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s0dium · 10 months ago

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Douchebag

A/n: This is honestly the BEST fic I've ever written! I took a lot from prompts I found on this site and the smut scene is inspired from a book called "The Kiss Quotient." (It was just so damn good). This fanfic is also inspired by my original fanfic, "Douchebag" Tengen x Reader. ALSO, I AM WORKING ON YUTA FICS, SO DON'T WORRY! Word count: 3.5k

Synopsis: Gojo Satrou was a man of many things. It would be hard to find anyone in the jujutsu world who hadn’t heard of his name before, whether that be through his many wins in battle or his reputation as an A-class player. Some describe him as eccentric, and others (mostly girls) describe him as irresistible. You? Well, you on the other hand would describe him as nothing else than an utter, complete, douchebag. Warnings: Enemies to lovers, teasing, fingering, intense kissing for a sec, squirting, use of pet names, belly bulge, cervix fucking, breeding kink, virgin!reader, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, choking ~

You scoffed, watching through the classroom window as a clearly frustrated old man stormed out of the building, no doubt a higher up. No doubt the work of Gojo Satoru. "God I hate him." You hissed, turning to face a dozing-off Shoko and your other friend Haibara. The classroom you sat in was almost empty, bathed in the soft light of midday filtering through large windows. Sparse shadows stretch across the well-worn wooden floor. Rows of desks, mostly unoccupied, face a dusty chalkboard at the front. "Who Satoru?" Shoko yawned, leaning into the palm of her hand to face you. Haibara lets out a loud chuckle. "Why? Because he's an ass to higher-ups?" He nods to the window and you click your tongue against the rough of your mouth. "No, it's because he is an ass in general. His whole 'holier than thou' attitude, and don't get me started on the way he treats girls." You practically shiver as you remember the time you saw some poor girl from Kyoto Jujutsu High profess her love to the white hair man, only to run away sobbing. "I swear to god it's like he expects us to kiss the floor that he walks on, he's.... infuriating" "Who's infuriating?" Oh god, you knew that stupidly deep voice anywhere. You whipped around to find yourself face to face with the very tall white-haired man you were talking about; a shit-eating grin spread across his infuriatingly handsome face.

“You couldn't be talking about me, could you?” Satoru's voice dripped faux shock and you rolled your eyes.

“Well you know what they say, speak of the devil and he shall appear.” You spat.

“That must be why you love using that pretty mouth of yours to talk about me so much.” Satoru lowered himself to close the provoking height difference between the two of you until your noses were inches away from touching. “Cause ya love having me around doncha.”

In that moment you have to conjure up every ounce of self-restraint to not spit in his face there and then, and luckily your friends catch the drift. "Hey Satoru! What are you doing here?" Perked up Haibara who reached out his hand to dap Gojo up. "Well, Suguru and I are heading for a night out today, small club, and I thought, out of the kindness of my heart," You scoff and Gojo merely grins and continues, "I'd invite you all. Drink on me of course." As Satrou's invitation lingered in the air, you noticed Shoko's ears perk up. Her curiosity was piqued, a subtle lift of her eyebrows betraying her interest. You bit your tongue, the taste of reluctance sharp against your teeth. The idea of going anywhere with Satrou was far from appealing, but knowing your friends might join made it harder to outright refuse.

You crossed your arms defensively, leaning back slightly as you fixed Satrou with a skeptical look. "And why would you want me there?"

Satrou's lips curled into a half-smirk, his eyes lighting up with a mischievous glint."You're annoying, I'll give you that," He took a casual step closer, and leaned in closer, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper, "but I never said you weren't fun."

His words, intended to irk you, did their job well. You glared at him sharply, the frustration evident in your furrowed brows and the hard set of your jaw.

Satrou chuckled.

“Great, I’ll take that as a yes then, I'll text you guys the details.” He turns around to walk out of the classroom. “See you guys there!”

There was a silence as you all watched Satrou walk away before Haibara turns to look at you. “So are you going to go y/n? Come on it will be so much fun!”

“Yeah no way in hell.”

~ You were a liar. You were a liar because here you were, leaning over the counter of a bar in a club that was far from "small." The nightclub was a pulsing, chaotic hive of activity. Neon lights flashed in syncopation with the deafening throb of electronic dance music that shook the very air. The club was jam-packed with bodies moving rhythmically, the heat from the mass of humanity palpable as the scent of sweat and sweet perfumes mingled. The bar surface was sticky under your arms, and the occasional spill from a too-hastily poured drink added to the chaos of sounds and smells around you. You lazily stirred the thin red straw into your drink, trying to politely ignore the creep who wouldn't stop talking to you.

Somehow, in the maze of gyrating bodies and blinding strobe lights, you had lost both Shoko and Haibara, leaving you stranded at the mercy of this clueless conversationalist. Despite the roar of bass and the chatter of dozens of conversations, his words seemed to bore into your ears, relentless and unyielding. He leaned in closer than necessary, trying to make himself heard over the club's cacophony, not realizing or perhaps not caring, that you were more interested in plotting an escape than in anything he had to say. "And might I say you look gorgeous tonight." It took everything you had not to scoff at this creep's words, but before you should shut the man down, you felt an arm wrap around you. "Everything alright love?" Oh god. You knew that voice anywhere. As you turned, you were met by Satrou's piercing blue eyes, their color vivid even behind stylish rectangular sunglasses. The multicolor flashing lights overhead caught in the threads of Satrou’s light blue button-up, making it shimmer subtly, and the fabric clung just right to his broad shoulders and tapered waist, hinting at the well-defined physique beneath. You hated the fact that your brain immediately noted how damn good he looked. His arm was wrapped around your waist drawing you close and you had to bite your tongue from frowning at the pet name he had given you As he leaned in, his voice was low, a soft murmur over the noise of the club, "This guy bothering you baby?" His tone was teasing, and you could detect the challenge in it, as if daring you to admit that his closeness and pet names affected you just as much as he knew it did. "Of course I'm fine baby!" You smile brightly and for a second you think Satrou looked a bit taken aback. If playing along got you out of this situation so be it. "This guy, I'm sorry, what's your name?" You glance back at the creep who had turned bright red. "I'm sorry, excuse me." You watched as the man disappeared into the throng of the bustling crowd, your attention fixed until he was well out of sight. Only then did you turn back to Satrou, the false warmth on your face instantly transforming into a cold, hard glare.

"Thanks for that, but you can get your hand off me now," you said, your voice icy as you tried to wriggle out of his hold. Despite your efforts, Satrou’s grip on your waist remained firm, unyielding.

"And why should I? I think we made a fantastic couple," Satrou cooed, a teasing lilt in his voice. His eyes sparkled with amusement, clearly enjoying the moment far more than you.

You rolled your eyes, exasperation seeping through. "You really think I would fall for something like that?"

"Why? Did you?" he probed further, his smile widening, eyes searching yours for any sign of genuine affect. Anger started to boil up inside you as your attempts to escape his grasp remained futile.

"I don't think you understand the dynamic here very well, Satoru," you began, your voice low and deliberate, each word punctuated for emphasis. You stepped closer, invading his space as much as he had invaded yours, your eyes never leaving his. "Let me make this crystal clear, I'm not someone you can just fucking conquer, and I'm certainly not one of those girls who's gonna kiss the ground you walk on with your whole 'I'm the strongest' act," you seethed.

Your face was mere inches from his now, your breath mingling, the tension palpable. "Because I know what you really are, Satrou," you hissed, the anger in your voice barely contained. "You're a fucking douche bag." "Oh? Is that so."

Satrou's expression shifted subtly, the amusement fading into something more measured, more cautious. He studied you for a moment and you took the chance to wiggle out of his grasp and make your way through the crowd on the dance floor toward the door. The beat of the music pounds in your ears and throughout your body making your synapses jump like beans in a tin can. You can barely see the floor, only flashes of bodies you frantically tried to push past. Before you can make it to the back door, a hand grips your wrist tightly enough to halt your forward rush. Above the din of the pulsating music and amidst the strobe-lit shadows of dancing figures, Satoru's face comes into view. You feel your breath catch in your throat. God his is beautiful. Strobe lights catch and accent every one of his sharp features alighting them in a multicolor color hue. He pulls your wrist to him so you're close, too close. You can smell the old spice shampoo from his hair mixed in with some sort of sweet cologne. It's a smell that makes you want to bury your nose into him over and over again. "Jesus fucking Christ y/n" he breathed his eyes searching yours. "How long are we going to keep this thing of ours going?" You furrowed your eyebrows. “Our thing? What thing?”

“The thing where we act like we hate each other but actually want to fuck the brains out of each other.” Your eyes widen and you feel your face grow deathly hot. You try to step back, get some space, some room to breathe, but the hand on your wrist keeps you from doing so

“I-fuck you” the words come out of your mouth more soft and meager than you intended to, and you find yourself locked into his blue gaze.

“Believe me, I've thought about it.” His voice is low, and his face isn't painted with a shit-eating grin like it so usually is, he's serious and his eyes are soft. Fuck it. You can no longer hear the lyrics to whatever song was playing, only a soft dull hum of the beat in your ears. Immediately your lips are on his. The kiss is frantic, hot, messy. The club's pulse thrummed through you like a second heartbeat, the noise and chaos all but forgotten in the singular focus of his presence. You could feel one of his large hands on the small of your back, drawing you in until there was no space left between the both of you. Your mouths clashed against each other as if you were both seeking something vital, something long-denied. Satoru's lips were insistent against yours, moving with a fervor that matched the pounding bass surrounding you. You whined as his tongue slipped into your mouth, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the firm press of his chest against yours. The scent of his cologne mixed with the smoky air around us, intoxicating and heady.

Your mouths separated with a soft pop, and Satoru is grinning while you're left dazed, breath heavy and chests rising and falling after it. "How bout you say we get out of here Princess."Gojo's voice was a low murmur, his breath warm against your ear as you broke from the intense kiss.

Before you could even respond, a dizzying rush enveloped you. The loud club vanished in an instant, replaced by the quiet, dimly lit ambiance of his bedroom. You were suddenly on his bed, the soft duvet beneath you a stark contrast to the hard dance floor we'd just left. Right, he can teleport. You forgot about that. Wait was he... where are you going to... Before you can get a word in, he’s once again engulfing your lips with his and pulling you into a feverish kiss in which the two of you can’t seem to get enough of each other. The moment one pulls away to breathe, the other is immediately searching for their lips again; intertwining tongues and teeth clashing together recklessly.

Your hot, everything is hot, your body is burning up by the second and there’s a sickly sweet feeling in your stomach that keeps on expanding as time passes. You whine into his mouth when you feel a hand slip under your skirt and lightly trace the outline of your slit with his index finger. You're painfully wet; your arousal has made a large spot on your underwear translucent. “Just touch me,’ you whined, arching impatiently against his hand. He couldn’t make either of you wait any longer. Slowly, he brought his middle finger down and slid it gently over her folds. You threw your head back. "Ahhhh, more please." He did it again, this time his fingertip slipping between and gathering your wetness. He parted you with two fingers. You let out a gasp when he hit your clit and started to rub it in small circles. You tried to say something, anything to explain how hot you were feeling right now, but your words were lost against his soft lips. The taste of him, the smell of him, the feel of him so close against you, skin to skin. Time and space had no meaning anymore. There was only you and Satrou.

“You feeling good baby? Satrou speaks slowly, breath on your neck and voice in your ear making you shiver. You bite your lip and nod like any words that came from you would ruin it. You almost wince when you feel two fingers slip into your tight hole. "Jesus, fuck. You gotta relax princesses." He chuckled, knowing far to well that the tightness was going to feel delicious around him. Two fingers worked into you, and your eyes rolled back into your head. He began a steady rhythm as his tongue nipped and sucked the tender skin of your neck. You couldn’t prevent her hips from rising to meet his thrusts. Oh God, you were riding his hand. That had to be bad. You told herself to stop. You couldn’t. Somehow, you found your hands tangled in his short white hair. Your body was coiled tighter, grasping at his fingers, so wet now you could hear the slippery sounds every time he drove back into you. "Hnghhh.... so good." You squeezed your eyes type, becoming focused on the tightening feeling of your core and the blossoming warm pleasure. Your legs started to tremble under the unbearable pleasure and your back arched against the bed as if your body was trying to escape the euphoric feeling that coursed through your skin. "That’s it, fuck, beautiful girl... such a natural submissive...." You want to tell him he's wrong, all this pleasure wasn't because of his egotistic ass, but it'd be a lie. And as if on command, all feelings come to a heightened crescendo; explosions of euphoria clouding your brain causing your toes to curl from pleasure and your body to shake like a leaf.

It takes a couple seconds after you calmed down to realize you squirted all over Satoru's hand and all blood rushes to your face turning you a bright red.

“Oh my god in so sorry I didn’t-”

Your voice dies out as you watch Satrou pull off his shirt, revealing his extremely built body and toned muscles, to wipe the liquid off his hand. You don’t even notice that he had pulled out his dick until you feel something pressing against your entrance, making you look down and your eyes widen as you do so. Your stomach inwardly twisted, filled with the sickly excitement and your breathing started to quicken. "Shhhhh baby," Satoru cups your cheek and kisses your forehead. It was a sweet gesture despite everything happening right now, a gesture that made your heart swell and your mind yearn for Satoru. The stretch of his dick spreading your walls is insane. No amount of preparation could've prepared you for the length of Satoru's dick. You feel it heavy inside you and Satrou pushes into you until he can't push anymore, until his hips are flush against you and the tip of his length is smushed against your cervix. The pleasure of that alone felt numb, unbearable, you needed friction, you needed him to move. You practically faint when he first thrusts into you in earnest. It's euphoric; the curvature of his dick digging itself against your g-spot, scraping against your vaginal walls every time he backed his hips up. His cock pulsed inside of your silky walls, stretching you to the fullest capacity as he bottomed out again and again. "Oh fuck." Satrou groaned. He was no longer grinning, Satoru's playful resolves vanished and his smile quickly dropped. He knew you'd feel good, but he didn't expect how good you'd feel. The feeling of his hand he had fucked himself to the thought of you for so many nights was nothing compared to the real thing. It was too much, the feeling of your wet soft walls gripping him so tightly. How was he able to live without your pussy in the first place? The pleasure built rapidly, too potent, too insistent. He kneeled over you, a groan escaping his lips—a raw, primal sound that vibrated through the charged air between you. Satorus thrust your quick and hard, a clear display of strength and endurance he had gained from years of jujutsu training. "Been thinking about this, so long, bet you have to have ya~"

As Satrou's long, deliberate fingers encircle your neck, a thrilling chill races down your spine. He applies pressure gently at first, then with a firmer, insistent grip that gradually restricts your airflow, sending a wave of exhilaration through your senses. The world around you narrows, focusing intently on the point where his skin contacts yours, heightening every other sensation that courses through you. His other hand slips under your bra bra to grab and massage your breast, his thumb flicking over your nipples.

