to your grandparents house, goosebumps littering your arms and the image of him in such an obscene state burned into your brain.

You fall backwards onto your bed, staring at the ceiling in hopes of willing away the path your mind is beginning to wander towards. All you can think about is the sight of him so desperate for release, large hand wrapped around his dick, abdomen contracting with need. You know you weren’t supposed to see, weren’t supposed to bear witness to something so personal.

It’s difficult to push out the nasty, inappropriate thoughts clouding your head. His expressions contorted into absolute bliss. His slender fingers could probably do so much more than your own, could probably reach places you’d never even dreamed of. And fuck, his dick, prettier and bigger than any other you’ve ever seen.

Your chest blushes with heat, an embarrassment washing over you when you realize you’re turned on. You should feel terrible for intruding on Yunho’s privacy like that, especially without him knowing, but all you can do is want him more than you already do. That craving for something deeper, carnal, fans the flame engulfing you, dragging you further into the sick and twisted hell you’ve created for yourself.

Yunho has been nothing but welcoming, kind and gentle with you, someone he didn’t even know the name of until last month. Someone who’s done everything in their power to repress this lifestyle for so long. And for some reason, it just comes so easily with him. You don’t feel forced to enjoy living on the farm. He makes you laugh and puts a smile on your face effortlessly. He has you wondering if life can actually be this simple.

But when all is said and done, there will be somebody else waiting for you back home. Somebody who doesn’t know how to whip up omurice with freshly laid eggs. Somebody who isn’t even a dog person, who thinks pets are nuisances. Somebody who doesn’t live in the farmhouse behind your grandparents’. It’s a bitter pill to swallow.

If you touch yourself with tears streaming down your cheeks to the thought of the man who has eyes that resemble the night sky, well that’s between you and whatever higher being exists out there.

You sit across from Yunho with bated breath, afraid that if you opened your mouth he would know your dirty secret. You avoid his eyes for the same reason, like one good look at you would reveal what you were trying to hide.

Yunho himself was doing his best to pretend like he hadn’t masturbated to the thought of you last night. He liked to think he was good at keeping his feelings under wraps. It wasn’t like he didn’t know you were in a relationship, he’s heard you on the phone before. He stays silent as he fries rice in a pan and has some bread in the toaster. The only sounds in the kitchen are sizzling and the pants coming from Yeoreum under your stool.

In the time that you’ve been here, never once has it been awkward between you like this. The conversation usually doesn’t stop flowing, rolling on and on and filtering into things that don’t pertain to the original subject. He rarely has his back to you for too long, turning over his shoulder to shoot you a grin every here and now.

Both of you go to speak at the same time as a means of salvaging the morning from eternal strain. You stare at each other for a few seconds before bursting into laughter. Truly, you were two birds of a feather, or however that saying goes.

”Sorry, I don’t know why I’m being so quiet today,” Yunho says, though he knows it’s a lie. “I guess I had a long night.”

”Oh, that reminds me,” his mention of the previous night has you recalling the reason you went out to the farmhouse in the first place. “The light in my bathroom went out, do you think you can fix it for me?”

“Yeah, for sure,” he begins preparing your plate. “Actually, I have this joke about lightbulbs. You wanna hear it?”

Your lips curl into a smile, already attempting to hold back your laughter. With a raised eyebrow, you respond, “What is it?”

”What did the lightbulb say to the light switch?” He asks nonchalantly, taking a bite from his own piece of toast. You’re failing miserably at acting like you don’t think the joke is funny, although he hasn’t even told you the punchline yet.

”I dunno, Yunho, what did the lightbulb say to the light switch?”

“‘You turn me on.’”

There’s a pregnant pause as the joke resonates and you can’t stop yourself from cackling at how stupid it is. He joins in, but mostly because your laughter is contagious. His chest swells with pride at his successful landing, feeling like he’s on top of the world just for bringing a smile to your face. God, he was down tremendously bad.

Your spoon clatters onto the counter as you lean over, a hand clapped over your mouth as your boisterous laughing simmers into a giggle. Yunho leans into you slightly, matching your energy as he munches on his toast. This is what has you conflicted, so at war with yourself. The proximity should have you pulling away, but something about him always reels you in, despite the consequences that await.

And unfortunately, those consequences come to a head today.

“Are you fucking serious, Y/N?”

You and Yunho jump back, whipping towards the source of the voice. Seojun stands there, his bags at his feet and his face crestfallen, disbelief written all over it. He shakes his head and turns to leave, you stumbling off of the barstool to follow behind him. The guilt you’ve only ever felt momentarily settles deep in your chest and deep in your stomach, though you technically haven’t done anything wrong.

Your abruptness startles Yeoreum and she’s up in a heartbeat, tailing behind you curiously. Yunho has to rush to stop her, but a part of himself wants to do the same. No matter how much he likes you, he’s never wanted to be the cause of your relationship falling apart. He wanted you organically, not like this.

”Seojun! Wait!” You call after him, holding up a hand to block out the harsh sunlight, tripping over your slippers. He scoffs.

“What am I waiting for? You to spew some bullshit about how nothing’s going on between the two of you? I’m not fucking stupid, Y/N. I’m not blind.” He pops open his trunk and throws his bags in haphazardly.

”You’re being unreasonable,” you exclaim, rounding the car so you’re directly in front of him. “There is nothing going on. We’ve just gotten to know each other since we live in the same vicinity. Did you want me to stay here for three months and hole myself away with no other human contact?”

“He was just supposed to be the guy who lived in the farmhouse. He wasn’t supposed to bother you. That’s what you told me, remember?” Seojun is losing his patience, something that has always been the root of the problem when you’ve gotten into past arguments. “How do you expect me to react when I come to surprise you and see you being so close to another man?”

“I was laughing at a joke he told me. You’re making this a bigger deal than it is and blowing everything completely out of proportion. I’m sorry that it never came up that we became friends, but I didn’t do anything wrong. I’ve never once cheated on you in the three years we’ve been together and for you to accuse me of that is so fucking low of you.” You’re not going to cry, not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s won. He thrives off of seeing your vulnerability and you won’t let him have it.

“I saw the way he was looking at you,” he seethes, balling his hands into fists at his sides. “I know that look because that’s how I used to look at you.”

A laugh devoid of any humor leaves you and he blinks. “That’s how you ‘used to’ look at me? When did you stop? And why am I just finding this out?”

”That’s not— that isn’t what I meant, Y/N—“

”No, Seojun. You did,” you glance away from him, nipping at the inside of your cheek. “We’re grasping for straws. We aren’t going anywhere anymore and we haven’t for a while now. That’s why we're standing here arguing over this. I just want to know why you didn’t just tell me.”

”I’m too complacent,” he sighs, breathing through his nose. “I was too comfortable with you and I didn’t know how to let you go or walk away. But you’re right, there isn’t anything for us to save, and it seems like we’re both ready to move on.”

“What does that mean?”

“I saw how you were looking at him, too. You might not have acted on it, but you have feelings for him. I’m not gonna stay and hold you back.” Seojun unlocks his car, opening the door. “And for what it’s worth, you won’t be wasting your time.”

You don’t respond, instead humming and letting him drive off. Once his car is far enough out of your view, you go back into the house. There’s an indescribable emotion that hostages you, binding your wrists and tying you down metaphorically. You can’t seem to shake it.

Yunho is still in the kitchen, sitting on the floor with Yeoreum to keep her calm. He gazes up at you expectantly and you feel the tears you were suppressing from Seojun bubbling up. If you weren’t going to cry in front of your (now ex) boyfriend, you definitely weren’t going to cry in front of him.

With a trembling exhale, you force yourself to say, “I need to be alone.”

He understands empathetically, clipping on Yeoreum’s leash and leaving the house in the same breath. That in itself has you crying like a baby the moment you’re all by yourself. You hold your face in your hands, body shuddering with each sob you release.

I saw the way he was looking at you.

I saw how you were looking at him, too.

You had a lot to think about, and everything always seemed to circle back to Jeong Yunho.

A couple days escape you before you register you haven’t seen much of Yunho. After your breakup with Seojun, you really did need a bit of room to process it all, but you hadn’t realized just how much you depended on the cowboy’s presence until you were missing it.

You hadn’t meant to push him away, if that’s how he saw it. A night of bawling your eyes out with a pint of ice cream and The Vow was enough to cure you. However, it appears that he thought you needed more, going as far as putting a pin in your daily breakfast ritual. You aren’t sure how to extend an olive branch when you weren’t even trying to cause a rift between you in the first place.

Being with someone for three years may not seem like a lot, but that fraction of your life is stuck with you, like a thumbtack that refuses to come out of the wall. You’d had boyfriends before Seojun, but they weren’t nearly as serious. There weren't formal introductions between parents, no late night conversations that bleed into early mornings, no sleepovers and quick kisses before work.

Of course, after a certain point, those had just become habitual. You weren’t doing them because they evoked a sense of love or care anymore, but rather because you were familiar with them. It was safer to continue the pattern of waking up and falling asleep to Seojun on the other side of the bed, the intrusion of sunlight and the cacophony of traffic outside your window, even if you didn’t really want to.

And then you came here.

Somehow, returning to your grandparents’ farm was exactly what you needed to break through that cycle. As much as you would love to attest it to your location and discovering the appreciation your family wanted you to feel for it, you know the real reason. It’s all thanks to a certain cowboy.

Yunho’s feelings for you run far deeper than he could’ve imagined. He doesn’t know the extent of what happened with you and Seojun, but he thinks putting distance between you is better in the long run anyway. On the off chance you’re still together, he wants to preserve his heart. He’s handed it to someone else too easily in the past and he doesn’t want to make that mistake with you if you don’t feel the same.

But even on the off chance that you’ve broken up, he still wants to stop himself from falling further and harder than he already has. Without ill will, he doubts that you would give up the life you have in the city for this, for him. He’ll be perpetually chained to being a faint imprint on your memory of the summer. You’ll think back to the months you spent here and he’ll have played only a minor role.

It was wishful thinking, too hopeful of him to presume this would lead to a happy ending. You were from different worlds, led different lives. It was time for him to be realistic. And that meant implementing the space that was supposed to exist between you from the get go.

Though, you make it difficult when he bumps into you on the way back from the mailbox. Déjà vu, anyone?

Yeoreum is excited to see you, jumping onto her haunches to lick your face when you kneel to her level. You giggle, squeezing one eye shut as you balance yourself and hold her still so her weight doesn’t clamber you both onto the ground. Your fingers pet to top of her head softly as you coo, “Who’s a good girl?”

Yunho physically winces when his chest tightens at the sight of his two favorite girls. The word ‘distance’ bounces around his head like a pinball, reminding him what he’s supposed to be doing. He just can’t bring himself to walk away. Especially when you look at him with those pretty eyes of yours.

“Hey…” You start, steeling your tone to ensure it’s even. “I’m sorry if it seemed like I was avoiding you or something. I needed some time to myself to figure things out. It wasn’t my intention to shut you out and put you on the back burner.”

”No, it’s okay. I had to figure stuff out on my own, too,” he uses his bandana to dab at the sweat perspiring on his forehead. “Did you sort through whatever you needed to?”

“I did,” you nod, standing upright. “Seojun and I broke up, so I had to sit with my feelings for a bit. We’ve been together for so long, I think I needed to remember what it was like to be without him, and then I realized that’s basically what I’ve been doing since I came here.”

”Oh.” Yunho’s lips form an ‘O’ shape, hands dragging down the sides of his pants. “I’m sorry— um— about your breakup.”

”Don’t be,” you smile, dismissing his sympathy. “It was a long time coming, honestly. We weren’t really in the relationship wholeheartedly anymore. There wasn’t a point in stringing it along, you know? But that’s enough about me, did you figure your own things out?”

”I thought I did,” he says, which is true considering he’d been mulling over what to do with his emotions subsequent to your argument with your ex. “And then I kinda steered off course. It’s alright, though, I think I like the new conclusion I’ve come to a lot better.”

You might be on the same page now, but there was an entire discussion that had to happen to solidify that. Following a very emotionally charged past couple days, you could do without that today. You’re both just glad that the air is cleared and you can resume building the bond that began forming the moment you stepped foot onto the farm, no restrictions whatsoever.

“Have you ever ridden a horse?”

You glance up from your book, this time genuinely reading it as Yunho fed the chickens and cleaned up their coop. He towers over you while he asks the question, his shadow thwarting off any direct sunlight. Your nose scrunches.

“When I was in, like, middle school? It’s been a minute,” you answer, making sure to bookmark the page you stopped at. “Why?

”Would you let me teach you how to do it again?” He nips at his lower lip, like he’s nervous you’ll say no. The truth of the matter is you’d say yes even if he asked you to commit arson, which is kind of a problem.

“That sounds fun,” you shrug. “What time should I be ready?”

”Uh, now?”

Okay, so sitting on a horse did not seem this scary when you were twelve.

It probably had to do with you being fearless and whatnot, but also because you did whatever your grandparents asked just to appease them. The faster you got off the damn horse, the faster you could go back inside and situate yourself in front of the TV. They thought they were making progress with you, but really you were outsmarting the outsmarters.

Sweat glazes on the underside of your hands, disrupting the security of your grasp on the reins. Yunho thought it would be wiser if he stayed on foot, guiding you and the horse around the perimeter of the pen. You hoped you didn’t look as afraid as you were, but you’re certain the slight quiver of your bottom lip gives it away.

“You’re doing fine, Y/N,” he reassures, maintaining a comforting amount of eye contact with you.

”Am I? Or does it just seem that way because you’re pulling the horse?” You quip, gripping the reins tighter when it steps over a rock and you sway a little. Your tone is laced with sarcasm, something Yunho hasn’t heard much of from you since you’ve met, but he thinks it’s cute that you resort to violence when you’re scared.

You notice the quirk of his mouth and how he’s trying not to laugh at your terror. It pisses you off solely because his humor isn’t unwarranted. You are being a bit over dramatic. He unties his bandana from around his neck and tosses it to you. “So you don’t callus your hands.”

He’s too thoughtful, too considerate for his own good, but that’s what roped you in. Even when you met for the first time, he had you figured out. The longer you stare at him, the more you realize just how perfect he is. If you were still in school and you were tasked with writing an essay about the summer you spent here, you’re sure the words would flow onto the pages flawlessly, without skipping a beat. Your prose would be so beautifully written, that even the most notable authors would be envious of your experience.

The only downside of this was the fact that time was beginning to seep through your fingers. There was mutuality in your feelings for each other, that was almost unequivocal. You were both just hesitant in taking that first leap. The uncertainty lied with that goodbye at the end of August, the one that’ll hurt a lot more than it was supposed to. But you know that postponing your unceremonious declaration of feelings would just do more harm than anything else.

One consistency you’ve singled out since coming back to the farm is this common theme of divine intervention, or fate, whatever you want to call it. Right when you’re on the brink of an epiphany, you’re always forcefully shoved into it, like a freight train crashing into its platform traveling at full speed. This moment is no different.

Yeoreum barking at a squirrel on the other side of the pen scares the horse who’s back you were currently on. It bucks up and you release the reins in alarm. You fall quickly, but Yunho’s quicker, catching you in his arms like it’s been a childhood dream of his to be a superhero. He searches your face for any indication that you might be hurt, a hand coming up to cup your cheek.

The eyes you’ve grown to adore examine your own with so much care that you find yourself melting in his hold. Your face instinctively leans into his palm, fingers still clutching the fabric of his shirt like he may drop you.

It’s nearly second-nature to minimize the gap between you.

You never understood what novelists meant when they described kissing scenes. And you think that’s because you’d never truly had a kiss like this before. It was as if they were all talking about this second, this blip in time. The sparks that shoot from where your lips meet to the tips of your fingers, the thump-thump-thump of your heartbeat in your ears, the sensation of never wanting to escape, never wanting to stop.

Yunho’s hand snakes behind your head, tangling in your hair to deepen the connection. It’s hungry. It’s desperate. It’s too much. It’s not enough. Everything that had been stacking on top of each other was leading to this, the collision that rivaled the Big Bang. You whine into his lips, an invitation but also an inquiry.

He parts from you just so he can catch his breath, his forehead resting on yours. “Can I take you inside?”

You nod fervently. “Yes. Please.”

He wastes no time hauling you to the farmhouse. His grip on your wrist is gentle as he pulls you into his bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed and trapping you between his legs. Your restraint wears thin, nimble fingers fumbling with the rest of the buttons on his denim shirt. You push it off of his shoulders, a bit shell shocked when you discover that he’s wearing a regular t-shirt as opposed to his usual tank top.

“You would pull something like this today of all days,” you laugh breathily, untucking the shirt from his pants. He reciprocates the sentiment, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck while you undress him.

“Is it evil of me to say I was sorta hoping this would happen?” He speaks into your exposed collarbone, nipping, sucking, biting the skin. Your appreciative sigh goads him, his tongue gliding across the abused surface as a form of relief.