"Satoru..! Ahhhh..! I..I, fuckkkkk can't handle this.." You had no strength to answer him, only offering wanton moans in retort as he continued to wreck your body with his completely brutal thrusts. The pain of him hitting the tip of your cervix nearly every time mixed with his hand squeezing your throat it was just all too much.

Satoru. Satoru. Satoru

"Slow down.. please im gonna ahhhh~" Drool slipped passed your lips and you writhed and squirmed at the feeling of hot euphoria passed over your body in flesh arrow. "Gonna cum? Fuck baby, let's... let's come together m'kay?" Satrou almost stuttered. His body had kicked into autopilot, and a deep primal need for you settled in as he thrust in and out, creating a methodical rhythm that echoed in your ears. Your ankles lock around his lower back and you cry out when the head of his cock kisses your womb, your legs shaking as you feel yourself start to be thrown into an intense orgasm. You want to say something about the weird feeling in your stomach, how your skin is buzzing but it's all too much, and before you know it your tumbling toward the edge. It feels like your whole body was shot with electricity and color dances in your eyes as you float in ecstasy.

"Sh-Shit, shit, fuuuuck~" He chuckles into your ear, choking over his words as his hips sputter inside of you, hot cum fills you as much as you can hold inside of your stuffed cunny. Satoru doesn't pull out as you both come down from your high, instead watching you intently as you ride through the aftershocks of your orgasm. "Wanna do this again?" He chuckles.

"Fuck, yes, please."

#gojo x reader #gojo smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader smut #gojou satoru x reader

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daryltwdixon · 7 days ago

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Joel Miller x Reader

summary: Joel never meant to let you get under his skin, but you did—slowly, quietly, until you were all he could think about. When you go missing on patrol, the months of keeping his distance end in an instant. Finding you hurt, vulnerable, waiting for him— he finally stops fighting what was inevitable.

babes idk this has been plaguing me all damn day okay? angsty, grumpy, eventually fluffy Joel Miller. im all about the drama today I've been getting a lot of requests about Joel tending to reader on a patrol gone wrong / Jackson!Joel so here is a whole one shot dedicated to all of you ♥︎

When Joel Miller came back to Jackson after taking Ellie from that hospital, he was on edge. Always on edge. The bags under his eyes darkened by the day, deep-set proof of sleepless nights spent tangled in sweat-drenched sheets, jolting awake from nightmares that left him breathless and clawing at the past. So he worked. Took on more patrols, fixed fences, chopped wood—kept his hands busy, his mind busier. If he let up, even for a second, the memories crept in like rot in the walls. That way when his head hit the pillow at night, he was too exhausted for dreams.

Then spring came, and with it, something new. Something warm. Something bright.

You.

He didn’t know where the hell you came from at first. Just that Tommy had dragged you in, half-dead and shaking, after your group got torn apart by Infected out near the old hunting cabins. He heard about it once Tommy could stomach telling the story—another tragedy, more unknown lives lost—but you? You survived.

And now he hardly recognized you as that scared, bloody thing they found in the snow. You were—Jesus—you were everywhere. Helping in the garden, stacking supplies, chattering with the old folks who baked you fresh bread or cookies because they liked how sweet you were. It was annoying. Distracting. You were too...bright. Too alive. Too much of a reminder of something he shouldn’t want. He didn’t even want to know your name, but it found him anyway.

“She wants to start helping on patrols,” Tommy said casually, slicing into his steak one Sunday night over dinner. Maria nodded, considering.

“We could always put her with—”

No. It was all Joel could think. Not you, not out there in the wilderness again. There was so much shit out there, you’d faced enough. Couldn't you just stay here, safe?

Tommy narrowed his eyes. “No?” he echoed, a little amused, a little suspicious.

Joel clenched his jaw, shoving another bite of food in his mouth, chewing slow to buy himself time as he realized he must’ve said it out loud. His throat went dry as he forced himself to swallow.

Joel forced a grunt, waved a hand vaguely. “Just think she’s too young to be goin’ out there. Didn’t she just get here?”

“She’s older than Ellie,” Tommy pointed out, spearing a potato on his fork. “And Ellie’s out there right now, you know that.”

Joel’s fingers curled tight around his knife. Yeah, he knew. Ellie was out on her first real two-day patrol, and he’d spent the last twenty-four hours half-sick over it. His eyes flickered to her empty seat, and he sent up a silent prayer that she was still safe.

“Well,” Tommy continued, oblivious, “I’m plannin’ on buddyin’ her up with one of my best guys. Jesse can take her. Shouldn’t be an issue. He’s quick on his feet, got a good eye.”

Jesse. Joel barely held back a sneer. The kid was fine, sure. But Jesse wasn’t the issue.

You were.

Joel sipped his shitty, lukewarm coffee from a chipped mug, scowling at how diluted it was as it settled on his tongue. He missed real coffee. Hated that he had to drink this watered-down bullshit. The only thing worse was the sharp knock at his door.

His jaw clenched.

With a heavy sigh, he set down the mug, already annoyed, and stomped over. If this was Tommy with more goddamn chores or Maria with another lecture about community responsibility, he was gonna—

Joel yanked the door open, glare already in place. But then he saw you, and his stomach dropped.

You stood there, a little breathless, strands of hair falling loose around your face despite how you’d tied it back. Morning sun caught on your skin, the warm glow of sweat making you look… Fuck. His grip tightened on the doorframe.

"Oh–Hi," you said, a little uncertain, shifting on your feet.

Joel just stared.

He hadn’t spoken to you. Not once. Hadn’t let himself. You were too damn…well, whatever you were, whatever part of him that couldn’t quite place what you did to him…he wanted no part of it. But now you were standing at his door, looking at him with those bright, wide eyes, and he felt like a teenage boy again.

His brows furrowed, lips pressed into a hard line. He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. He had no clue what the hell to even say.

Your blush deepened under his stare. "Um," you murmured, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Ellie told me to come grab her before I left for patrol. First time and all." A nervous laugh puffed out of you, light and breathy. "She said she keeps a map of the area—marked with all the bad spots. Ya know."

Joel blinked. His brain finally caught up.

Patrol.

Your patrol.

His jaw ticked. So Tommy still had you paired with Jessie then?

"Ellie," Joel called behind him, finally tearing his gaze from you.

Footsteps pounded down the stairs before Ellie appeared, still in her pajamas, rubbing at her eye with the heel of her hand.

"Hey!" she called when she met your gaze, brightening.

Joel grumbled something low and incoherent, something that excused him as he turned on his heel and headed back toward the kitchen. He didn’t dare look at you again. But he felt your eyes on him. Questioning. Curious.

He hated it.

You were in his house.

Moving around upstairs. Talking to Ellie. When the hell had you two become friends? Your voice filtered down, mixing with the soft creak of the floorboards, and Joel stood in the kitchen, fuming.

He shouldn’t care.

Shouldn’t give a shit about where Tommy had you stationed, who you were paired with, how ready you were or weren’t for the outside. It wasn’t his goddamn business. But the thought of you out there—stumbling into an ambush, stepping too loud in a place you shouldn’t, a clicker lurking just out of sight, waiting for one wrong move—made his chest tighten in a way he really didn’t like.

He braced a hand on the counter, fingers drumming against the wood.

A few minutes later, your footsteps padded back down as Joel was heading out the door for his own chores. He didn’t turn, didn’t move as you crossed through the house. Just as you made your way past him, your flowery scent, so feminine and light and soft—

"Bye, Joel."

Your voice was light. Casual. Like it was nothing. Like saying his name didn’t do anything.

But it did.

His body went rigid, like something had yanked him back into himself, back into that dark and tangled place in his head where things got real complicated real quick. His name in your mouth, soft and easy, made his skin prickle, made something heavy settle deep in his chest. It stuck to him like a damn burr, taking place and nestling tight in his mind. His name on your lips was like a song, something like a siren’s call made specifically for him. And he wanted to hear it again and again and again.

He was so fucked.

Joel spent the day trying not to think about you.

And managed to do a shit job of it.

His hands worked—fixing a busted stable door, making sure the latch held, leading the horses out into the pasture on the warmest day so far—but his mind stayed locked on one thing. Had you made it to the outpost? Was the trip quiet? Had Jesse kept you close? Had he been watching your back?

It was pissing him off, all this worrying about someone he barely even knew.

Joel huffed, trying to shake the gnawing in his chest. He just needed to get through the work. Keep his head down, get home, and sleep it off.

Then he saw Jesse.

The kid was near the stables, talking to Dina, grinning like he didn’t have a single worry in the goddamn world. Joel’s brow furrowed. His steps slowed as he stared, confusion creeping in. Jesse was back? Already? That didn’t make sense. It had only been half a day. Patrols didn’t wrap this early, not unless something had happened.

For a moment, he almost convinced himself he was grateful that the hours had passed without sight of you. Maybe that meant his mind was finally loosening the barb you’d stuck in him. Maybe, after today, he wouldn’t waste any more time thinking about you.

But that was a damn lie.

Because hadn’t he thought of you every single hour since you left his house this morning? Hadn’t his eyes kept tracking the road, half-expecting you to appear? Hadn’t he been waiting—hoping—for some confirmation that you were fine, that patrol had been canceled, that you had never even needed to go in the first place?

Something was wrong. He felt it.

His jaw clenched. “Jesse.”

The kid turned, hands shoved in his pockets. “Hey, Mr. Miller. What’s up?”

Joel frowned, eyes narrowing. “You’re already back?”

Jesse tilted his head, looking confused. “Uh… yeah?”

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, patience wearing thin. His fingers twitched at his side, a slow, creeping sense of unease taking root in his chest. “Patrols don’t usually wrap this early.”

Jesse blinked, then let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, right—yeah, I didn’t go. Switched last minute, said it was some schedule mix-up.”

Joel barely heard the rest of the explanation.

I didn’t go.

The words hammered around his skull, his stomach twisting. You hadn’t been with Jesse.

You’d been out there—out in those woods—this whole time without one of the few people in this place who could actually handle themselves.

His fingers twitched at his side, curling and uncurling. His breathing stayed slow, even, controlled—but that was only because every part of him was focusing on not snapping. “Who’d you switch with?” His voice came out too sharp, too flat, but he didn’t care.

Jesse shrugged, completely unaware of the storm brewing behind Joel’s eyes. “Uh… can’t remember his name. New guy. Kinda scrawny, blond—”

Joel didn’t need to hear any more.

He knew exactly who Jesse was talking about.

Fucking Caleb.

Barely twenty. Couldn’t shoot for shit. Slow on his feet. Jumpy. The kind of kid who hesitated. And Joel had seen firsthand what hesitation got people. It got them killed.

His vision went red. You. Out there. With some stupid kid.

His pulse was a dull, thudding roar in his ears. He should’ve put his foot down with Tommy. Should’ve stopped you from leaving his house this morning. You might've thought he was insane, maybe even hated him for it. But he had known it was a bad idea. He felt it in his gut. And now you were out in the goddamn wilderness with someone who barely knew his left from his right, and there wasn’t a damn thing Joel could do about it.

His chest rose and fell in slow, controlled breaths. His hands curled into fists.

Dina and Jesse went back to talking, still existing like everything was fine, like nothing had shifted, like nothing had gone wrong.

But Joel was already moving.

He needed his gun, he needed a horse.

And he needed to get to you—now.

Joel stormed toward the gates, his blood hot in his veins, fists clenched so tight his knuckles ached. The second he spotted Tommy, standing near the watch post, chatting with one of the patrol leads, he nearly exploded.

"What the hell were you thinkin’?" Joel’s voice came sharp, cutting through the quiet.

Tommy turned, brow furrowing. "What?"

"You sent that girl out with Caleb for her first patrol?" Joel seethed, stepping closer, his frame tense, his breath coming out hard and fast. "Are you kidding me? You said she was goin’ with Jesse, and I just saw him at the barn."

Tommy’s face darkened. "I didn’t do that."

Joel let out a harsh, humorless laugh, his hands going to his hips like he was physically holding himself back from breaking something, “That so? So why is Jesse tellin’ me you did?”

Tommy exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. "No, Joel, I wouldn’t send two damn novices out together. They must’ve switched last minute and didn’t tell anybody."

Joel’s jaw locked. That answer didn’t make him feel any better.

"Christ," Tommy muttered, shaking his head. "Look, we’ll deal with it when they get back—"

"Deal with it?" Joel barked. "If they get back, Tommy. That dumbass kid don’t know his left from his right. He hesitates, he panics—she’s out there alone."

Tommy held up a hand, voice leveling. "Joel. Just wait. We don’t even—"

"RIDERLESS HORSE COMING IN!"

The shout came from above.

Both brothers whipped their heads toward the gate as someone from the watchtower pointed out toward the open plains.

Joel’s stomach plummeted. Every muscle in his body went tight as the gallop of hooves thundered against the dirt, stirrups flapping madly at its sides, the dark blur of a horse sprinting toward the gates.

"Shit," Tommy muttered, already waving for them to get it open. "Whose is it?"

The guard peered over the ledge, adjusting his scope. "Looks like… it’s Eclipse. Who took him out today?"