“Mm-mm,” you hum, shaking your head, fast to yank off his shirt and run your nails down his abdomen. “I’ve been waiting for this for too long.”

“Yeah?” Yunho flips the two of you easily so you’re the one on the bed now. He pushes up the hem of your shirt, pecking your stomach to your clavicle as he shows more and more of your skin until the fabric is removed from your body. “Can’t believe I finally get to have you.”

You involuntarily moan, completely untouched and because of his words alone. Every part of you feels like it’s lit ablaze, burning with want and need and everything in between. This ran further than just what-ifs and late night fantasies. Your relationship with Yunho tiptoed on the edge of something you’ve never known before, and that makes this so much more special.

He glances up at you when his fingers reach for the button of your shorts, a silent ask for permission. You give him the green light and hold yourself up on your elbows, watching with your breathing trapped in your throat as he rids of your panties along with them. His hands push your knees to your chest, kissing your inner thighs and right around the place you need him most, but never there.

“Yunho…” You warn, but it comes across as a broken whimper rather than an establishment of authority. He laughs and then his lips are pressing to your clit, a sweet kiss that has all rationality taking a vacation from your brain. Your head tips back and you fist at the sheets.

He drags his tongue through your folds, swirling it around the sensitive bundle of nerves each time it makes its return. It’s almost criminal how good it feels to have his mouth on your cunt, eyes already heavy lidded with pleasure. He sucks on your clit at the same time he decides to insert a finger into your entrance, curling it experimentally just because he can. Like you predicted, it reaches that spongy spot at the crook of your pussy, brushing it once he’s sure he’s found it.

While you walked in on him fucking his fist, the only thing on his mind was you. He was so absorbed in the mental image of what you would look like beneath him, wiggling, writhing, squirming with indulgence. His social awareness was at a zero. This replayed over and over until he came, his thoughts so vivid he could’ve swore it was real.

But this, the actual thing, was so much better; his forearm pinning your hips down, his middle finger curling and uncurling inside of you, his mouth working overtime to inch you towards the edge of that steep cliff. He moans when your eyebrows practically coalesce, bottom lip trapped between your teeth. You look so gorgeous like this, so disoriented all because of the bliss he was providing. The vibrations of the sound have you arching your back, uncontrollable whines running from your mouth.

“Feel good?” Yunho asks, disconnecting his mouth and replacing it with his other hand, ring and middle digits swiping across your clit with practiced pressure.

“Mhm,” you nod frantically, eyes on the brink of rolling to the back of your head. “Feels so good, Yun… Just like that, ‘m almost there.”

That’s all he needs to hear, switching his hand and mouth once again, focusing on alternating harsh and gentle sucks of your clit, adding a second finger to pump in and out of your hole. The doubled change in stimulation knocks the wind out of you, the precipice of your orgasm so close you can taste it. You’d never been brought to the summit this early in the past, and you think Yunho deserves some sort of reward for being the first to do so.

You’d worry about that later though, because you’re blindsided by it before you can even conjure your next thought. You cum with a cry, tears springing to your eyes from the immense amount of ecstasy coursing through your veins, swimming in your bloodstream. Yunho coos at you, not stopping until you’ve relaxed in his hold. “That’s it, baby, you’re doing so well.”

The praise makes your head feel airy, like empty space unoccupied by anything. If you paid attention in chemistry, then you’d know that’s highly impossible, but you didn’t. The only chemistry you even remotely care about is the one between you and Yunho, the tension that has piled higher and higher for days on end until its crescendo now.

You sit up to kiss him roughly, savoring the taste of yourself on his lips. He smiles into it, a hand raising to caress the underside of your jaw. He climbs onto the bed, scooting you up so you’re positioned by the pillows. It doesn’t take much effort for your bodies to swap, his back to the headboard. You clumsily seat yourself on his lap, a knee on either side of him and sighing wistfully when his mouth trails down your throat and sternum, slender fingers sneaking behind you to unclasp your bra.

He aids you in removing his pants, still simultaneously prioritizing kisses all over your bare chest. When you’re both fully naked, you take your time admiring his cock. It’s just as pretty as you remember, long and thick. Your hand wraps around it gingerly, stroking the length as you lean down to kiss him again. You don’t think you could ever get enough of his lips on your own.

“I’m not exactly getting any action over here, so I don’t have any condoms,” he says into your kiss, voice no louder than a whisper.

“That’s okay,” you run your fingers through his hair. “Wanna feel you anyways, all of you.”

”Fuck, Y/N, you can kill a man with those words.” He groans, nails digging into your hips. You giggle, but it’s interrupted by him sitting you fully, his dick slipping through your lower lips. A whine brushes his ear when the tip catches your clit, repeating the movement until you can’t stay still.

The closest you’ll ever get to Heaven on earth is Yunho’s cock pushing inside of you, filling you up so deliciously you think you could die like this. Your jaw slackens, hands coming up to support yourself on his shoulders. Even if this is a one time thing, something that never happens again during your stay at the farm, he wants you to remember this when you go back home. He wants you to recall this sliver in your timeline and never forget it, wants his name engraved in your memory like a branding iron.

Once he feels you’ve adjusted to him well enough, he pulls you off of him almost entirely, just to ram back in without mercy. He punches a voluminous moan from you, eyes watching where he disappears in you and reemerges. You’re tighter and so much warmer than he dreamed you’d be, but it’s perfect. You suck him in like a vacuum, as if his cock was made to be inside of you, as if you didn’t want him to part from you.

“You’re s-so deep, Yun,” you mewl, pulling him in for another headache-inducing kiss. “Don’t wanna stop.”

He exhales through his nostrils, mumbling out a curse when your walls squeeze around him. He wanted to last a while for you, wanted to hold out and prolong this moment until you were both on the crest of passing out. But you feel like a glove, your silk-adjacent cunt begging for more and more.

“Think I might cum soon, princess,” he groans, tossing his head back and just about losing every ounce of his sanity when your lips start marking the column of his throat.

His big hands move under your thighs, holding you in place so he can fuck up into you. The pace at which his cock drills in and out of your pussy has you seeing stars, eyes snapping shut and nothing but colorful spots decorating your vision. You were already abhorrently sensitive following your first orgasm, so it didn’t really take much to introduce the second.

Your hips stutter and it washes over you like a tidal wave, your body shuddering and collapsing into his top half. He pulls out of you quickly, mouth stationed by your ear as he jerks himself off until he’s painting your backside. He moans, a lot like the sounds he was making the other night, and you feel the need to just kiss him again.

Your lips lock sweetly, a stark contrast to your previous actions. Yunho curves a hand on your cheek, seperating from you the smallest distance so he can admire you. The smile that etches onto his expression makes you dizzier than anything else. However, the cutesiness can only span so long before the setting gives way.

Yunho’s hand snakes in between you, his forefinger sliding up and down your slit teasingly. Your breath comes out shaky, your face finding purchase in the crook of his neck. He replaces the digit with his middle finger, parting your pussy lips in search of your clit. It doesn’t take him very long to find it, rubbing tight circles into the engorged skin. You moan into his shoulder, resting your forehead on it to see the way he works your cunt.

“You’re so wet, baby. Have I not fucked you enough?” He whispers into your ear huskily. Yunho talking dirty to you is something you didn’t know you needed in your life. His finger slips downward, thrusting up into your hole with ease. He keeps massaging your clit with his palm, the stimulation making your head woozy.

“Mmmph— Yun, god. Feels too good.” You whine, gyrating your hips on his hand.

“Is that right, babe?” He encourages, adding a second finger and increasing the speed of their thrusts, almost like you hadn’t been in this position already. “I can’t wait to feel this tight little pussy around my cock again. Gonna fuck you harder than the last.”

Your whimpers raise in volume, focusing on the way he curls his digits in you, applying pressure with the heel of his palm to the circles he’s rubbing into your clit. You can sense your third orgasm approaching, warmth flooding your cheeks at how embarrassingly fast he worked you back up. Your walls clench around his fingers, alerting him of how close you are. He pauses, worming his body down so his face is eye level with your cunt again.

Yunho does the whole teasing thing a second time, kissing and suckling the hot skin of your belly, knowingly denying you of your release. You grab a handful of his hair, tugging at the ends to spur him on. He groans, giving into you and licking a straight line up your slit. He inserts both fingers again, this time using his tongue to manipulate your swollen clit.

The heat of Yunho’s mouth makes your insides ache, the necessity to cum intensifying. You keen loudly, desperately, needily, the sight of the brunette between your legs so incredibly arousing. He sucks on your throbbing clit, his long fingers as deep as they can go, and you crumble.