The world dropped out from under Joel’s feet. The barn door he was working on, it was that horse. He saw your name on the check out clipboard by his stall. No, no no. This was all some sick nightmare he was in.

Tommy’s eyes went wide as he looked at Joel, all the color draining from his face.

The sound of his own breath—too loud, too ragged—roared in his ears. That was your horse. Your only goddamn way back. And now it was here. Without you.

He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t think. His feet were already moving, shoving past Tommy, heading straight for the stables.

"Joel—"

He ignored Tommy, grabbing his saddle, moving with a purpose that wouldn’t be stopped. Strapped on his rifle as he checked it out at the booth, barely sparing a glance at the patrol guard logging the weapons. His hands worked fast, quicker than they had in a long time, muscle memory kicking in as he moved on autopilot.

He made his way straight to his usual horse, Diablo, getting him tacked up in record speed. The gelding shifted under his hands, picking up on the tight, coiled tension radiating off of him. Joel didn’t ease him. Didn’t whisper the usual steadying words, consumed only with thoughts of where you could be.

"Joel, dammit—think about this," Tommy’s voice rang out behind him, stepping up into the stall, frustration biting at the edges of his words. "You can’t just go out there alone. We’ll send a group—"

"Don’t have time," Joel muttered, cinching the saddle tight.

"You don’t even know what happened—"

"Exactly."

Joel’s voice came sharp, bitter, final. He turned, finally looking at Tommy, and his brother must’ve seen something in his face—something dark, something unmoving—because whatever argument he was about to make died on his tongue.

Joel led the horse out of the stables quickly, boots heavy against the dirt. Diablo tossed his head, nostrils flaring, sensing the shift in him. Once they were outside, Joel hoisted himself into the saddle in one swift motion, gathering the reins, already angling the horse toward the gates.

"Joel, for fuck’s sake—"

"Open the gate."

His voice was low, commanding.

The men guarding the post hesitated, glancing at each other, then at Tommy.

No one moved.

No one spoke.

Joel’s jaw ticked, grip tightening. "Open the damn gate!" he snapped, his voice a sharp crack of thunder, booming across the yard. Diablo snorted beneath him, ears pinning back as his hooves shifted nervously in the dirt.

Still, no one made a move. Joel’s patience snapped.

He swung his glare back to Tommy, voice low, dangerous. "You can stay here and play it safe, but I’m going."

Tommy exhaled sharply through his nose, rubbing a hand down his face, muttering something under his breath. But he gave a quick nod to the men at the gate.

The locks disengaged. The doors groaned.

Joel didn’t wait.

The second the opening was wide enough, he kicked his heels in, sending Diablo into a hard gallop, tearing out into the open.

He didn’t care what Tommy had to say.

Didn’t care that he was riding into the unknown, alone.

Didn’t care that this wasn’t his fight.

He didn’t care that he hardly knew you.

Because he did know you, after all.

You were light and soft and gentle in a world that hardened even the best of souls. You smiled at people when they spoke to you, laughed easily, touched others when you talked—little brushes of your fingers over an arm, a squeeze to a shoulder, things Joel wasn’t used to seeing anymore. You had no reason to be kind, no reason to be so goddamn good, and yet, you were.

And now the world had you.

It didn’t matter that he’d never spoken to you, that he had tried so damn hard to keep his distance. He had stayed away, convinced himself it was better that way, easier. But that hadn’t stopped you from getting into his head, hadn’t stopped you from settling into the places he didn’t have room for you, hadn’t stopped his chest from tightening all goddamn day wondering if you were still breathing.

Because he knew what was out there.

He knew what waited in the trees, in the shadows, in the abandoned places people never came back from. He knew how quickly a routine patrol could turn into a massacre, how easy it was to be there one second and gone the next. He knew how fast infected could pop up from the dark, how quickly a gun barrel could press against a skull, how little it took for someone like you to disappear forever.

And if that happened—if he found you out there, lifeless and cold—Joel didn’t know what the hell he’d do.

Joel spotted the outpost cabin up ahead, barely visible through the dense green of the trees, its frame old and weather-worn. A lone horse stood tied outside, shifting restlessly. As he rode closer, his eyes flicked to the J brand on its croup. Caleb’s.

His stomach twisted.

He swung off Diablo without thinking, barely registering his own movements as he tied the reins to the nearest branch. His heart was hammering, his breath coming hard and fast, sweat slicking the back of his neck as he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

His heart launched into his throat when he first saw you. You were slightly slumped against the wall, your fingers curled tenderly around your leg, face pale.

Joel could barely breathe. His body moved quickly, crossing the space in seconds. You were alive, you were alive. Everything was fine.

Your eyes widened in surprise, but then something in your face softened—relief, gratitude. "Joel?"

His throat was dry. "What happened?" His voice came rough, low, sharp with something too close to panic.

Your lips parted like you weren’t sure if you were hearing him right. This was the first time he had ever spoken to you—really spoken to you—but right now, none of that mattered.

You exhaled shakily. "Eclipse spooked at something. Threw me off. I-I landed wrong." You grimaced, shifting slightly as you gripped your leg. "I think it’s broken.”

Joel’s chest went tight. Broke your leg. Out here. With no way back.

The scenario was too damn close to something worse, and he hated how easily his brain filled in the gaps. If you hadn’t made it to the outpost…if you’d landed just a little worse. Where the hell was your supposed patrol partner and why wasn’t he taking you back to Jackson?

"How long you been here?" His voice was clipped, his hands already moving, pushing back the fabric of your pants to see the damage.

"Couple hours," you murmured, watching him. "We managed to get here, checked the logbook like we were told to. I didn’t know what else to do."

Joel’s jaw flexed. You were trying to be strong. He could see it in the way you held yourself, in the way you downplayed the situation, like you weren’t sitting here with a broken goddamn leg and no real protection.

Before he could say anything else, footsteps sounded at the doorway.

Caleb.

Joel looked up, and something in him snapped.

The kid had the nerve to look relieved. "Oh—Joel, you found us."

Joel was already on his feet, moving. He shoved the kid—hard.

Caleb stumbled back, barely catching himself against the doorframe. "H-hey—!"

"The hell were you doin' leaving her here?," Joel seethed, stepping forward, voice low and dangerous. "You left her here hurt and alone while you what? Sat on your ass?"

Caleb swallowed hard, eyes flickering between him and you. "I didn’t—I didn’t leave, I was out checking the perimeter—"

"Checking the perimeter?" Joel’s breath came sharp, bitter. "She’s got a broken goddamn leg. What the hell were you gonna do if something came through that door? If infected caught her like this? Why didn’t you turn back and take her home?!”

Caleb’s face flushed, his mouth opening like he wanted to argue, but Joel was already done listening.

"Get back to Jackson." He shoved the kid toward the door again, barely resisting the urge to do worse. "Tell ‘em she’s alive. Tell ‘em we’ll be back once I've patched her up.” Joel leaned in, voice dropping into something dangerous. "I’ll deal with you later."

Caleb hesitated, like he wanted to say something, but one more look at Joel’s face must’ve changed his mind.

He left, the door shutting behind him, and only silence followed.

Joel exhaled hard through his nose, still standing there, still furious, still running too hot, his hands clenched into fists.

“You didn’t need to be so hard on him,” you said softly from where you sat.

Joel’s scowl was back in full force as he turned toward you. "And you—" His voice came sharp, and that was when it hit him.

He was here. With you. Alone. And he was speaking to you for the first time. He had been so panicked when he walked in he barely noticed. The words he was ready to lash at you to you weren’t kind, weren’t measured. They were biting. They came with anger and frustration and fear and all the shit he hadn’t let himself process on the ride over.

He scrubbed a rough hand down his face, trying to reel himself in. "What the hell were you thinkin’? Switching out Jesse from your crew? Ain’t this your first patrol?"

Your mouth parted slightly, caught off guard. "I didn’t—" you hesitated. "I didn’t think it was a big deal. Jesse misses Dina, they wanted to spend more time—"

"Jesus, girl," Joel muttered, shaking his head. "That shit don’t matter! He was supposed to watch you because this is your first time out here. You needed someone in charge. Someone who knows the way."

You scrunched your nose, a flicker of irritation sparking across your face. "We were doin’ just fine."

Joel let out a dry, humorless scoff. "Yeah, looks fine to me."

And then—he stopped himself.

The words sat between you both, heavy, cutting.

This wasn’t how this should go.

He didn’t want this to go like this. Didn’t want the first real conversation between you to be this snappy, this barbed. You’d just made him so goddamn angry with your irresponsibility, had scared him too damn bad, and now he was running his mouth like some short-tempered asshole.

He needed to breathe. He needed to calm down.

Joel took a slow breath, scratching his beard before crouching back down in front of you. His fingers were still twitching, his body still wired too tight, but he forced himself to focus.

"Let me see again," he muttered, voice still gruff, but quieter now.

Your eyes flickered over his face, searching, but you didn’t argue. You shifted slightly, biting down a wince as you let him push the fabric of your pants up further to assess the break.

Joel’s jaw ticked. It was swelling badly already, bruising and tender to the touch, but at least it was something that could be fixed. That he could fix.

"Don’t look too bad," he murmured, rolling his shoulders to shake off some of the tension.

"Really?" you huffed, shaking your head. "Cause it sure hurts."

Joel reached for his pack, pulling out what little medical supplies he had before scanning the cabin. "Just need to make a splint," he muttered.

His hands moved carefully, barely grazing you, barely touching you any more than he needed to. He worked in silence at first, securing the wood, wrapping the bandage around your leg in tight, practiced motions. You kept still, your breath catching here and there when he adjusted the angle, but otherwise, you didn’t complain.

And maybe that should have been his first sign.

Joel wasn’t sure when he noticed it—the way you were watching him, the way your fingers curled just slightly into the fabric of your pants, like you were bracing yourself for something more than just the pain in your leg.

He should have ignored it. Should have finished his work and moved on.

But something about the way you stayed quiet, your lips pressed together like you were holding something back, made him pause.

"You’re quiet," he murmured, tying the last knot in place.

You blinked. "What?"

Joel smirked, just slightly. "Was expectin’ more complainin’. But you’re sittin’ awful still."

You swallowed, your eyes flicking away for just a second before you forced a small, breathless laugh. "Just tryin’ to be a good patient, I guess."

He could tell that wasn’t the whole truth. And for some reason, he couldn’t stop himself from pushing.

"That so?" His fingers lingered a little longer than necessary, grazing against the bandage before he pulled back. "You ain’t the nervous type, are ya?"

You let out a soft scoff, but your voice was quieter now. "No."

But you hesitated, and Joel noticed. He wasn’t supposed to like that. Wasn’t supposed to let it sit in his chest the way it did. But you did things to him, even from the very moment you’d arrived. You’d gotten under his skin in ways he hadn’t been prepared for, and even now, as he knelt beside you, his fingers still lingering over the bandage, he wondered—

He thought he’d been the one avoiding you at all costs. He thought he’d been keeping clear of the girl who was too bright and bushy-tailed, someone who was so different from him, so good. He thought he’d done a damn good job of steering clear, of making sure he was just another face in Jackson to you.

But now, looking at you—your cheeks tinged pink, your breath just a little uneven, your hands clenching and unclenching like you didn’t know what to do with them—his mind pulled back to the little things. The way you would duck out of his way every time too. The way, if he ever caught your eye across a room, your cheeks would flush, your fingers would twitch, and you’d excuse yourself just as quickly as he had.

And when you had come to his house to find Ellie… You had been flustered then, just as uncertain as him, though he had been too wrapped up in his own damn head to see it. He’d been too focused on why the hell you were standing there in his doorway, too busy trying to tamp down the immediate, sharp pull in his chest that had threatened to unravel him the second he saw you in the morning light. He had been so sure he was the only one feeling it, so convinced he was the only one being rattled by your presence.

But he remembered the way you had blushed under his stare, shifting on your feet, your voice softer than usual, your breath catching just slightly when he didn’t say anything right away.

Jesus. Had you felt it too?

Had you been trying to stay away from him just as much as he had been trying to stay away from you?

Had it been there this whole time?

And if it had…

Then Joel didn’t stand a goddamn chance.

Something slow and warm uncurled in his chest, something dangerous that he swore he’d lost for forever. His fingers brushed against your knee as he adjusted the wrap, just the lightest graze, but it was enough to make you shift, to make you pull in a breath.

His throat very dry suddenly as he spoke, "Somethin’ wrong?" His voice was low, quiet.

You blinked, shaking your head too quickly. "No."

But you hesitated. Joel smirked. "No?"

You exhaled sharply, dropping your gaze. "Joel—"

His name in your mouth did something to him. Something deep and warm and dangerous.

"Hm?" he hummed in question, his voice quieter now, rougher at the edges.

You hesitated, shifting slightly under his touch again, your fingers tightening against the fabric of your pants before you finally looked up at him again. There was something in your eyes—uncertainty, hesitation, something else—and for a second, he almost thought you wouldn’t say it.

Then, softly, you whispered, "Why’d you come all the way out here?"

His chest went tight, his breath uneven. There were a hundred ways he could answer, a hundred ways he could try to explain what had driven him out here, why he had stormed out of Jackson without a second thought, why he had spent every damn second of the day thinking about whether you were still alive.

His fingers found yours, brushing over your knuckles before he took them, his touch hesitant at first, like he wasn’t sure if he had any business holding you like this. His grip was steady, warm, his thumb grazing over your skin in slow, careful circles—maybe to soothe you, maybe to soothe himself.

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, forcing himself to just say it.

"I had to," he murmured.

And then, before he could stop himself, before he could think about how much of a fool he was making of himself if you pulled away, how out of his depth he was, he kissed your hand.

Your fingers were so soft, so small in his wide grip, his calloused palm swallowing yours as his lips pressed into your knuckles. His eyes stayed on you all the while, drinking in every shift, every reaction—how your pupils blew wide, how the flush crept hot across your cheeks, how your tongue darted out to wet your lips like you didn’t even realize you were doing it.

Joel didn’t move, didn’t let go, didn’t do a damn thing but hold you there, feel you there, his lips pressed against you like he had any right to be touching you like this.

Slowly and carefully, as if you didn’t want to startle him, you lifted your free hand. Your fingers brushed tentatively along his jaw, skimming through the rough patch of stubble on his cheek, tracing over the lines life had carved into him. You were watching him now, your eyes flickering down, settling on his lips.

Joel only released your knuckles from his lips when he felt your hand pulling him closer to you, and he let you.

For once, after so many years of feeling like he needed to always be thinking of the next move, to be in control at every turn, his mind went quiet.

It was never quiet.

Not since the world had ended. Not since he’d lost everything. His thoughts had become a constant, grinding machine—always assessing, always calculating, always searching for the next threat, the next weak spot, the next thing that could go wrong. He had learned, too many times over, that the second you let your guard down, you paid for it in blood.

So he never let himself stop.

But now, you were touching him. So soft, so gentle, so careful. Your fingers running over his jaw like he was something worth handling carefully. Like you weren’t afraid of him.

And for the first time in years, that instinct—the one that told him to always be ready, to be hard, detached, sharp—just… stopped.

His mind went quiet.

And then your mouth found his.

The kiss was tentative at first, cautious, like neither of you wanted to be the one to break it, to admit this was happening. But then your fingers curled into the nape of his neck, your breath warm against his, and Joel—god help him—tipped his head and deepened it.

His hand found your jaw, his thumb brushing against your cheek, holding you there, steadying you like he needed to, like he had to.

And for the first time in a long, long time,

Joel let himself have something good.

#im really in my feels about this one guys #Joel miller #Joel miller x you #Joel miller x reader #Joel miller fanfic #Joel miller fluff #Joel miller tlou #the last of us #the last of us fanfic #joel tlou #tlou #Jackson!joel

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honeyhotteoks · 1 year ago

Text

lessons in intimacy (k.ys)

summary: you didn't mean to actually meet the man who's audio porn was single handedly getting you off every night, but you do.

note: this has been a looooong time coming and is dedicated to one of my best friends, grace. 💗 i hope everyone enjoys this chaotic smut fest.... also i've recently discovered that porn is actually illegal to produce or consume in korea? so suspend your disbelief for this fic lol

warnings: camboy!yeosang/barista!yeosang x fem!reader, it's a smut-a-thon barely a plot in sight featuring - nsfw/audio porn, guided masturbation, female masturbation, male masturbation, lots and lots of orgasms, use of dildo, nipple play, one night stand dynamics except they kind of fall for each other, big and i mean big dick yeosang, oral sex (f receiving), gratuitous squirting, fingering, thigh riding/grinding, protected and unprotected sex (do not do this they're being hella dumb), rough sex, maaaaaajor praise play he says good girl more times than i can count, so much use of 'baby', plus pretty girl/babygirl, absolute pleasure soft dom yeosang of our dreams, reader literally passes out from coming you're welcome

pairings: yeosang x reader

genre: smut and more smut, where's the plot???

word count: 14.5K

additional note: yeosang owns a cafe in this fic called ongozisin, it's a real cafe in seoul and you can check out their ig here! the vibes are truly so yeosang i can't even articulate it, so i just wanted to share this for the extra visual!

Paid porn for women has tiers. You stumble headfirst into this realization with your fingers stuffed inside yourself and your body slick with sweat, and there’s nothing that takes you right out of your frantic self care session than a request for your credit card number and a terms of service page.

Your chest is heaving, legs shaking, and you feel your orgasm slip right through your fingers as you skim over his Fansly page. You should have just skipped to another one of his free audios on Pornhub like you always do, but this week was long and stressful and slightly emotionally fraught, and there’s only so many times you can ignore his husky little ad at the end of the audio file inviting you to check out the full, uncut content.

“Jesus,” You breathe, pushing yourself up in the bed and letting your phone drop to the side as you recover your breath.

Are you really going to do this? Are you really going to pay for porn? The internet is full of it, spilling over from every angle with any little thing you can imagine. There’s a reason Rule 34 exists, people are horny and people love attention, so if you can fathom it there’s free porn of it.

And yet, nothing ever, ever gets you there like he does, and you’ve never even seen his face.

You glance down at your phone again and you see his familiar header image, a deeply contrasted black and white header of tangled white sheets, and his username striking across the corner in neon green. fromryu. This is what drew you in initially, the simplicity of it all. You were sick of skimming through all of the men making porn for women with names like ‘TheMasterDominant’, ‘Your_Daddy’, or ‘forherpleasureee’ and then just listening to them groan in your ear and call you a slut for fifteen minutes. That might work for some, but it definitely doesn’t work for you.

Ryu was different, is different. His audios are a mix of scenario based role-plays and straight forward guided masturbation for women, and you’re pretty sure he comes right along with you when you listen, but it’s just not the same.

You’ve fucked yourself to every single one of his free audios. Some of them more than once, some of them several times, if you’re being honest. You’ve always ignored his ads, because he gives so much content away for free you can’t imagine what would be behind a paywall that would get you off harder, until today.

Your brain just couldn’t get there. You’ve heard him chuckle that chuckle before, say that line before, coax you into orgasm with those exact words before, and you need more.

Your credit card is firmly in your hand before you can give it another thought, and with a fluttering stomach you tuck yourself into a robe and back into bed to pick a tier. With a long sip of a fresh glass of wine you lean back in your pillows and read through his welcome page.

His tiers make you smirk, he’s funny.

Third base, full uncut audios and one special audio per month just for subscribers – $4.99/month

Just the tip, uncut audios, one special audio per month, and access to a private discord server where subscribers can make audio request submissions – $9.99/month

Every inch (and more), uncut audios, exclusive audios, access to discord, exclusive video content, and access to a private Snapchat - $24.99/month

In for a penny, in for a pound, you guess.

You click on ‘Every inch (and more)’ and plug in your card numbers before you have a second to rethink your decision. You really hope you don’t get hit with a fraud alert that you have to explain to some poor customer service representative.

The wheel spins, the charge goes through, and suddenly you’re in. Your mouth has never been so dry.

There’s dozens of videos, dozens. For every audio you’ve listened to on Pornhub, there’s a video that goes with it, and for every free piece of content there’s two times as much paid video content. $24.99 was nothing compared to how many hours of content you’re suddenly sifting through.

There’s a common thread across every video though, you can already tell from the thumbnails, Ryu still never shows his face. Almost every thumbnail is the same, a white wall and a charcoal gray couch, and a man wearing oversized black sweatpants and a tight black athletic shirt.

His knees are parted, legs spread open and casual, and his hands rest clasped between them. You swallow thickly at the sight of his arms. He’s built. His hands are so good looking you think idly that he should just be modeling watches or something, it’s ridiculous how nice they are. His skin is tanned, veins snaking up his forearms, and silver rings across several of his long, thick fingers. Can the sight of a man’s hands make you come? Your aching clit throbs.

You skim through the video titles and tags to try and select one and your stomach twists. His videos are even more varied than the free content he posts and organized so well you think you might be in love with him already.

There’s a folder for role play videos, and you skim through that quickly just to see. Neighbor overhears you moaning and comes to check on you, best friend takes your virginity, boss and secretary working late, brother’s best friend slips into your room at a sleepover, step-daddy teaches his babygirl a lesson.

Your cheeks flush hot pink and you settle further into your sheets, backing out of this folder and navigating to your tried and true favorite.

Guided masturbation and encouragement.

There are even more videos in this folder and you skim through any of those ones that say ‘exclusive’ in the title to avoid ones you’ve already heard parts of. The hashtags alone leave you breathless and you have no idea what to choose, every video cleanly tagged with what you’ll need to be able to keep up with his instructions. Hands only, rabbit vibe, hitachi wand, bullet vibe, dildo, butt plug, nipple clamps, lubricant, massage oil, blindfold, wrist restraints, ankle restraints, the list goes on and on.

You select one at almost random with the tags ‘hands and fingers’, ‘dildo’, and ‘optional squirting’.

The screen starts black, and for a second you’re pretty sure something’s wrong, but then you hear him.

“Hi everyone,” Your muscles melt, and you push your noise canceling earbuds deeper into your ears, “I have something a little special today,”

You’ve never heard him talk so casually, almost like a vlogger or something. His voice hasn’t yet shifted into that deep teasing tone that kicks off every free video, and you’re already sold on every dollar you’ve spent when he starts to just chat.

“I got a request from a special subscriber in my discord,” He says, “someone who’s become a friend and who confided in me that she’s never been able to make herself squirt,”

Your breath comes a little more quickly.

“It’s not easy to do, I know,” He says, tenderly, the screen still black, “and I want you all to know that if you’re still struggling after this audio, that’s okay. It takes time, and your body is not a sex toy. There’s not a perfect combination that works for every person with a vagina,”

Your brow quirks at the inclusivity of his language choice and you smile a little, easing yourself down in the bed to keep listening to him.

“But I’m going to do my best to help you,” He continues, “so while I get set up over here, I need you to get your own space ready. Get up out of bed or off the couch, but keep me with you, okay, baby?”

You’re shaking and he hasn’t even said anything sexy yet. You don’t always listen perfectly to instructions, sometimes you skip ahead a bit and get to the good stuff just to get yourself off, but this time it’s different. You tuck your phone in your robe pocket and stand.

“For this session,” You can almost see the smile in his voice and you try to imagine him, “you’ll need a couple of good towels laid out across your space. You’ll need to drink a big glass of water before we get started, and then I want you to find your best dildo, the one that really makes you come hard. The one that fills you up just right, that hits that tender little place you wish I was touching with my fingers,”

He’s going to make you come so hard you see Jesus, you can tell already.

“We need everything to be perfect,” He says, “and for you to be comfortable. Tonight is not the night to test out that new toy, okay? Tonight is for you and me, so go and get your supplies, and I’ll tell you all about my day. I’ll be your favorite little sexy podcast.”

As he starts warmly talking to his audience about his long lazy morning off work, you nearly crumble. You’re really not supposed to be getting a crush on this guy, but here you fucking are. He’s sweet, casual and laughs a little while he talks, and while you gather up the towels and the water and the frankly oversized dildo, you’re smiling.

You hear him sit down and sigh and then his voice shifts, just a little, “Alright, baby, are you ready?”

You sink back back down to sit on your own bed and you wait.

“Just a reminder,” He says, “I will be using female descriptors throughout this video. If you’re uncomfortable with me calling you ‘girl’, like babygirl or good girl, or referring to you as a woman in any way, I am posting the similar content with male descriptors. If you’d prefer to hear baby boy or good boy, check the links below this video, okay?”

You smile again.

“Alright,” He hums, “now, where were we?”

The camera clicks on and you feel the little gasp leave you. You almost forgot.

He leans back on the couch and keeps talking, “That’s right, the lesson. Get settled over the towels, and if you’re wearing anything, it’s time to take it off for me.”

You lay back over the towels and let your robe part open.

“That’s so good,” He croons softly, “god, you’re so pretty, baby,”

Your chest thumps hard.

“Let’s start slow, okay?” His hands smooth over his thighs, “the key here is teasing, and I know how much you like it when I tease you.”

Your hand rests on your own thigh, your other propping up the phone as you watch with rapt attention.

“Touch your pretty thighs for me,” His voice is rich and thick in your ears, “that’s a good girl, there we go, nice and soft. Is your pussy wet? Did I do that to you again, pretty girl?”

You’re barely breathing, eyes fixated on the screen as he strokes his own thigh through his sweatpants, slow and steady.

“Are you aching?” He asks and you can’t help but nod, feeling like suddenly he can see you through the screen.

“Touch just a little,” He murmurs, “but don’t jump ahead. Keep your fingers off your clit, we’re not there yet, sweetheart.”

A little tight sound slips out of you as you follow his instructions.

“Is your sweet slit wet?” He hums, and his hand slides up his thigh and rests over his stomach, “Are you throbbing?”

Fuck.

“Someday, baby,” He sighs and you watch him shift on the couch cushions, “I’ll taste you,”

“Fuck,” You whisper.

“But for now,” He’s smiling, you know it, “you just need to listen to me and do everything I tell you,”

You’re nodding again.

“I promise,” He says, “I’ll take such good care of you baby, if you listen, I promise to make you come.”

Your stomach clenches, core fluttering, and you drift your fingertips up and down your slit, following the way his middle finger is slowly sliding back and forth on his abs.

“Are you listening?” His voice goes husky and your head drops back into the pillows. Next time you’ll need a better way to watch him and listen and touch yourself, but you’re so incredibly desperate at this moment that it really doesn’t matter, you’ll make due.

“You are, aren’t you?” He murmurs, “Good girl,”

Your legs spread a little wider.

He leans forward, you hear the rustling of the fabric and you snap your eyes back to the video to see him leaning forward, hands clasped together loosely, and you’re pretty sure you can see the outline of a bulge in his sweatpants.

“Does it hurt?” He croons, teasing.

You love him like this.

“Take your hand away from your pussy,” He says, just a little more commanding, “right now, baby,”

You pull it back reluctantly.

“Close your eyes for a minute,” He murmurs, “spread your legs for me,”

You comply immediately.

“Tease your nipples,” He sounds a little breathier now and you fight the urge to watch the video, “do whatever feels good, touch your tits exactly the way you like it,”

You roll your nipples, tugging them softly and kneading your breasts with both hands now that you’re not propping up the phone.

“Imagine me with you,” He says, “feel my fingers sliding up your calves, my lips on your inner thigh, you can feel my breath against your sweet cunt, I know you can,”

You’re about to come untouched, that’s the thought that rocks through your mind when your hips jerk on their own, his deep voice nestled right in your ear.

“Look at you,” He muses, “squirming around, so fucking desperate for something inside you,”

Your breath catches.

“You’re so needy,” He continues, “are you making noise for me? Little pants, little moans? Are you trying to be quiet?” He clicks his tongue against his teeth, a soft scold, “Not with me, baby,”

A moan bubbles up out of you.

“Hands off.”