“Oh my god— oh my god— I’m cumming! I’m—” You cut yourself off, convulsing under him. He laps up as much of your juices as he can, coating his chin with your release. You moan as you pull him towards you to unify your lips, a mixture of your saliva and cum connect your mouths in strings. At this point, the sex is messier than anything you could’ve plucked from your wildest dreams.

One hand trails down your body, using your nimble fingers to play with your sensitive clit when he starts fisting his cock in preparation to enter your pussy again. You use your free hand to scratch at his contracting abs. He hisses, propping himself up with one arm next to your head and his eyes trained on the way you finger yourself at the same time. You can feel his breath on your cheeks and being in this proximity to him fuels your yearning.

“Please, Yun… Need you back inside of me,” you whimper. Rubbing your clit with your own fingers isn’t satisfying enough, not with him here in front of you, not when you know how good he can make you feel.

“Fuck, baby, when you beg like that I don’t know if I can hold back.” He chuckles lowly. It rumbles from his chest, shooting to your core.

“So don’t,” you rouse. “This is more than just a one time thing for me, Yunho.”

His eyes widen just a bit, your confession catching him off guard. That’s all he needs to line himself up with your hole, hooking his forearm under your knee as he slides in, stretching your cunt so perfectly with his perfect cock. “Shit— you’re so tight, princess… It’s almost like I didn’t just fuck you within an inch of your life.” He moans and spreads your legs wider. He bottoms out with a grunt, throwing his head back from the feeling of your velvety walls. A near deafening cry is ripped from your vocal cords. He nips at your neck, starting to piston his hips.

His thrusts don’t slow but become calculated, speeding up and diving deep simultaneously. It only took a short amount of time to figure out what you liked and he used it to his advantage. Yunho hikes your knee to your chest, groping your tits with his free hand. He twists and tugs at your nipples just hard enough that it contributes to your pleasure rather than hurts you.

It’s as if he doesn’t feel buried inside of you sufficiently, because he decreases his pace to press and fold your other leg up, his hips ramming into your ass with each thrust now. The tip of his cock kisses at what feels like your cervix. That familiar coil begins to fasten again, keening with every drive into your cunt. The squelching noises would’ve made you cower in shame with anyone else, but with Yunho it turns you on further.

You moan, and he flattens his hand on the lower part of your stomach. Yunho groans, biting the skin where your shoulder meets your neck. Your fingers find your clit again, circling insatiably to get yourself off.

“You gonna cum for me again?” He rasps, his hold on your legs almost painful. The backs of your thighs burn, but you endure it for the sake of the moment. You reach up and behind yourself, grabbing at the headboard in an attempt to match his force.

“Oh my god, yes— yes yes yes yes,” you babble, the syllables blurring together like your mind. “Gonna cum so hard for you, Yunho. Keep going, please.”

His lips attach to yours, tongues tangling sloppily. The position you’re in is on the opposite end of the spectrum from how you were expecting this summer reunion to go. Had you not been made aware of Yunho living here at the last minute, you probably would’ve backed out of your commitment to staying. Deep down you’re a little too thankful that your grandmother mentioned him when it was too late to reconsider.

“I think I’m in love with you, Y/N,” Yunho whispers into your mouth.

You let go of the headboard, cupping his jaw and kissing him lovingly. “Me too.”

Your fingers speed up and so do his thrusts, perfectly timed with each other to shove you both towards your highs. You’re on the cusp of falling apart, arching into him to close the gap between your bodies.

“Wanna cum inside you. Can I?” Yunho grunts.

“Yes yes, please. Fill me up, Yun, want all of you.”

He continues to abuse your cunt, pounding into you like his life depended on it. You sob, clamping your walls around him. He freezes, suddenly spilling into you. “Come on, baby, cum on my cock.” The warmth of his release and his words coax your orgasm, the fluttering of your cunt milking every single drop from him that it can. Even with his dick plugging you up, you can feel it dripping out of you and onto the sheets below.

He rocks into you languidly until you’ve calmed down enough for him to pull out. His forehead is flush on your chest, rising and falling with it, both of you so spent from the intense physical activity you engaged in. You stare up at the ceiling with heavy eyelids, carding your fingers through his hair to soothe him.

“You meant what you said right? About this not being a one time thing.” Yunho says hesitantly, like he’s afraid of permeating the atmosphere you created.

“I don’t think I can go home at the end of the summer and forget the way I feel for you, Yunho.” You admit out loud. There had been a constant struggle in your head over whether or not to follow your heart, but as he looks at you with those sparkly eyes of his, you know your answer. And you feel a little stupid for ever considering the counter.

“And what exactly are those feelings?” He pushes, folding his hands on your sternum and laying his cheek on top. You giggle, brushing his hair out of his view. As tempting as it was to divulge your theatrical journey in assessing your emotions, you’re too exhausted to stay awake. It would have to wait for another day.

“You have the rest of the summer to find out, cowboy.”

#ateez #ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez jeong yunho #ateez yunho #ateez yunho x reader #ateez yunho smut #jeong yunho x reader #jeong yunho smut #yunho x reader #yunho smut #yunhoszn

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crushedsweets · 6 months ago

Note

Love Bonnie interacting with Toby and Kate, curious on how she'd act with the others. Sorry if this sort of ask was answered before!

You guys flatter me too much . I will self indulgent talk under the cut

ok i havent really thought THAT hard about bonnie in Creeped because 1. i only put her in self-insert OC worlds with my friends 2. she's not that interesting to interact with 3. i'm putting her in place of the hypothetical Y/N i wouldve done for a Creeped visual novel (not dating sim...just visual novel LOL) ....maybe i'll redo this with the ghost bride bonnie i made for a slender mansion AU? she's a lot more interesting

HOWEVER. i think with the main cast it could be kinda funny. cuz bonnies just kinda weird and awkward and difficult to talk to. she's so quick to just go right home.

with Nina, i could see nina fawning over bonnie a little. "your hair color is so pretty do you know how many girls at the salon would kill for this?" "oh my god where did you get that top" "smell my perfume do you like it let me spray you!". bonnie would get overwhelmed and unsure if nina is making fun of her or being genuine, BUT i think the second nina's like "oh yeah im from california too" bonnies like ! OK WE R LIKE THE SAME ! i could see bonnie inviting nina out to a cafe to study but ninas writing fanfic the entire time (unbeknownst to bonnie). bonnie would get along the best with nina, on account of them both being friendly girls with similar interests

With clocky. bonnie would 1000% frequent the restaurant clocky works at, always order the same stack of pancakes, and nothing else comes from it. clocky would be alright with her cuz bon tips well + cleans up her table before leaving (mom was a server so she developed the habit + she's nervous about being a bad guest LOL). BUT . as you can see in the pic. i think it'd be funny if bon immediately called camila(my friends oc) and started going on about "oh my god you wouldve fucking loved my server she was so tall dude come visit me im gonna make you come here" and walked past clocky with a coat so she didnt even realize it was her. dumbass

bonnie would have 0 reason to interact with jack... but bonnie has her issues with ghosts that land her freaking out in forests trying to get away from them. and she'd freak the fuck out if she saw jack, cuz bonnies anxiety/nerves/paranoia is already maxxed out all the time. now imagine a 6'7 grey man in an ominious mask being the only person youve seen in your involuntary hike through the woods after having ghosts swear theyre gonna kill you. shes gonna throw up

she'd have 0 reason to talk to jeff too. they would never be in similar circles(not that bonnie really Has a circle), but. i like the idea of them constantly coincidentally getting stuck on the same train/bus and it being hell on earth. for her, at least. he dgaf. maybe he had plans to kill her one night and started following her and something went wrong and he gave up. dunno

i legit struggle to get in-depth with bonnie and crp characters cuz she's just. so not in their realm. she legit just exists and has bad ghost shit happen to her and is like Guys this is really unfair.

#asks #sweetart #creeped #bonnibel hayes #creepypasta oc #nina the killer #eyeless jack #creepypasta #creepypasta fanart #clockwork #jeff the killer #crp oc

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chilling-seavey · 4 months ago

Text

Lessons in Lust and Other Illicit Desires (gr63) —EIGHT

↳ A/N So apparently I really can't keep to a word count goal. But this is one of my favourite chapters thus far!!

↳ Series Summary: Sensible, wise, and a hopeless dreamer, Rosaline was used to men not giving her a second glance. She soon discovered it was merely those mundane college boys who were nothing more than simply intimidated by her intellect. What she needed was a man — someone who could impart knowledge beyond the Classics and guide her in discovering her own confidence as a woman. The thrill of sneaking around with the ever-so-charmingly handsome Professor Russell was certainly a bonus.