Your eyes open immediately, and you don’t pull your hands away just yet, but you’re frozen still. You’re breathing hard, blush climbing up your chest, and your hips jerk slightly. If he doesn’t let you touch yourself soon, you’re going to lose your mind.

“Good girl,” He says after a moment, “very good,”

You drop your hands, scrambling for the phone so you can see what he’s going to do next.

“Now watch me,” He instructs, holding his palm up to the camera, “take two fingers,” he separates his fingers, keeping his middle and index fingers tucked together, “and when they’re inside curl them just like this.” He crooks his fingers in a come-hither motion, “Just like this,”

You slide your hand down your front, slipping your fingers through your soaked folds, but his voice makes you pause.

“Go slow,” He instructs, “push them in nice and slow for me,”

You follow his instructions.

“There you go,” He sighs softly, “now curl your fingers,”

You watch as he does it in the video and you follow instructions dutifully, your fingers brushing over your spongy g-spot.

“Feel that?” He leans back, and the tent in his sweatpants makes you pant, “That perfect little spot that makes you whine so good for me?”

You nod again, biting down on your lip, desperate to move but waiting.

“When I say,” He slips his fingertips into his sweatpants, teasing you, “fuck your perfect pussy with those fingers,”

Sweat drips down your chest.

His hand disappears into his sweats and he groans, “Now,”

You don’t have to be told twice.

“Harder,” He says, throaty and low, “I know you can,”

A tight sound slips out of you as you work yourself, but you nearly fall apart when you watch him push down the top of his sweats. His cock is huge, there’s no other way to say it. Thick and perfect, aching pink at the head and when he wraps his hand around himself you feel the tense knot of your orgasm rushing back.

“Oh, f-fuck,” You scramble in the sheets, pulsing your fingers in and out just like he told you to.

“Look at you,” He says again, “fucking yourself for me. I bet you’re imagining my fingers, aren’t you? Just like I’m imagining your dripping pussy,”

Pleasure rocks in your gut.

“Use your other hand,” He instructs, “rub that clit for me,”

You drop the phone like it’s hot, and you have to crane your neck to see the video, but it doesn’t matter. He’s given you the perfect permission to do exactly what you need and you have to take it.

“Does that feel good, baby? Yeah? Do you feel like you need to come for me?” His voice gets closer to the microphone and you’re rapidly approaching the edge, “You’re so close, fuck, listen to you,”

“God, oh god,” Your legs are trembling.

“Do you see how hard you make me?” His fist jerks over his cock faster and your mind is unraveling, none of his other audios feel like this, “Do you know how much I want to see you come?”

Pressure drops in your belly.

“Fuck,” He pants, “you’re almost there, I know you want to come for me, but not until I say,”

It’s happening whether he wants it to or not, whether you want it or not, and your fingers bear down harder on your clit, your eyes locking closed, head falling back.

“Hands off,” He’s not teasing anymore, he’s telling, “right now, babygirl, hands off.”

You pull your hands away and it’s possible that nothing has ever felt as bad as this one stolen orgasm. Your hands are shaking, body flushed and slick with sweat, and if any of your neighbors are up they are probably getting an earful.

You lock eyes with the video again and his hands rest on his knees, cock standing tall and at attention, edging with you.

“Get that dildo nice and wet,” He says, and you search your sheets for the silicone cock, “in your mouth pretty girl, imagine that’s my cock between your lips,”

He strokes his hand slowly down his length, smearing a bead of precum down to the base of his shaft as you dip the cock between your lips and take it as far in your mouth as you can.

“It’s time to come,” He soothes, like he knows you’re a whining, quivering mess, “I know you need it,”

The dildo pops free from your mouth and you watch as he lifts the hem of his shirt to expose the smooth plane of his abs, “Fuck yourself with me, sweetheart,”

Pleasure pops through you as you press the toy to your hot channel.

“Nice and fast,” He pleads, thrusting into his fist, “don’t stop this time, not until you come,”

The bubble inside you expands again, pressure everywhere.

“Just trust me,” He whispers in your ear, “don’t stop. I’ve got you, I’m right here, you let go baby. Don’t fight it,”

Your back arches up off the bedding, the muscles in your arm aching as you thrust the toy in and out of yourself, pressing it up again and again into your g-spot.

“Come, baby,” He sounds like he’s begging, and your free hand flies down to grip the sheets, “let go, you come, that’s it, there you go,”

You turn your head, catching sight of him again and the way he works himself over.

“There we go,” He groans sharply, his own release spurting up ropes of cum onto his exposed chest, “can you feel me inside you? Come with me, that’s a good girl, good fucking girl,”

He sounds dizzy, panting himself, you’ve never heard him quite like this and one final thrust sends you spilling over the edge. Your vision whites, body locking up in ecstatic pleasure, and you clap a hand over your lips to stifle the moan that rips out of you.

It takes a minute to come back from that. Your ears ringing, and the dildo slips out of you with a final pulse from your shattering orgasm. He’s talking, you register it, but his voice sounds far away and you realize that you’ve lost your earbuds. You scramble to get them back in, pulling the video up to your eyes.

“-And that’s okay,” He’s saying, his cock tucked away and his shirt back down, “you can try again another time if you didn’t quite get there,”

For a second you’re confused, it was the hardest orgasm of your life, but then you remember this was intended to be a guided masturbation to squirt and you blush, alone in your apartment, at the fact that you didn’t quite get there and he’s talking to you.

“It’s all about the build up,” He explains, “but I’m sure with a little practice we can get you there.”

You’ve never really cared about squirting until now, but he makes it sound like a perfect date and something tells you that you’ll be back here again night after night if he’ll have you.

“Anyway,” He sighs and you hope he’s smiling above the camera, “thank you for spending a little bit of your day with me, I hope I made you feel as good as you made me feel,”

You blush again.

“I’ll see you soon,” He assures, gentle like a lover would, “sleep well, jagiya,”

The video cuts and you blink hard, you’re still smiling.

You are so, so fucked.

After that, Ryu becomes a problem. You wish it was just the videos and the dirty talk and the good orgasms, but it’s more than that. You just like to hear him talk now, the little bits at the beginning about his day are starting to get into your head. And then there’s the Snapchat.

You kind of expected the private Snap to be sexy photos and videos of him in the almost pitch dark huskily saying good morning, but it isn’t. You still have never seen his face, but his videos are casual, friendly, too real for a man you spend every night fantasizing about. He chats about things he’s doing or books he’s reading while he’s cooking, filming just shoulders down so you can watch the muscles in his arms while he chops vegetables. You fall in love with the sound of his voice when he’s just talking, his stretched out s-sounds that only really peek through outside of his constructed scenes. You find yourself missing him a little on days he doesn’t post.

You’ve gotten used to waking up with him, falling asleep with him, checking in on him during the day. His message announcements in Snapchat don’t feel like they’re for everyone, they feel like they’re for you. You know that’s not true of course, you know you’re paying a hefty monthly bill just to feel like this, but you don’t care. It’s been a while, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t just need some company.

It’s a Thursday when everything goes to shit.

You wake up far too late, forgetting to set the alarm on your phone after falling asleep directly after yet another Ryu narrated orgasm, and everything has been off kilter since. You’re scrambling to get to work on time and every little thing is going wrong. Your coffee machine isn’t turning on, the sweater you want to wear is still in the wash, and your umbrella will not open despite the rain that’s ruining what would have been a good hair day.

When you decide to stop into the coffee shop across from your office it’s not even a want, it's a need. You’re already thirty minutes late, why not make it forty-five?

You’ve never come here, not once. You’re used to going to the shop around the block from your apartment, and this place is new. Ongozisin is the kind of place you’d normally take your time in. The space is clearly industrial, concrete walls and flooring made to look unfinished. The aesthetic is still warm though, with natural dark wood furniture and bamboo accents, Joseon era paintings and a juniper bonsai along the back wall.

To the left side of the cafe stands a bay of tall windows and the very modern, very clean point of sale. The line isn’t too long, but you can see that the pace of this place is slower by design, so maybe you’ll just round up and call it an hour late. A door opens to your left and you watch as one of the baristas steps out from a kitchen holding two black plates of colorful, carefully constructed pastries.

The line moves ahead of you, and the person behind you softly clears their throat to jog your attention.

You step closer, only one person ahead of you now.

When you hear his voice you nearly reach for your phone.

“That’s perfect,” It’s Ryu, clear as day. His voice is distinct and deep and here.

Your eyes snap up to the barista behind the counter, your body frozen stock still as you take him in, mind spinning.

“Do you want any cream?” He says to the woman ordering.

Blush lights up your cheeks and all you can think about is the video you watched the night before and his voice in your ear - Do you want my cum inside you, pretty baby?

You should leave. There’s a reason this man is anonymous on the internet, never showing an inch of his face, and Ryu isn’t even his name, it's just what you call him. He never calls himself anything in the videos, never reveals what part of Korea he lives in, never talks about his job. He doesn’t want to be found.

You’re about to turn, run, scramble away, but his voice comes again and this time you realize he’s talking to you. The man, Ryu, smiles, “Good morning, can I get you something?”

You’re frozen.

“Miss?” A little crease between his brows.

“Sorry,” You jump forwards, ignoring the annoyed huff behind you and shaking off as much of this panic as you can, “I don’t know where my head is this morning,”

“That’s alright,” He says warmly, “that’s what I’m here for,”

You can’t say anything, your mind blanks.

His eyes flick over you and then he nods, “You know, coffee? To wake you up?”

“Right!” You nod, “Sorry, yes, an americano please,”

“Iced or hot?” He asks.

Are you feeling hot, babygirl? Do you need to take something off for me?

“Hot,” You say it on a reflex but then you remember yourself, “no sorry, iced, iced please,”

“Okay, sure,” He smiles, “iced,”

You make it through payment without too much more embarrassment, apologizing again, and then you step to the side. Another barista appears, slotting into Ryu’s place so he can turn his attention to the drinks he needs to make and you take the moment to get composed.

He’s handsome, that’s a given. You expected that, but still he looks even better than your imagination conjured up, more real. He looks exactly right for this cafe too, his black hair long enough to brush the base of his neck with half gathered into a ponytail, pieces loose to frame his angular face. He’s dressed smartly too, black oversized trousers and a fitted black t-shirt, slim black boots, and an open jacket in a dramatic modern-hanbok style. You realize you’re staring the minute his eyes hold on yours and they crinkle up as he smiles. He has a birthmark, a smooth light pink flush across his eye and your heart thumps in your chest.

“Long night?” He asks you, passing off a coffee in a mug to the woman who had been ahead of you in line.

He just puts you at ease and you nod, “Something like that,”

“Ah,” He knocks out the round cake of used espresso from the portafilter as he talks, “and you look like you got caught in the rain, don’t you have an umbrella?”

“Broken,” You grimace, “it’s been one of those mornings,”

“Mm,” He nods, focusing on queueing up espresso for your americano, but while the shots pull he turns back to you, “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before?”

You shake your head, “No, first time,”

“Do you like it?” He gestures around with a nod of his head.

“Very much,” You smile, “it’s a great space,”

He smiles again, looking proud, “I’m glad you like it,” he says, “we haven’t been open very long, but so far people have seemed to enjoy it,”

“Oh,” You watch him pour your espresso over ice, “is the cafe yours?”

He nods, “Mine and my friend’s,”

You wish you weren’t late, you wish you were able to stay just a little longer.

“Well,” You tell him honestly, “it’s beautiful here, I’ll have to come in more often, I only work across the street.”

“Ah,” He nods, “I thought you looked familiar,”

Blush creeps up your neck.

“Did you need cream?” He asks and you hope he doesn’t notice the way your pulse quickens at his words, but he nods towards your coffee and you shake your head.

“Thank you,” You take the cup off the bar and step back, “I appreciate it.”

“I hope that helps,” He says, and then he glances behind you at the large round window, “actually, I’m sorry, can you wait one moment?”

“Sure,” You watch him duck out from behind the bar, making a quick beeline for the swinging door that leads back into the kitchen. You have no idea what he could want, there’s no way you’d be recognized by him except as a stranger on the street, and your stomach knots up.

It takes him a moment, but he darts back out, a long black umbrella in his hand, “Take this,”

“I can’t do that,” You wave a hand, “I’m only across the street, but that’s really kind of you,”

“If you’re only across the street then I know where to go to get it back,” He shakes his head, “just take it, it’s raining like crazy out there,”

He presses the handle of the umbrella into your free hand, and your breath catches in your throat, his skin brushing against yours. Your eyes flick over his rings, just the same as always. A signet with a deep black stone, a hammered silver band, a clearly vintage one on his index finger that looks like an old Catholic saint token, the finer details rubbed away with age.

“What time do you close?” You ask, accepting the umbrella.

“Seven,”

“I’ll bring it back after work then,” You tell him, “is that alright?”

He nods, “But if it’s still raining, just keep it. Bring it by tomorrow,”

“Tomorrow,” You nod.

“Mhm,” He nods, something warm in his expression, “this will have to be your new usual spot,”

Is he flirting? You’re wholly and entirely unprepared to deal with that considering the way you moaned his name last night. Something clicks in your brain at that thought though and you nod, “Maybe it will. I’m y/n, by the way,”

“Yeosang,” He smiles, “it’s very nice to meet you.”

Yeosang.

“You too,” You dip your head, “and thank you again for this,”

“Of course,” He says, “I hope this turns your morning around a little,”

You open your mouth to say something, but there’s a voice from the cafe bar that slices cleanly between your conversation, “Yeosang-ah!”

Yeosang glances back and then he sighs, just a little, “I have to go,” he tells you, “but I’ll see you again,”

“See you again,”

He’s back behind the bar before you can blink, focusing on each customer’s order. The man who called his name is grinning, and you wonder idly if he’s the friend who owns the cafe with Yeosang or just a part-timer.

With your stomach fluttering, you push out into the rain to get to work, Yeosang’s name on a loop in your brain for the rest of the day. When you get home, his umbrella resting by the door, you delete his Snapchat from your contacts and unsubscribe from his Fansly account.