↳ Pairings: OxfordProfessor!George Russell x Innocent!Student!OC, Max Verstappen x Charles Leclerc (background)

↳ Chapter Word Count: 7.1k

↳ Chapter Warnings: 18+, nsfw, exhibitionism, fingering, slight dirty talk.

“This project is bullshit.”

Max’s notebook paper looked about ready to tear in half with how aggressively he was erasing yet another incorrect formula. He tossed his mutilated eraser onto the wood table and raked both hands through his already tousled blonde hair, fingers clutching onto the roots as if to figuratively and literally pull his hair out. The warm light of the lamps dotted along the library table reflected in his blue eyes that were narrowed towards his page under furrowed brows and a steadfast expression of distaste.

Rosaline and Tabitha glanced at him from their spot on the opposite side of the table but before they could say anything, he was off on a tangent, “The other engineering class gets to study and design a part of a Formula 1 car of their choosing which is fucking cool. What does our class get? An assignment to create something that will help farmers be more efficient in their harvesting techniques.”

Max scoffed and tossed his pencil down as he slouched back in his chair with a huff.

“This idiot professor is so old he probably has never seen a car in his life.” Max continued, his tone full of seething disgust, “Still wouldn’t even have a clue even if the fucking RB19 hit him going full throttle down the Monza straights.”

From his right, Charles snickered from behind his phone screen, his eyes darting over to his agitated boyfriend. Anyone else might have been a little put off by Max’s very aggressive delivery of a borderline threat of life to an elderly professor, but their little group could only smile fondly at his frustration.

Charles spoke up, “Do you think a person would just…explode if they were hit by the RB19 going full throttle?”

“Yes.” Max answered without hesitation, his gaze still focused on his wrinkled notebook paper and open textbook.

Charles stared at his profile for a moment as if in thought, debating the validity, and then looked back to his phone with a satisfied and simple “hm”.

On the other side of the table, Rosaline and Tabitha looked at each other and then shared amused chuckles before turning back to their own work.

Around them, the aged dark wood shelves of the Bodleian Old Library housed a few dozen students spending their Thursday night with their noses in dusty books and reliable laptops. Rosaline and her friends were among them, luckily having snagged a spot at one of the long centralized tables in the heart of the main hall, surrounded by well stocked shelves that stretched up two storeys to the intricately carved wood paneled ceiling.

Voices carried easily in those ancient buildings of Oxford so they spoke in hushed tones while the rustle of students pulling literary texts from the shelves sounded magnified and shiver-worthy. The sounds of knowledge, of a desire to learn, to imagine and to dream. Rosaline felt so at peace in the Oxford libraries. It felt as though the history was only heightened in those spaces; something about the lingering coating of dust on the covers of centuries old books making the past feel more alive.

As if on cue, Tabitha turned away and sneezed as quietly as she could manage into her elbow. The sound echoed. A few students glanced over.

Charles sighed dramatically and dropped his phone onto the table with a loud thud, his head lolling back to look up towards the ceiling. Being a music student, there wasn’t much work for Charles to complete in a library but he always came along to keep the rest of their group company. It always panned out the same way - he was quiet and busied himself at first but then quickly got restless.

He sighed again to the ceiling and then lolled his head to the side to look at Max who had since hunched over his books again, announcing, “I’m bored.”

Max barely offered a grunt in response, biting at the end of his pencil as his mind worked a mile a minute to try and solve whatever problem was currently vexing him.

Charles sighed again. Tabitha shushed him from across the table.

Heaving himself from where he was draped back in his chair, Charles leaned his arms on the table towards Rosaline, asking her in a loud whisper, “So when do we get to know of your secret lover?”

Rosaline met his gaze over her laptop and she broke into a small smirk at his nosy question before replying, “I don’t know.”

“C’mon,” Charles pleaded, “I can keep good secrets.”

“No, you can’t.” Max piped up without tearing his eyes away from his books.

“Chut.” Charles playfully shot at his boyfriend.

Despite her hand furiously writing out notes, Tabitha smiled at their bickering.

Charles continued to press Rosaline, “Is he your boyfriend?”

Rosaline shrugged, “Not really. We’re just…keeping it casual.”

“What is “keeping casual”?” Charles asked with air quotes, “Kissing? Or more?”

Rosaline licked away her smile, folding her hands together under her chin as she humoured him with a little detail, “Well, I made him come in his pants last week.”

Charles let out a surprised squeak so loud it could almost have passed as a scream and he smacked his hand over his mouth as a few nearby students glared at him. Max’s pencil was suddenly dropped at her statement, his attention taken from his work to be entirely focused on her instead.

“You made him what?” he asked as firmly and seriously as he could.

Rosaline smiled almost proudly, “You heard me.”

“Putain, Rose.” Charles breathed, “I need to know now!”

“No, you don’t.” she chuckled.

“Uh, yes, we do.” Max backed his boyfriend up, pointing a finger at her, “Start talking.”

Tabitha sighed and set her pencil down too, “Will you guys stop gossiping in the library? I’m sure everyone can hear you.”

Charles and Max both held up a hand to her to silence her. She rolled her eyes.

“Where did you say you met this guy again?” Max asked.

Rosaline shrugged, twisting the truth only slightly, “In one of my lectures.”

Max nodded slowly, staring at her as if trying to catch her out in a lie, “Uh huh…”

“What? You don’t believe I can find myself a man without your futile attempt at wingmaning?” Rosaline countered.

“Frankly, no.” Max replied, deadpanned.

Rosaline shot him a pointed glare.

“What’s his name? What’s his birthday? What’s his GPA?” Max asked, trying to catch her out in a lie.

“Not telling, I don’t know, higher than yours.” she answered easily, looking back at her laptop.

Charles’ eyebrows raised, “You don’t know his birthday?”

Tabitha chuckled from her spot across from him, “That’s what you’re concerned about? Do you even remember my birthday?”

Charles opened his mouth defensively but when he honestly couldn’t think of the answer, he shut it into a firm line.

“Wow!” Tabitha gaped.

Max simply narrowed his eyes at Rosaline, his voice calm and serious, “Fine. Keep your secrets. But I hope you will be honest with us - your best friends - eventually.”

Rosaline shrugged without looking up from her laptop, “Eventually.”

As the hour wore on, the group continued working on their independent assignments. It wasn’t long before Charles’ restlessness was driving Max far more crazy than any impossible engineering task could so they said their goodbyes and left. Charles carried Max’s bag for him over one shoulder, smiling his dimpled grin as they walked hand in hand down the main hall of the library together.

About thirty minutes after Charles and Max left, Tabitha checked her watch, announcing that she better head back to her dorm too. Rosaline watched her pack up and, upon her friend’s concern, assured her she would be able to make it back to her dorm on her own later once the library closed and she was inevitably kicked out. The two shared their good nights and soon Rosaline was left alone at the table with only the click of her laptop keys as company.

Most of the students had gone by then, leaving only a straggling few at the far end of the spacious hall. Rosaline wasn’t a stranger to making herself comfortable in the libraries of Oxford until the librarians had to kick her out to close up. So, she felt perfectly at home with the company of the books and the warm light of the lamps on the worn wood table tops, the rest of the campus fading into darkness behind the large paned lancet windows of the library.

“Rosaline?”

The gentle call of her name had her looking up from her laptop, turning over her shoulder to see George walking in her direction with a modest stack of books in his arm. The sight of him in the warm moody lighting that bathed the dark wood library made him look effortlessly more handsome than normal and one glance at him and her heart skipped a beat.

“George…” she breathed at her notice of him, a small calm smile coming to her lips, “What are you doing here so late?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” he countered smoothly, coming to a stop at the head of the long table that had once been taken up by students and her group of friends. Now empty, it was only the two of them left.

Rosaline answered first, gesturing to her laptop, “I’m just finishing up some work for some of my lectures. I have a comparative essay due next week for my Greek and Roman Mythology course.”

“I see,” George glanced down at the various texts she had opened on the table around her, colour coded sticky notes with scribbled ideas dotting the various pages, “The ancient classic literature; not my cup of tea but an important foundation to all that we know and love nevertheless.”

Rosaline leaned back in her chair to look up at him, returning to her initial question she had asked him, “And your excuse?”

George smiled a symmetrical modest smile to the stack of books in his arm, his free hand gently patting the top one, “Ah, just returning some of these. Some for lecture preparation, some for pleasure.”

“Of course, the lush libraries of Oxford could never keep a literature professor away.” Rosaline replied playfully.

“You caught me there.” he chuckled warmly.

They were quiet for just a moment. The awareness of how empty the library hall was suddenly settled around them.

Then, George asked calmly, “Would you like to accompany me in returning these to their shelves? I can tell you a bit about them if you’re interested.”

Rosaline’s hand was shutting her laptop before she could even reply, “Yes.”

The well-stocked shelves of the library guided them through centuries of lives and stories tucked away in worn dust jackets and creased paperbacks. The lingering scent of dust was a familiar presence in the heart of Oxford’s many libraries and it was a generally off-putting smell that Rosaline was very quite fond of. It simply added to the ambiance of the gorgeously hand carved wooden book shelves and the glimmering stained glass lancet windows that were now dimmed with the nightfall.

Rosaline had left her packed bag behind at the table at which she had sat, wanting to have her hands free for this little journey with George to return the precious books to their rightful homes. She followed behind him closely, her eyes soaking up his broad shoulders and back in his ironed button up shirt and, shamelessly, the curve of his ass in his slacks. It was their first time alone and away from their responsibilities as mentor/mentee since their little agreement and the concept of this had Rosaline’s heart racing. She wondered if he could hear it through the silence of the library.

George guided her through the organized shelves with practiced ease as if he had been navigating them for his entire life. He knew exactly where every book he held belonged and barely needed to give the stocked shelf a skim before he knew which two he needed to nestle the chosen one between. He spoke to her about each one as they strolled through the library together, hidden amongst the books and ornately carved wood trim and edging. Some were more philosophical, some were more fiction, there were one or two books of poetry.

It seemed that with every book he returned to its place, he could recite at least one line, one passage, one poem from its pages. He spoke in a whisper with his voice as enticing as steaming morning coffee, rich and sensual and delicious. She wanted to taste his words; the way he spoke every beautiful constructed line of literature. Wanted to lick her way into his mouth and taste his verses until his sonnets were hers.

When he was down to the final book, he led her down the final row to its destination, “And the descriptions truly had me right in the main character’s shoes, feeling exactly what she was feeling at any moment in time. I find so many students think excess adjectives and lengthy blocks of text is what makes for successful descriptions but in reality, if done well, even a single sentence can take the place of an entire paragraph.”

They fell to a stop and George crouched down to skim one of the lower shelves, his loafers creased slightly across the toes from how he was balanced on the balls of his feet.

While he looked for where the book belonged, Rosaline continued their conversation, “I once read this novel in which the author compared the light from a police flashlight being shone in a dark room like ‘spilt milk’ and it stuck with me. The simplest simile but it did a shiver-worthy job of putting you in the scene.”

“Bel Canto, wasn’t it?” George asked as he slid the paperback book between two hardcovers, leaving it with a pat to its spine. He glanced up at Rosaline from his spot, a knowing smile on his face, “By Ann Patchett?”

Rosaline’s face lit up, “Yes, that’s the one.”

He stood up again, adjusting the wrinkled fabric of his slacks around his thighs, “That’s a good one. Not too well known.”

“I’m surprised you knew it from just my brief mention of that line.” Rosaline agreed with an impressed smile, resting her hip against the bookshelf they stood beside, her arms casually crossing across her chest.

“It must have stuck with me just as strongly.” he smiled in return.

“It was that line that made me really want to write that one line that sticks with my readers for the rest of their lives.”

There was a beat of pause between them and then George took a step closer, “Close your eyes for me.”

Rosaline let out a breathy chuckle, “Why?”

“We’re going to practice your descriptions.”

Rosaline wanted to argue why closing her eyes was going to help them with practicing her descriptions but his handsome, princely face in the warm light of the library lamps had her entirely entrusting him. She let her eyes flutter closed. She felt him step a little closer.

“Pretend you are your main character and this library is your setting,” George instructed softly, voice low and coaxing, “We often depend too heavily on sight in our writing, merely showing the reader what the character sees. But the most compelling descriptions go beyond the visual—they pull the reader in by engaging every sense. So, with your eyes closed, I want you to immerse yourself fully. What would the main character be feeling right now? Let your other senses guide your words.”

Rosaline thought for a moment, taking a second to take in everything around her in the darkness of her eyelids. She uncrossed her arms and set a cautious hand on the shelf she was leaning against, shifting as she spoke slowly, softly, “Well, I feel the worn wood of the bookshelves…the uneven hardwood floors under my feet.”

Neither of them spoke for a moment. Rosaline, with her eyes closed, and George just watching her, studying her. The library, almost entirely void of other students or faculty rested in near silence.

Rosaline spoke again in a whisper, “I don’t hear much…it’s quiet. Calm.”

She thought for a moment, really trying to focus to pull anything out of her setting. If she listened hard enough, she could hear the faint tick, tick, tick of the analog clock over the librarian’s desk near the entrance, the sound echoing through the high ceilings.

“I hear the clock ticking in the distance.” she whispered. Her attention drew back to the man in front of her, trying not to find herself a little ridiculous standing there with her eyes closed in front of him, all too aware that he was watching her, “I hear you breathing.”

George let out a small encouraging, “Mhm.”

Rosaline took a deep inhale, breathing in the scents of the library she loved so dearly, pouring out her findings in an exhale, “I smell the books, the ink, the parchment. The floor polish. The dust. I smell…your cologne.”

She could hear his soft smile at her last addition.

Then, he spoke, “What comparisons can you make between these findings-”

Rosaline opened her eyes under a furrowed brow, interrupting him with, “Wait, I didn’t do taste yet.”

George blinked, caught off guard by her sudden reply, “Well, I don’t know how you’d-”

She didn’t know what overcame her; maybe it was the dim, moody lighting of the historic library or the simmering impatience she’d been battling since they formed their agreement. Whatever it was, it sent her hand shooting out, fingers curling around the back of his neck as she pulled him into a kiss.

He tensed under her touch at first, the shock of it surging between them. The feeling of his hesitation sent a rush of pride through her veins—he was reacting to her, thrown off his careful control. But it only lasted a moment; soon, his hands were framing her face, large and warm, as he surrendered to the kiss, meeting her urgency with a sudden shared and undeniable hunger.

George stepped towards her a little more and Rosaline stumbled slightly before her back hit the cool wood of the bookshelf. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, a soft moan escaping her lips as his mouth moved against hers with a familiarity that felt effortless, as if they’d been doing this for years. He was only a few inches taller than her, barely enough to matter, yet she found herself rising onto her tiptoes, instinctively seeking every inch of closeness between them.

Pinned between his broad body and the sturdy shelves, Rosaline felt utterly consumed by him. Shivers raced down her spine, and warmth pooled low in her belly—a heat that was impossible to ignore. It was almost embarrassing how quickly she found herself growing aroused by only the slightest of his touches, each sensation magnified by her inexperience and the thrilling realization that this was no longer a fantasy. Oh, and it was just as good as people had always told it would be.

In the back of her mind, she was aware that they were in a very dangerous position by doing this in the open library. They were risking getting caught by any of the handful of students still working across the spacious hall or by the librarian who would be closing up shortly. Despite this, she had no desire to stop. Every atom in her body burned for more. She already had her first taste of him, a hint of the pleasure that he could bring her without even using his hands, and now, like that, she wanted to push the limits just a little bit farther.

Rosaline’s hands cascaded over his broad shoulders and down his chest, feeling the arches and valleys of his muscle through the thin linen fabric of his button up shirt. He was so real. She offered up another small moan into his mouth. That only urged his hands to move on her face, one of his thumbs dropping from her cheek to slide over her jaw and to her chin, gently guiding her mouth to open a little wider into their kisses so he could brush his tongue against hers.

Her fingers grasped onto his shirt, her tongue eagerly pushing back against his between hungry kisses, their steamy moment hidden away between the towering shelves of books. She wondered if this had ever happened before in the centuries since this library had been founded; some pair of literaries making out in the shadows of the books that surrounded them. Maybe this was far too salacious for the figures of the past to even dream. Maybe the authors of the Classics that overlooked them from their pages were rolling in their graves at this sight.

Rosaline’s fingers tugged at the front of his shirt to pull him impossibly closer, their bodies naturally moulding together until his leg was nudged between hers. His closeness was dizzying and she felt the heat of desire throbbing through her body. She tossed one arm around his shoulders with her other still grasping at the fabric at the side of his shirt, keeping his chest against hers.

George moved with her, taking his hands from her face to slide down her waist and to her hips, gently pushing her fully back against the bookshelf, pinning her entirely there with his body. Her arm tightened around his shoulders, licking her way into his mouth at a rhythmic pace of lips and tongues and the slightest rock of her hips against his thigh. She felt dizzy. So pathetically needy and dizzy and overwhelmed as the world fell away around them. No more library, no more books, no more risk; just them floating in a cloud of promises.