Ongozisin becomes a daily ritual.

The money you used to spend on his Fansly now goes straight into the cafe, first thing in the morning before work and a last lingering stop in the evening before you go home.

On busy days you barely get to see him and sometimes you’re left just chatting with Wooyoung, his best friend and business partner. You like him too, you like the atmosphere and their kind warmth, but if you’re being honest you find yourself living for slow days. The days where you’ve timed it just right to have a little talk before the rush of the day or the closing tasks of the evening.

Little by little, Ryu fades from your mind, and the man in front of you is just Yeosang. The guy who runs your favorite coffee shop, the guy who dresses almost otherworldly, who smiles wide but only when you say something truly funny, who sometimes gets lost in his own head while he’s making cappuccinos.

He’s lovely.

Sometimes you think he might be flirting, a little more suavely and charismatic than his business partner who asked if you had a crush on him since you were coming into the cafe so much. Sometimes Yeosang adds a little extra treat to your plate of food or he adds pretty latte art to your cup if you’re staying in the cafe. That might be nothing, but it certainly might be something.

It isn’t until another day of rain, harsh pelting rain, that Yeosang appears at your table.

“We close soon,” He says, and when he sees the brief flash of concern that you’ve overstayed your welcome on your face he shakes his head, “sorry, I meant to ask, how are you getting home tonight?”

“The train,” You glance outside.

His nose crinkles, “You don’t have an umbrella today either,”

“True,” You look down at your belongings, “I didn’t check the weather,”

“If you wait a bit for us to lock up,” He says, “I’d be happy to walk you to the station,”

“Oh,”

“Or if you’re not busy,” He clears his throat softly, “I could walk you to this little restaurant around the corner?”

Flirting, then.

You smile and nod, trying to keep your eagerness tamped down to a normal amount, “Are you asking me out, Yeosang?”

He grins, “I’ve been trying to,”

Your stomach flips pleasantly, “I’ll wait, dinner sounds nice,”

His shoulders sag, a little relief in his expression and he clears away your empty cup as he says, “I’ll be quick,”

You catch Wooyoung slapping his friend's shoulder as he disappears into the back room, and before you know it you’re blushing and sitting across from this man at the restaurant down the block.

Dinner is so smooth it feels surreal. It turns out you both like the same music, and several books too, and you’ve never been on a date with a man who asked you so many questions about yourself and didn’t just talk your ear off. Dinner stretches long too, and you’re strangely grateful it’s a Friday when you finally do check the time. He has to work on Saturday at the cafe, but not until a little later in the morning, and so neither one of you really wants to call it quits.

The after dinner walk turns meandering, and then his hand is brushing against yours, knuckles to knuckles.

You don’t think of him as Ryu until his fingers brush down your back, lips close to your ear when he finally asks you. The way he does makes your body melt - I hope I’m not ruining things by asking, but would you like to come home with me tonight?

You agree before your mind catches up to itself, but every step of the walk to his apartment has your heart picking up speed. You had forgotten on the date how you met him, really met him, and your gut churns.

Do you tell him? Do you lie?

Everytime he grins at you, touches you, tucks his long hair behind his ear and nods, you can’t imagine a one night stand. You could maybe swallow the truth if that’s all this was to you, but it’s not, and so you can’t.

On his block you feel the internal countdown ticking.

“You can change your mind, you know,” He offers, noticing how you’ve gone quiet, and it pulls you straight out of your thoughts.

“Oh,” Your head snaps up, “I’m sorry, I don’t want to change my mind at all, I just got a little lost in thought.”

He nods, this time finding your hand and giving you a squeeze, his steps slowing as you approach his building, “Can I ask what about?”

You nod, returning the soft pulse of his hand in yours before separating your skin from his. His eyes flick down to your hands, and then back up to your eyes.

“I have a bit of a confession,” You swallow hard, “something I think I should tell you before we go upstairs,”

“Okay,” He leans against the stone wall behind him, “is everything alright?”

“I hope so,” You nod, “I just feel like there’s something I should say now, and if it makes you uncomfortable at all, just be honest. I’ll go home, no hard feelings,”

“y/n,” His brows draw together in confusion, “what’s going on?”

You take a deep breath, taking a step back to get a little breathing room, “I recognized you when I came into the cafe that first day,”

“Recognized me?”

“Yeah,” You clear your throat, your chest feeling tight, “for the past few months I’ve been… a subscriber,”

“A subscriber,” He repeats, and for a brief flickering second you wonder to yourself if this man just looks and sounds and feels exactly like Ryu but isn’t, but then his face blanches, “oh,”

“I’m not anymore,” You shake your head, “and clearly you like your privacy, so I didn’t know how to just come out and say it, but if you’re actually interested in me and not just being flirty at the cafe then I just can’t lie to you… I don’t want to start something with a lie,”

He’s quiet, and then his eyes flick down.

It was so, so nice while it lasted.

“I should have told you sooner,” Your stomach flips and you take another step back, “and I completely understand that you’re upset, I’ll just, I won’t say anything to anyone and it was lovely getting to know you, and I’m sorry, I’ll go,”

His head snaps up, “Go? y/n, stop, slow down,”

His hands smooth down your forearms as he jumps forwards, pulling you gently back towards him. Your heart is beating so loud you can practically hear it, “I’m sorry,”

“I’m not upset,” He assures, “can we go inside to talk? I don’t want to do this in the street,”

You nod, letting him lead you through the garden gate and up towards the house, but his words pulse on a loop in your mind. You hope he’s good at letting you down easy because this hurts. You should have known it that first day at the cafe, you should have stayed away and not played with fire.

His house is small, but very nice and despite being sparsely decorated, you like it. You feel trapped in the entryway so unsure of what to do in this space, especially when you recognize the corner of his gray couch.

“Can I get you a drink or something?” He interrupts your thoughts, “I have wine, probably some soju, and a bottle of truly undrinkable Japanese whisky,”

“Undrinkable?” You blink.

“I think it’s supposed to be very good if you like whisky,” He explains, “it was a gift,”

“Ah,” You couldn’t feel more awkward if you tried, “wine, I guess?”

“Okay,” He smiles, a close lipped polite smile that doesn’t quite touch his eyes, “well, make yourself comfortable, I’ll get us a drink and then we can talk,”

“Sure,” You’re still frozen as he walks away down the hall to what you presume is the kitchen. It takes a minute to unstick yourself, but you make your way to the couch and wait.

He returns with two glasses of red wine and then he sits in the chair opposite you, not on the stretch of couch next to you.

“Sorry,” You take the wine, stomach flip flopping, “I know this isn’t how you thought the night would go,”

“Mm,” He nods, taking a sip of his drink.

“I don’t know what to say,” You tell him honestly.

He nods, looking anywhere but at you until he finally meets your eyes again, “You’re not a subscriber anymore?”

“No,” You tell him firmly.

“Why?” He asks, and the question hangs between you.

“When I recognized you at the cafe and you were being so nice to me,” You explain, “it occurred to me that something might happen between us, as friends or otherwise, and it just felt wrong to know you as Yeosang and then… engage with your content that is clearly anonymous and meant to be private. I didn’t want to do that without you knowing,”

He nods, setting his glass on the nearby coffee table, “I see,”

“You are keeping it private, right? I feel like you’re careful to not overshare,”

“Yes,” He nods, “no one knows.”

“Then I really am sorry,” You set your own glass aside and lean forwards, “I’m sure you didn’t want to bring your real life as Yeosang and your online life as Ryu together, I just recognized your voice immediately that day in the cafe,”

“As Ryu?” He glances back up at you.

“That’s what I…” You try to parse through it so it doesn’t sound like a parasocial affair, “fromryu, you know? That’s just what I filled in for your name, I guess,”

“Ryusang,” He nods, “it’s the Hanja spelling of Yeosang,”

“Oh,” You soften.

“Why didn’t you mention you knew me before?” He asks, but despite his words nothing in his demeanor is upset, just curious.

You take another large, steadying gulp of wine and nod, “I didn’t really think the cafe was an appropriate place to tell you that I’ve gotten off to your voice before,”

He laughs sharply and looks down, “Okay, that’s fair,”

“Right,” You murmur.

“y/n,” He sounds hesitant and you look back up to him, “can I ask you something?”

“Anything,”

“Did you come out with me tonight because you wanted to go out on a date with the guy from the cafe, or because you wanted to have sex with Ryu?” The question is direct and cutting.

“With you,” You answer quickly, and now you know exactly why he’s putting this distance between you, “you, Yeosang.”

He’s quiet, turning your words over, you can practically see him thinking.

“Yeo,” You murmur, fighting the urge to reach out to him, “if all I wanted was that, I wouldn’t have told you. But I really like you, Yeosang, and I’d like to see more of you and see where this could go, but I completely understand if me knowing this part of you is too much. If you don’t want to go any further with me romantically or as a friend, this can just be a nice date we both had,”

He nods and then says, “I have one more question,”

You wait, your stomach in knots.

“Do you have a problem with what I do?” He asks.

“I mean,” You shake your head, “I was a subscriber, so no,”

“I don’t mean like that,” He clarifies his words, “I mean in terms of a romantic relationship. I like my work, both the cafe and the content, and if we start seeing each other I’m not going to suddenly stop making porn just like I wouldn’t close the cafe.”

“I’m not asking you to,” You shift over on the couch and reach towards him, resting a hand on his forearm.

“I’ve dated a few women,” He explains, slipping his hand into yours and twining your fingers together, “this was not something any of them were comfortable with,”

“Oh,” You nod, but he continues.

“A couple of them thought it might be fun,” He adds, “but when things got more serious they expected me to stop for them,”

“I’m sorry,” You tell him quietly, “I don’t expect anything like that,”

“You don’t now,” He points out, “and neither did they in the beginning.”

You can see the way this has fucked with his head a little, the way he keeps his shoulders stiff and turned away from you as he explains, and you suppose you might react the same way if you were in his shoes.

You chew the inside of your lip as you think about how best to say this to him, but finally you manage it, “Yeosang,” you get his attention, “what you do for work doesn’t change what we do on a date or in bed,”

He turns his head a little, the only indication you have that he’s really listening.

“I have no expectation that you’re some… sex god,” You smile a little, “though my guess is that you’re pretty good at dirty talk,”

A small smile appears on his lips.

“If I didn’t like what you do for work I’d go find another guy,” You continue, “and I’m sorry if the other women you dated weren’t comfortable with it, but I’m not so shy about it. I like what you do, and you’ve helped me plenty, and there’s nothing more flattering than knowing you liked me enough to even bring me upstairs,”

“Don’t sell yourself short there,” He looks up, shaking his head, “when you said yes to dinner I thought I’d be lucky if I got to so much as touch you,”

Your heart quickens in your chest, “You, what?”

He turns his body towards you properly now, “y/n,” he says, “I like you, I’ve liked you since you walked into the cafe soaking wet and exhausted, I’ve been trying to figure out how to ask you out for weeks.”

“I think I’m dreaming,” You breathe, and he grins at your words. You clap a hand over your lips and groan, “Sorry, I didn't mean to say that outloud,”

“It’s honest,” He says, “I like that about you,”

“Well,” Your hands naturally separate as you lean back onto the couch, “then believe me when I tell you that I am fine with your work. All aspects of your work,”

His eyes flick over you, gauging how honest you’re being now, “All aspects?”

You nod again.

“y/n,” His voice softens, “what tier subscriber were you?”

It clicks in your brain that you haven’t really told him everything, all the things you know about him and his work. Little audio videos here and there might be forgivable to some women, but more might be too much.

“The highest,” You tell him, “when I say everything I mean it, the videos, the Snapchat, all of it.”

He seems to relax at that, “And if this does go somewhere,” he gestures between you both, “if we keep seeing each other. If it becomes more than a few dates,”

You nod.

“You’re alright knowing that even if we were dating and going to bed together every night, I spend my free time making people come on the internet for money,” He says it so plainly that you have to blink at him.

You turn his words over and then sigh, “There’s one thing,”

He leans back in his chair, putting a little more distance between you both, obviously braced for your words.

“I just have a question,” You ease him, “just something I should know, I think.”

He nods once, his shoulders tense again.

“Do you ever talk one on one with people?” You feel your cheeks heat, “I know you do, you have the discord, but I mean do you ever do what you do alone with someone?”

He softens, “No, no I don’t,”

“Okay,” You nod, the tense knot in your stomach relaxing, “okay, then,”

“Would that be a boundary for you?” He asks.

“I think so,” You tell him, “it’s different when you’re making a video to upload for anyone and talking to someone, at least to me,”

He nods, and then he moves, shifting from his position on the chair to your side on the couch. The nerves that were knotted deeply inside you start to unfurl, his proximity feeling like a peace offering, like an acceptance of your words.

“Subscribers aren’t lovers,” He says finally, “and some people blur that line with their content, but I don’t.”

“Then, Yeosang,” You take the opportunity to slide yourself sideways a little closer to him, “I am fine with all aspects of your work, more than fine.”

“Will you tell me if that ever changes?” He asks.

“Yes,” You make him this promise, “I like you too, all I want is to be honest with you,”

He nods, his fingers flexing on his thigh as he thinks. Finally, he swallows tightly, his skin flushing a little now that you’re almost pressed together on the couch, and he asks what he’s wanted to ask all night, “y/n,” he turns towards you, “can I kiss you?”

He’s stunning this close, enough to render you speechless, breathless. You manage a single word, “Please,”

He’s on you in a flash, and Yeosang’s lips are warm, soft and plush and as he presses into you and winds his arms around you. Your body relaxes into his instantly, the feeling of his warmth, the scent of him, rich coffee grounds and sugar infused into his skin from his work at the cafe.

His tongue probes your mouth, his breath hot as he sighs. Your body feels alight, hot and feverish and desperate from just a single kiss. You need him inside you yesterday.

When he breaks the kiss, you realize you’re half straddling him. Somewhere in the heat of the moment and the muddled fog you hitched a leg over his and his hands dragged you up against him so you’re chest to chest. When your mouths break apart, you’re still merely inches from each other and panting the same little breath of air.