Every move George made was skilled and hesitant; it was if he was afraid to push her too far or to do something she didn’t like. His hands stayed firmly on her hips but his fingers itched to move and she could feel his hesitation as they twitched against her sides. With another roll of her hips, he followed the movement of her body to trail the shape of her curves until his hands rested on her bum.

Rosaline shivered at his touch, the way his large hands gently kneaded her flesh over her jeans and slid down the back pockets to grab another handful. His insistence had her body pulled closer to him, the heat pouring through her at the way he rubbed her body in slow tantalizing circles over the shape of her figure.

She knew they didn’t have long. If she wanted anything more than just kissing, she was going to have to take the jump and ask for it before the librarian came wandering the aisles to close up.

Rosaline tilted her head back to break their steamy kiss, gasping softly to the high wood ceilings of the historic library. George didn’t hesitate before moving down her neck, his plush lips trailing soft open mouthed kisses over her flushed skin.

“It aches,” she breathed, barely a whisper, with her hands grasping onto his biceps, “Please touch me.”

George let out a small groan against her neck at her words and then pulled away just enough to look at her, their noses almost touching from how close they stood. His hands gave her hips a squeeze, his voice coming out low and warm and laced with a balance of hesitation and lust, “This is supposed to be going slowly, darling. I don’t…”

She blinked at him, her eyes pleading with him, wearing on his hesitation with her flushed cheeks and kissed-swollen lips.

“I don’t want to do something you’ll regret.” George finished softly, rubbing his hands over her waist.

“Please, George,” she nearly begged, “I really need you to touch me.”

He looked left down the aisle they were in, and then right, and then over his shoulder as if someone could have been peeking through the shelves at them. When he deemed the coast was clear, he looked back at her and swallowed up her lips in another hungry kiss.

Rosaline gasped faintly into his mouth, clutching onto his biceps, letting him lead them into another tongue-led kiss. His fingers moved from her hips to the front of her jeans, and he blindly undid the button and tugged at the zipper. The hurried movements had her body jolting against his, every pull and shift sending her rocking back against the bookshelf, unsteady and breathless as she clung to him for balance.

Her heart was racing in her ears, her breath falling in anticipatory pants as his lips parted from hers for a moment in his concentration. They breathed into each other’s mouths in steady time, chests rising and falling as one. Her eyes met his as his hand toyed with the waistband of her panties and the lacy hem that was found there.

“Tell me to stop if you need.” he reminded her sternly, his voice still barely a whisper.

Rosaline nodded in agreement.

Then, George’s slender fingers slipped down the front of her jeans and over the thin fabric of her underwear, his eyes locked on hers as he did so. She tightened her grasp on the sleeves of his shirt, her breath halting in her chest as his warm fingertips ghosted over her clothed swollen clit.

“Spread your legs a little wider.” he instructed against her cheek.

She shuffled her feet farther apart ever so slightly, staring into his eyes as she followed his instruction.

“That’s it.” he praised.

She couldn’t help but let out a little gasp at the faint friction of his touch, watching the way he studied her in their impossibly close proximity. His breath fell against the apple of her cheek as his fingers touched the damp fabric of her underwear hidden down her jeans, his touch testing and exploratory.

Rosaline’s face turned towards his, ghosting her lips over his as their breaths mingled together, her hand grasping at his shirt around his back to keep him close. His nose bumped hers, melting into her, his fingers starting to move slowly in firm back and forth motions over her clothed clit, giving her just a little bit of friction that had her biting her lip.

Rosaline clutched onto him, staring into his eyes like she couldn’t look away even if she tried. That hazy dreamlike feeling was clouding her senses again, where the whole world fell away and it was just them in this secluded corner surrounded by nothing but the scent of his cologne and the aged books, bathed in the warmth of the lamplight.

His arm pulled back a little, lifting his hand from her pants, and she let out a small whimper in protest. George simply hushed her softly against her cheek as he lifted his fingers to his mouth to suck on two for just a second before he was guiding them back down her jeans and, this time, slipping inside her panties too.

Her eyes widened in realization, watching the way his lips pricked up in an almost cocky smirk at her expression. George rubbed his fingers between her legs, gliding the length of two of them between her slick folds, letting her arousal mix filthily with his spit before he was lazily rubbing his fingertips over her clit.

Rosaline’s eyelashes fluttered and her whole body twitched for a second at the unfamiliar sensations. It never felt like this with her own hand; her own touch was so boring and expected. Now, under the control of someone else, his every action was unpredictable and electric and the anticipation which coursed through her veins was pure heat.

No one had touched her like this before, never before had she thought herself to be brave enough to so easily let someone in to touch the most sacred parts of her. In all twenty-two years of her life, after years of failed attempts at love, the voice in the back of her mind that nagged at her innermost self-consciousness had her wondering if her pussy was even attractive. Now, hidden in the shadows of her favourite room on campus, with the first man to ever give her a second glance, she was so easily offering herself up to him and he was so glady taking it.

George spoke in a hushed whisper, his lips dusting over hers with the formation of his syllables, “This okay?”

Rosaline nodded almost eagerly, creasing the fabric of his shirt in her white-knuckled grip. She raised up on her tiptoes a little more as she pushed her hips towards his hand, not quite sure what she wanted but knowing she just wanted more. Her little whimper fell against his cheek, her arm tossing around his shoulders before they so easily fell into another passionate kiss. She let out a small hum into his mouth, her eyebrows furrowed as she succumbed to the feeling of his hand moving a little stronger down the front of her pants.

They shared a few sloppy kisses in the secrecy of the library aisles, hidden in the shadows of the shelves and walls of stocked books. Her soft moan was muffled by his lips as his fingers moved a little harder against her swollen clit, his tongue easily tasting the pleasure of her sounds. He fell into her a little, taking a half step forward, pressing her back against the shelves by his body.

George’s fingers drifted lower, caressing strongly over her warm cunt and gathering more of that wetness that pooled almost uncontrollably from her. He groaned softly into her mouth before pulling away from their kiss long enough to praise her with a purr, “You’re soaking my fingers.”

“Can’t help it.” she mumbled in reply, her words dizzy and slurred with lust.

“Mm, yeah? Does it feel good?” he whispered against her cheek.

Rosaline nodded again with a small, “Yeah.”

Her mind was short circuiting to the point where she didn’t have the capacity to worry about if he liked what he was feeling—if he thought it was weird that she wasn’t entirely waxed and bare down there. But the moment she caught a glimpse of George’s handsome face close to hers, saw the way his eyes were blown wide with lust as he looked at her, all those insecurities evaporated, dissolving into nothingness in the heat of his gaze. His breath was hot against hers, swallowing her lips up in another steamy kiss that had her eyes fluttering shut and her body surrendering to him with ease.

His whole hand was nestled between her legs to the point where every caress of his fingers over her cunt had the heel of his palm rubbing against her clit. A little faster, a little faster, she broke away from his kiss with a choked cry.

“Shhh,” George hushed her against her cheek, his lips peppering slow open mouthed kisses along her jaw. His other hand rested on the edge of one of the shelves beside her head, keeping his focus on her body and the way he moved down the front of her jeans.

Rosaline bit her lip hard, trying to keep herself quiet in the midst of their salacious rendezvous. When his hand started to move just a little bit faster, she clutched harder at his shirt, tugging him closer so she could bury her face in his neck, her body arching up against his.

George’s large hand moved from the shelf to cradle the back of her neck, holding her, hushing her sweetly against her ear as she whimpered against his collar, and he breathed out a reassuring, “Okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah-” she stumbled out in a trembling exhale.

“Yeah, you’re such a good girl.” he praised against the shell of her ear, keeping his pace down the front of her pants.

Rosaline’s hips jumped against his hand at the way his fingertips caressed her clit in fluid motions, exploring her in gentle strokes. Little by little, she found herself loosening, unraveling from the tight grip she’d kept on him, surrendering to the unfamiliar pleasure that was slowly consuming her.

Soon, her eyes were finding his again as she leaned back against the shelf but with a possessive arm still around his shoulders. Her breaths were falling laboured as he moved his fingers a little faster, burning tingling pleasure up her spine that had her toes curling in her sneakers.

“Fuck-” she squeaked softly, struggling to keep her eyes open and on his.

“That’s a good girl.” George praised lowly as his hand let go of the back of her head to rest on the shelf again, steadying himself while his other hand worked strongly down her jeans.

She was lost in the rhythm of his fingers, surprised how much she could feel from his touch when her fingers herself never offered her much sustenance of anything. There was something about George that was entrancing and spellbinding, like he knew just how to touch her to get her exactly what she craved.

Rosaline was so out of her mind that she could barely hear her own voice as she breathed out a pleading and pathetic, “Put your hand around my throat.”

George’s eyes flickered with a moment of hesitation, a play of lust hazing the momentary uncertainty, although his hand down her jeans didn’t stop even as he asked, “You sure you’d like that?”

She nodded almost eagerly.

He took his hand from the shelf beside her head and gently wrapped his fingers around her throat, his thumb and fingers nestled under her jaw. When he squeezed ever so slightly, her eyes fluttered and her swollen lips let out an angelic breathy, “Yeah. Yeah, I like that.”

Rosaline had written far more salacious scenes before, but experiencing it for the first time herself was a revelation that left her mind spinning. George’s grip was light, almost tentative, as if he was afraid of pushing too far or crossing a boundary. Yet even that gentle pressure around her throat was enough to amplify every other sensation in her body, making her nerve endings tingle with an intensity she had never imagined.

“Naughty little contradiction, aren’t you?” George tutted with a prideful smirk to his tone, his voice hushed and his breath falling against her cheek as he pinned her against the shelves, hand still moving down the front of her jeans, “Just full of surprises.”

Rosaline parted her lips as if to respond, but all that escaped was a soft, quivering moan. A blush crept across her cheeks, warmth flooding her face as her self-control crumbled. She could feel her steady composure slipping away, unraveling under the mounting pleasure that drowned out any coherent thought.

“Cover your mouth if you need to.” George reminded her quietly, his velvet voice echoing in her ears, “Stay so quiet for me.”

Rosaline needed no convincing as if she were moving robotically by instructions, taking her hand from her white-knuckled grip on the side of his shirt to press her palm over her mouth. She couldn’t stop staring at him despite how her cheeks burned, her attention captivated by him and the way he looked at her, the way he clenched his jaw in concentration, his handsome face slightly shadowed as he towered in front of her and hid her away from the warm lamps of the historic library.

A few more whimpers and moans fell uncontrollably from her lips, smothered by her hand over her mouth and the gentle squeeze of his around her throat. Her body writhed against his ever so slightly, rising up a little more onto her toes as the pleasure built up stronger and stronger through her veins, coiling that unmissable warmth in the pit of her stomach, everything suddenly feeling like too much. Oh, but she wanted it so badly, she needed him to rid that ache from her body, to give her what she craved. The bookshelves pressed into her back.

“That’s it,” George purred, undoubtedly feeling the way her pussy started to throb against his slick fingertips, keeping his pace going, right at that angle that got the best reaction out of her, “Feel all of that pleasure and let it all out for me. Nice and quiet now, like a good girl, come all over my hand. That’s it, darling. Come on.”

Rosaline’s thighs were trembling, barely keeping her upright if not for the sturdiness of George’s body keeping her pinned snugly against the bookshelf. Her breaths were coming out in strong uneven pants through her nose with her mouth still clamped shut, her heart racing with desperate need to cum. She was so close, right there, the heat pouring through her and burning her skin under the faint pressure of his fingertips against her throat.

His encouraging whispered words faded into a murmur as she reached that precipice, feeling her entire body tense right up, her arm around his shoulders digging her nails into his back through the fabric of his linen shirt. George grunted faintly against her cheek as she toppled into her orgasm, her clit throbbing against his fingers as he kept her going through it. Her head fell back against the bookshelf with a dull thud, her hand still clamped tightly over her mouth to smother the whimper of pleasure that threatened to spill over and give them away.

The moment the peak of her orgasm tapered off and her body buzzed with sensitivity, she dropped her hand from her mouth to grab his wrist between them instead, halting his hand down her jeans. She was panting, her swollen lips glistening and red, her wonderfilled eyes staring at him, sparkling behind the thin lenses of her glasses in the dim library lighting.

“Jesus Christ.” George breathed, his forehead resting against hers as he slowed his hand to a stop down the front of her pants and slowly retreated. His hands rested on her waist and rubbed the curve of her lean body for a moment, disconcerted by the glistening wetness on his middle finger that smeared faintly against the fabric of her shirt and left a damp, telling trace, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Rosaline exhaled, reaching between them to button up her pants again.

“That wasn’t too much?” he asked, staring into her eyes as if trying to pull the truth out of her with only a glance.

“Promise.” she assured him, resting her hands on his chest, “I would have told you otherwise.”

“Okay,” George exhaled as if in relief, a tame smile tugging at the corners of his lips as his large hands gave her hips a squeeze, “good.”

Rosaline slid her hands up to the sides of his neck and timidly pulled him in to meet him halfway for a breathless kiss. Her heart was racing, mind whirling, in disbelief that they had just done that. It was no mind-numbing, earth-shattering orgasm as often expressed in books or movies; instead it had fallen over her in warm waves of pleasure, calm and satisfying, and filled her with a buzz of euphoric relief. She hadn’t expected to be able to come so easily from just his fingers—hell, using her own fingers did next to nothing—but there was something about the way George touched her, knew just where the most sensitive spots were, that had her entirely satisfied.

Seconds later, when Rosaline broke away from his lips for a breath, she rested her forehead against his with a sighing, “That was…so incredible.”

“Mm,” George let a faint smile dust across his lips in his agreement, “Can’t say I mind helping you with your research anytime.”

Just then, approaching footsteps had them breaking apart, George taking two steps away to stand casually at the opposite shelves. The librarian appeared at the end of their row.

“The library is closed now,” she told them kindly, “If you can make your way out, that’d be great.”

George offered her a polite smile, “Of course. Thank you.”

She disappeared again.

Rosaline looked back at George, the two of them facing each other across the narrow aisle of shelves. Their expressions broke into small amused smiles and Rosaline pushed herself away from the bookshelf with a bashful bow of her head as they got ready to leave. They walked side by side back towards the table at which Rosaline and her friends had once sat and studied. The library was completely empty apart from them by then, all students disappeared back to their dorm rooms and homes. She picked up her bag from the chair where she had left it and tucked it over her shoulder.

“This was risky,” George whispered to her, his voice quiet and gentle yet firm, “we cannot do this again. Not in a place like this.”

Rosaline replied softly as she turned back to him, “Well it’s not like I can take you back to my dorm.”

There was a moment of hesitation on his face before he finally spoke a gentle offer, “Come to my house. Tomorrow night.”

Rosaline’s heart did a little somersault in her chest and her momentary shock at the invitation and the weight it might have carried must have spread itself across her face.

Almost right away, George was assuring her, “Just for drinks. Nothing more. Just to be away from prying eyes.”

Rosaline couldn’t deny that the concept of going over to his house held a sense of excitement and curiosity. She pulled a timid smile and nodded in agreement, reaching into her bag to pass him her notebook and a pencil so he could scribble down his address for her.

She stared at his profile in the dim light of the library, the shadows across his face and the crisp line of his jaw, the way his fingers cradled her pencil as he dragged the graphite across the lined page. Those same fingers that had been down her jeans only moments ago. How was this real? How was he real?

George handed her notebook back to her with a handsome smile, “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Yeah,” Rosaline exhaled, taking her notebook back from him, “See you.”

She watched him walk off towards the exit of the library and, before she too made her way out, she looked down at the page of her notebook again. In his precise curling cursive, he had written;

30 Richmond Road — 4pm x

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ursachaotic · 3 months ago

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It’s Max!! : D 🌟 (Max is the main character of my webcomic! He can talk to ghosts, has crippling anxiety, and will absolutely say he hates someone who their face lmao 😬)

#beneath the woods #artists on tumblr #sketch #ocs #doodles #he also is a punch first ask questions later kind of person WHICH IS BAD BECAUSE HE WILL GET HIS BUTT KICKED LOL 😭#he’s also neurodivergent and I love my son so much #what a silly #IM SO EXCITED FOR YALL TO MEET MAX IN THE UPDATED STORY EEEEEEE

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muiitoloko · 2 months ago

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Operation Dog Flap

Summary: Frank Benson, once feared on the battlefield, meets his greatest foe yet: the family dog door. Recovery comes with butter, bruised pride, and a bit of tenderness.

Pairing: Frank Benson × Fem! Reader & OC

Warnings: None

Author's Notes: I don't know why, but I like to write about Frank being domestic. 😅 This story is based on "The Barber, the Boy, and the Bloody Disaster," but you don't need to read it to understand this one.