“y/n,” His hands explore you slowly, moving over your skin like he’s trying to learn you, “normally I would try to keep the kink to a future date, but since you already know all of my deepest, darkest fantasies, maybe we can skip ahead?”

“Yes,” You laugh softly, “definitely,”

“But I am realizing something,” His hands find the curve of your ass, “I’m at a disadvantage here, you’ve seen my videos, but I don’t know anything about what you like.”

“You,” The word bubbles up and you flush red again.

“My voice, I’m sure you like that,” He drops it a little to emphasize the husky bedroom quality of it with a teasing smile on his face, “but what videos do you like? What were your favorites?”

He’s about to ruin you, there’s absolutely no question. Even if he was all talk you’re sure to be coming just from his words alone, but his hands, the way he touches you, there’s no doubt he has the skills to back up everything he’s ever said in the videos too.

“Now I’m a little embarrassed,” You admit, “an hour ago we were on a first date,”

“An hour ago I didn’t know the woman across the table had fucked herself to the thought of me,” He counters softly, “and we can slow down if you want but judging from the wet patch on my thigh I think you want to keep going,”

You jerk your hips immediately, angling to pull them away so you can stop embarrassing yourself all over this man after a single kiss, but his hands lock down hard over your ass and he holds your body firmly against him.

“No, no,” He adjusts his leg so that his thigh is pressed even more firmly against your cunt, “don’t be embarrassed with me,”

“Right,” You blush darker.

“I’ll tell you what I want,” He offers, “would that help?”

You nod quickly.

One of his hands shifts to lovingly stroke up and down your back as he speaks, “I want you to enjoy this more than anything. There is nothing that gets me off harder than making a partner absolutely fall apart for me, and knowing I did that for them, and I think you already know that from my content. That’s real, that’s me.”

You shiver a little and he leans up to kiss you, softer this time.

“I’d like this to be good for you,” He continues, “and honestly I already want to see you again, but in case it’s only one night for you I think we should make it count.”

The night went from nothing to everything so fast your head is spinning but you nod, surging up to kiss him with your hands pressed against his chest for balance. Your core drags along his hard thigh with your momentum forwards and you gasp a little into the kiss, your hips bucking softly on their own at the sudden pleasurable sensation. You feel something stiff and warm pressing into your belly and you feel a rush of sensation between your thighs.

“So,” He kisses you again, leaning away so he can talk to you, “tell me what videos you liked,”

“The um,” You clear your throat softly, “the guided ones,”

He smiles, “Those are your favorites?”

You nod.

“And the roleplay?” He asks.

“Good,” You nod, “everything you do is really good,”

“But the guided ones get you off, hmm?” He squeezes your hips.

You nod again, “You’re very good at what you do,”

“Guided,” He says, almost to himself, before he drags your hips up and back along his thigh, “so you like when I talk you through it?”

You rock your hips on your own this time, picking up on his cues that he wants you to grind on him, “Mm-hmm,”

“Tell me more about what you like,” He keeps one hand planted firmly on your backside, but the other starts to wonder, fingers teasing the skin of your collarbones before he cups your breast through your sweater.

“Y-you’re so comforting,” You manage as you slowly rut your body against his, “even when you’re edging me and telling me what to do, you’re just, I don’t know,”

“Is that right?” He teases softly, his fingers toying with the top button of your closed cardigan.

“Mm,” You sigh, pleasure truly starting to build inside you as you rock your clit lazily against him, “and you understand it takes time for women,”

The button opens.

“You take your time with the build up,” You sigh, finding a better position for your hands against his firm chest while you continue to rock, “and when you talk about what you wish you could do to me if you were there,”

Two more buttons part open and he hums softly, appreciatively, “You like knowing what I want?”

You nod, watching as he makes short work of your other buttons.

“Maybe I should just show you,” He slides the cardigan off your shoulders until it pools around your waist, caught on your elbows, “wouldn’t that be better than just listening?”

“Y-yes,” You sigh, your hips slowing so you can let him take the lead.

He shakes his head, pressing his hand against your ass again to keep you moving, “That’s it,”

You moan softly, fingers gripping his shirt, “Yeosang,”

He chuckles at your needy whine and brushes his fingers between your breasts, stroking up your chest, down and over the wire of your bra, and lower still over the soft flesh of your belly.

“There you go,” He smiles, “I know that feels good,”

You nod, “So good,”

“Jagiya,” His hands slide your bra straps down, letting the soft material of the mesh cups fall and reveal your breasts to his hungry eyes, “look how pretty you are for me,”

You’re close.

“Don’t stop,” He murmurs, shifting under you so that he can sit up further and press his lips to your chest, “I need you to come,”

“Yeo,” You whine, your hips sinking into a quick rolling rhythm that feels so right.

“I need to take my time with you,” He confesses, lips traveling from the center of your chest across the swell of your breasts, “but I don’t think I can,”

“I-I don’t want you to,” You moan, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to stay steady, “please,”

“I want to,” He groans, “but, fuck, y/n,”

“Yeo,” You shudder, pleasure snapping up and down your spine, “it’s not one night, it could have never been one night for me,”

He exhales a heavy breath against your skin, hands tightening pleasantly on your rutting hips.

You’re startlingly close to tipping over the edge, the bubble growing closer and closer to bursting, and you squeeze your eyes shut tightly to focus on the sensation of him, “I-I need,”

He grips you harder, “Tell me, baby,”

“I, I,” You stammer, body stumbling towards coming.

“Come on,” He says lowly, “tell me what you need, baby, I’m right here,”

A tight sound bubbles out of your mouth and you figure it out in a second, your hand winding into the back of his hair to direct his head, pushing his mouth until you feel his lips ghost over your pebbled nipple.

“Oh,” He groans, his tongue catching your nipple firmly and sending a shock down your back, “there we go, I’ve got you,”

His tongue flicks over your nipple again, closing his lips over the hardened bud to suck sharply in exactly the way you need to take you right over the edge.

“I’m,” You grip him harder, losing yourself entirely now as you grind against him for your release, “I’m so close,”

“Come,” He pants, latching back onto your breast to keep lavishing the same attention, his arms banding tightly around you to hold your shuddering body close.

Your finger tightens in his hair, he begs you once more to come, and your orgasm knocks into you sideways. You moan sharply, jerking against him as you fall apart, and you feel him start to move.

He presses fast kisses across your chest, his voice soothing, “Oh, there we go,” he sighs as he feels you trembling, “fuck, what a good girl showing me exactly what she needs,”

His words draw a groan from your lips, your head buzzing at his praise.

“Perfect,” He sighs against your chest, “you have the prettiest tits I’ve ever seen,”

You shiver, “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” His fingers trace a circle around your nipple, and something in the way he’s touching you and the sound of his voice tells you everything. He’s about to tease you, edge you, make you come, and god willing he was about to fuck you. Yeosang flicks his thumb over your nipple and smiles, “Baby, I’m going to turn you over, if you want to slow down or stop at anytime you just tell me,”

“I think I’ll be,” You start to say, and then he maneuvers you quickly in his strong arms, gathering you close so he can turn you over on the couch, leaving you lying flat on your back against the cushions. You squeak and the way he pushes your legs together, quickly undoing the buttons on your trousers and pulling down the zip, and he glances up at the sound to check your eyes but finds nothing but your lazy post-orgasm smile.

As he kneels and strips your trousers off he groans, “God,”

“W-what’s wrong?” You blink, finding his eyes.

“Absolutely nothing,” He smooths his hands up and down your bare legs, “except I’m finding it very difficult not being inside you yet,”

“So come inside me,” You smile.

The corner of his mouth turns up at your words, “Already, baby? It’s only the first date,”

You process your words and roll your eyes, “You know what I meant,”

“I do,” He smiles wider now, “but you need to come again before I fuck you,”

“Not that I’m complaining about you touching me,” You gasp sharply as he hooks his thumbs under the sides of your thong and yanks it away, “but I’ve been daydreaming about your cock for months, so,”

He laughs sharply, tugging his own shirt up and off over his head as he does, “I’m flattered,”

“Shut up,” You press your thighs together and let your head flop back onto the cushions.

“Darling,” Yeosang says, kissing each of your thighs before he starts to slowly open your legs again, “how long has it been since you’ve been with someone?”

“Honestly?” You grimace, “A while,”

“And how long since you’ve had anything bigger than your fingers inside you?” He asks it so plainly, so calmly, while he widens your legs and starts to tip you open, another kiss to your inner thigh.

You shiver in his hands, “N-not that long,”

“Hmm,” He sounds pleased at that, “do you like using toys when you fuck yourself to my voice?”

“Fuck,” You gasp as his finger traces the softest line up and down your slit.

“Is that a yes?” He blows a cool stream of air across your throbbing clit and you jerk in his hands.

“Yes,” You answer quickly.

“What I wouldn’t give to watch that,” He says, kissing your inner thigh again before he continues, “but still, I’m probably bigger than your dildo, be patient with me,”

“Oh, fuck,” You melt as he presses one finger inside your slick channel.

“Relax,” He soothes you, “just let go for me,”

You don’t know how your life is this strange, how you went from listening to this man through your headphones while you touched yourself under the covers alone at home to his fingers sinking inside you. You’ll probably wake up from this dream with sticky thighs. There’s no way this is real.

Those are the thoughts that dizzy you until he pushes two fingers flush into your heat and you moan sharply, your hand gripping down on one of the couch throw pillows. He feels pretty real.

He groans, gently pumping his middle and ring finger just to get you used to the sensation, “Feel good?”

“So good,” You sigh.

“How badly do you need to come, darling?” He asks, continuing the slow and steady thrust of his fingers.

“So badly,” Your voice is whiny, needy, entirely informed by the feverish heat spreading through you.

“Pretty girl,” He hums, “with an even prettier pussy,”

“Oh, god,” You grip the pillows harder, and he’s barely doing anything to you but your legs are already starting to tremble.

“Mmm,” His fingers begin to pulse more firmly and you feel his fingers curl, finding the spongy crook of your g-spot with practiced ease, “and you need my cock inside, don’t you?”

“Ah, yes! Yes,” Pleasure blooms through your body.

“Soon,” He promises.

You moan again as he repositions, continuing the steady drumbeat of his fingers inside you as he reaches around with his opposite hand to separate your lower lips, the pad of his middle finger now alternating between maddening flicks and taps to your clit.

“Ah! Yeo,” Your hips rock, “just like that,”

“Good girl,” He murmurs, “telling me what you like,”

A tight sensation fills your lower belly, a blossoming heat that spreads from your core up through your body in warm waves, “F-faster,”

“Mm,” His thrusting picks up speed instantly, the angle slightly adjusting as he does, “that’s it,”

The angle chance has his curled fingers pumping against your g-spot hard and suddenly the sensation drops low, almost painfully tight and sharp like you’re on the precipice of something.

It occurs to you all at once what he’s trying to do, the way he’s trying to make your body sing, and despite the rolling waves of pleasure and how close you are to your second release, you don’t necessarily want the first time you squirt to be on Yeosang’s floor.

“B-baby,” You whine, the pet name slipping off your tongue, “I’m gonna, I think, oh fuck,”

“Fuck yes,” His fingers flatten down over your clit and he rubs fast, slickly rolling over your firm bud, “let go,”

“I can’t,” You shake your head, sweat breaking out across your brow, “I’ve n-never, oh, fuck, Yeosang!”

“Come,” He commands softly, “that’s it, you come, right here, baby,”

He’s not stopping, and with the way he’s working you there’s no way you could even if you tried. In a snap your body releases hard, a sensation like nothing you’ve ever felt pulsing through your slick cunt and your legs jerk, hips snapping up as clear fluid pulses out of you. The sound that leaves your lips is wanton, broken and needy, and your ears are very clearly ringing.

“Oh, fuck,” Yeosang hums, almost to himself, rubbing fast across your soaked slit to help coax every bit of slick from your center, “oh, baby, look at you,”

Your legs try to snap shut at the suddenly sharp overstimulation, but all he does is take that as his cue to stop directly stimulating you and instead drop the warm flat of his tongue over every inch of your glistening pussy. You gasp sharply at the feeling, rolling your head forwards so that you can look down between your legs, and you moan softly at the sight.

He’s buried between your thighs, lazily licking stripes up your inner thighs and over your cunt, but slowly enough that his aim isn’t to draw you into another orgasm, he just wants to taste you. To feel you on his tongue and ease you through your little aftershocks.

“God,” You breathe after a moment, “oh, my god,”

He chuckles, kissing the top of your mound, “Was that your first time?”

You nod, still trying to catch your breath.

He groans a little, palming his hard cock through his trousers to readjust, “That’s an ego boost, I’m not going to lie,”

You manage a laugh despite your dizzy, orgasm fogged brain, “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” He strokes your thigh, “if you’re not careful I might get addicted to the way you taste when you come,”

A shudder runs through you, “You can’t just say things like that,”

“It’s not a lie,” He says, “I’d spend a whole night between these thighs if you’ll let me,”

“Mm,” You sigh, reaching down for him and brushing your fingers through his long, dark hair.

“Now?” He cocks his head slightly to the side, “If you want my mouth, you just have to ask,”

You shake your head, slowly starting to push yourself into a sitting position and slide your hips away from him, “Not tonight,”

“What more can I give you tonight?” He murmurs, running his hands up and down your bare thighs, “Anything you want,”

You cup his face, drawing him close to lock your lips on his, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and nuzzling into his nose, “Take me to bed, please, Yeosang,”

“Let’s go,” He agrees, extricating himself from your arms so he can stand and offer you a hand up.

You take it, but as you do you realize the wet puddle on the floor in front of the couch and you blush dark red, covering your mouth with your hand, “I’m so sorry,”

“For what?” He blinks at you, and then follows your nervous eyes.

“I didn’t realize,” You start to say but he interrupts you with a hard kiss.

“Relax,” He says, “if we’re lucky you’ll make a mess of my room too,”

“I don’t know how I did it,”

He laughs again, “I do,” he smiles, “now come on, I need to see you in my bed before I combust,”

He tugs your hand, leading you down the hall until you’re in a large master bedroom. Your eyes flick over the details - industrial, warm wood, dark green sheets, soft ambient lighting. You’re about to comment on it, but he flips you back around to face him and captures your mouth in another hungry kiss.

“God,” He backs you up to the edge of the bed, dropping you down and falling over you, “tell me I can have you,”

“You have me,” You pant against his mouth, all thoughts of his lovely interior decor gone in an instant when you feel the hard shaft of his cock nestled between your thighs.

“I swear next time we’ll go slow,” He grinds his hips down, rolling his length up and down your slit, only the thin fabric of his trousers separating you.

“Please,” You buck against him, “I need you right now,”

“Fuck,” His hands are hot, searching, “is that right, darling?”

“Inside me,” Your hands scramble to find his waistband, “please,”

He nods, lips still pressed against yours, and then he leans back just enough to undo his trousers and start to push down his pants and boxer briefs.

Your mouth runs dry immediately. He wasn’t wrong about his size. You have fairly large dildos at home, thick and long and perfect for reaching all the spots you need it to, but Yeosang was bigger, thicker and longer than anything you’ve ever had inside you.

“Condom?” He manages as he shucks off his pants.

You blink, tearing your eyes away from his perfect, aching cock and nod, “We probably should?”

“Right,” He doesn’t push you to make a different choice, he simply searches his nightstand for a moment and produces a foil packet.

He strokes his cock twice while he tears the packet open with his teeth, before watching you beneath him as he rolls the condom smoothly down his length, adjusting it so that it fits perfectly.

You’re trembling with anticipation, you can feel it and so can he.

“y/n,” He murmurs, leaning over you and pressing a hand beneath your back to finally unclip your bra, “I want you to do something for me,”

You nod, sliding the cardigan and bra off your body and pushing them over the edge of the bed.

He grabs a firm looking pillow and folds it in half, “Lift your hips for me,”

You lift up and he slides the pillow right under your backside to leave you propped up and open for him.

“If it doesn’t feel good,” He murmurs as he maneuvers you into the position he wants, “or if I’m hurting you at all, just tell me,”

You nod.

“And I want you to tell me when you’re about to come,” He instructs, “I need to know,”

You nod again, your stomach flipping with desire.

He licks his lips, folding your legs open a little wider and slotting himself over you. He settles with one hand on your raised hip, the other braced on the bed by your head, his knees on the edge of the mattress between your splayed thighs.

His cock finally, finally, nudges at your entrance and you grip down on the sheets below you.

“Mm,” He groans, sinking just an inch or two into your tight heat, “you’re even tighter than I thought,”

He pushes in a little more and you moan at the stretch, “Oh, god,”

“Do I feel that good, babygirl?” He teases, pushing in a little more.

“So good,” You lift your head to watch the way his thick length splits you open.

“I am bigger than your toys, aren’t I?” He rolls his hips this time, rocking himself deeper with every little thrust.

“Y-yes,” You nod, your head dropping back to the mattress.

“Can you take me, baby?” He murmurs low.

“Fuck yes,” Your hips buck up again on their own as he opens you up, nearly fully sheathed inside you.

“Just a little more,” He says, his hand tightening on your hip, “there we go, fuck, that’s it, you’re taking me so beautifully, baby,”

Tears rush to your eyes, not from any kind of discomfort, but just from the overwhelming sensation of him. You’ve never been so full, never been so deliciously stretched and had these parts of you touched, and it rushes a blush to your chest and emotion through your veins.

His fingers brush along your jaw, bringing your eyes to his, “Good tears, or should we stop?”

“If you stop I’ll actually cry,” You laugh, blinking away the hazy sheen in your eyes, “you feel so fucking good,”

“Oh,” He sighs, thrusting gently in and out of you, “what a good, good girl, you are,”

“Jesus,” You shiver beneath him.

“Yeah?” He starts to move now, just a bit more, rocking his cock at a steady pace in and out of your wet core, “You like when I tell you how good you are for me?”

“Yes,” You moan, a shock of hot pleasure spiking up from your core, “please,”

“Such a good girl letting me fuck her perfect pussy on the first date,” His voice has dropped low again, husky and direct, and you babble out a sound of pleasure as he talks, “so warm and wet,”

“Fuck, fuck,” Your eyes roll.

He collapses over you a little more, his desperate lips searching for yours and the angle deepens, pushing his cock deeper and deeper inside you with every downward thrust of his hips.

You grip his shoulders, nails digging into his warm skin, “Baby,” you pant, “your cock, oh god,”

He hums against your cheek, head falling slack as his lips find your throat, sucking your pulse points and no doubt searing his mark into your tender skin. He pumps his hips harder and you moan under him, cursing again and scrambling to hold him closer.

“Such a dirty mouth,” He nips at your neck, “are you always like this, or is my cock that special?”

All you can manage is a taught moan in response, his cockhead now continuously connecting with your sweet spot over and over and rendering you unable to string a coherent thought together.

He groans at the way your cunt flutters and spasms and he kisses you hard, fingers tangling in your hair, “One of these days I’ll feel you for real,” he pants, “nothing between my cock and your sweet cunt,”

Your back arches, your mind spinning at the thought, “Yeo,” you moan.

“Fuck,” He chokes, “the way you’re squeezing me,”

You make a tight sound, something between a pleasured whine and a sob, and his hips stutter and stop, pressing his cock in as deep as possible as he grips down on whatever parts of you he can, breathing hot and heavy against your skin.

You can’t really move well in this position, but your hips rock in tiny back and forth motions to try and keep the sensation rolling through you. He’s panting into your shoulder, clearly trying to keep himself from coming too soon, and your mind commits to an idea before you have a second to double check yourself.

“Yeo,” You tap his arm, “baby I need to move,”

He pushes off you, his cock sliding out of your soaked core and you leg your legs straighten out, “What’s wrong,”

The words are barely off his tongue before you’re sitting up, grabbing his hand and drawing him back to the bed, pushing him onto his back with a guiding hand to his shoulder. He lets you lead, watching you as you put him where you want him this time, and he smiles, eyes flicking over you appreciatively.

“I need you,” Is all the explanation you can give, and maybe with a stranger this is foolish, borderline stupid, but you know him. He’s not a stranger really, not to you.

With a feverish pulse of need inside you, you shift to straddle his hips, and with quick, sure hands you roll the condom up from the base of his cock and toss it to the side.

“y/n,” He manages, but you’re lifting yourself over him now and his hands fly up to brace your waist, “are you sure?”

“So sure,” You connect his cockhead with your slick hole and drop your hips down fast, taking the whole hard length of him inside you in one smooth motion.

It’s his turn to moan, his head dropping back at the sensation of your wet walls and he grips at you, his hips stuttering beneath you.

“God,” He bucks up into you, “you’re perfect,”

“So are you,” You rock against him, finding the perfect place for your hands on his chest, “you’re so deep,”

He moans again, and when you start to bounce up and down he curses tightly.

“J-just don’t come inside me,” You keep bouncing, a steady fluid motion in your hips that you can tell is driving him crazy, but you have to keep your head at least a little.

“F-fuck,” He groans, his jaw tightening as his eyes flick down to the place your bodies are joined together, “you’re making that kind of difficult,”

“I just wanted to feel you,” Your shaking arms buckle a little and you find yourself flush against his chest while you work his cock.

“Me too,” His hands find your ass again and he starts to direct the pace, “God, I could fuck you forever,”

A moan drops from your mouth, your hands tightening on his chest.

“Don’t stop,” He urges you, and you realize your hips slowed at his words, “you feel so good riding me like that,”

Your thighs are burning already, but you hardly care, every fast shift up and down leaves you closer and closer, “Love you cock,”

“Mm, yeah? Say that again,”

“I,” You curse as a spike of pleasure rolls through you, “fuck, I love your cock,”

“Good girl,” He grips you tight, his hips jutting up to meet you now.

Your pace falters slightly, “Please, please,”

“I’ve got you,” He adjusts just enough to hold you steady as he fucks up into your tight heat, “I’ve got you,”

You moan, dropping your head into his chest and shuddering against him, “Baby, oh fuck,”

“A-are you close, jagi?” He pants, fingers digging into your hips so hard you know you’ll have bruises.

“Don’t stop,” You beg, “please, god, don’t stop,”

He groans, keeping the pace of his thrusts and using his hands on your ass to maneuver you to meet his hips.

“Shit,” You shudder in his arms, your orgasm fast approaching, “I’m coming,”

“Come here,” He shifts you fast, rolling you up and off him and manhandling you up to your feet.

You make a surprised noise at the lack of him inside you when you were getting so close, but you don’t have to worry for very long. Before you can open your mouth he has you standing, facing away from him, and bent over ninety degrees to brace your hands on the bed.

He thrusts back inside you sharply, slamming his hips into yours and leaving you moaning and curling in on yourself, your legs starting to tremble.

“Come on my cock, pretty girl,” He palms your ass before planting his hands on your hips and using the leverage to pull you back into each of his thrusts, “you’re so close,”

Your eyes slam shut, fisting the sheets as you hang on, every sharp push of his cock driving deeper and deeper. You’re going to have bruises, you’re going to be sore, but none of it matters when he’s making you feel this good.

You sob out a moan, collapsing forward into the bedding but he holds you up, “I can’t,”

“Yes, you can,” He pants, his sweat slick skin connecting again and again with yours.

“Fuck,” You groan, “I’m almost, I’m so,”

“Touch your yourself,” He directs, interrupting your pleasured ramblings, “rub your clit for me, baby,”

You slide a hand between your legs, locating your slick bud with ease and rolling your fingers over it quickly.

“Fuck, there you are,” He groans, “that’s right, baby, come on my cock,”

The same new sensation drops in your gut, your legs start to shake and you’re fairly sure that without his sure hands you’d be crumbling.

“That’s it,” He coaxes you up, never once slowing the sharp snaps of his hips, “there you go, that’s my good girl,”

Something unravels in your gut and you come with a shout, folding in on yourself as your legs quake and your mind whites out. Yeosang wraps his arms around you, curling over your back to keep you steady, and his cock slips free so he can stimulate you through your orgasm with his fingers, more liquid pulsing out of you as he fucks you over the edge.

You’re a quivering mess, and he lets you drop into the sheets, pushing you onto your back so he can stand over you, one hand fisting his slick cock.

“I’m coming,” He groans, “w-where?”

Your hands cup your breasts automatically, and you arch up to offer yourself to him, “On me, baby, come all over me,”

Yeosang groans sharply, his hips thrusting into his tight grip as ropes of silvery white cum paint your skin, covering your belly and breasts and dripping down your chest. He’s panting, his skin flushed pink and sweat covering every inch of his toned chest.

It takes you both a moment to recover, both trembling in the same position as you try to regain your breath, but after a few moments he smiles a hazy, satisfied smile and finds your eyes, “You’re so beautiful,”

Suddenly you feel a bit shy, even despite everything you’ve just done together.

“So beautiful,” He sighs again, pushing his hair back out of his face, and then he drops to his knees.

He hushes your soft protests and this time he tastes you slowly, but with intention. After such rough, intense sex, he follows it with the softest, slowest orgasm you’ve ever had. With slow sucks and gentle licks he brings you through a languid rolling wave that softens your limbs and leaves you sleepy and pliant in the sheets.

You drift, falling into sleep too easily for a first date in a sort of stranger’s apartment.

You wake a little later to a warm sensation on your skin, and you blink your eyes open to see Yeosang sitting next you, freshly showered and wearing black sweatpants and a familiar blank tank top. He draws the wet washcloth over your skin and then stops and smiles when he sees your eyes open.

“Hey,” He murmurs.

“Hi,” You reply softly, “I didn’t mean to fall asleep,”

He shakes his head, “Don’t be sorry,”

“I think you scrambled my brain a little,” You laugh, covering your face with your hands.

“Hopefully in a good way,” He nudges you.

“Beyond good,” You look up at him, “are you kidding?”

He smiles a little wider, “Good,” he says, “I drew you a bath,”

“Oh,” Your eyebrows raise.

“I thought you might be sore,” He explains, “I know I was a little rough, I hope you’re not feeling it too much,”

You shake your head, “Just a little, but in a good way,”

He nods, “Does the bath sound nice, or would you prefer a shower?”

“Bath is perfect,” You can see that he’s suddenly a little nervous, back to the same man from your date, no trace of Ryu’s husky tones.

“Here,” He offers you his hands to help you up, and guides you towards the connected bathroom suite. It’s large, crisp and clean, and in the corner stands a large spa-like tub filled high with warm water.

“Thank you,” You murmur as he helps you slip into the cocoon of water, the subtle scent of lavender wafting up from the steam.

“Mhm,” He nods, pulling a bamboo stool from the side of the sink and setting it down so he can sit at the edge of the tub and be at eye level with you.

“This is nice,” You murmur, still finding yourself a little shy in the post-orgasm clarity of it all.

He’s quiet for a moment, his fingertips dragging over the surface of the water and then he bites his lip.

Your stomach sinks for a moment, nerves coming back tenfold at the idea that maybe he’d prefer you to go after this, maybe this is all you’d ever have. Maybe he reconsidered what you know about his online persona and maybe he wasn’t willing to take the leap.

“y/n,” He sighs, “this might be forward,”

You look up from the rippling water.

“But what do you think about staying the night? We could order some dessert, maybe keep getting to know each other a little?” He asks.

You can’t fight the smile that blooms over your face, “I thought you might have changed your mind,”

“No,” He reaches into the water to find your hand, twining your fingers together, “not at all.”

“Yeah?” You squeeze his hand.

“I’d be crazy to let this be a one-time thing,” He lifts your hand from the bath and presses a kiss to the back, “I hope you feel the same.”

“I really do,” You twist to the side, leaning over to find his mouth and lock your lips together.

Yeosang cups your cheek, deepening the kiss tenderly, his tongue sweeping against yours, “What are you doing tomorrow night, then?”

“Tomorrow?” You lean back a little.

“Let me take you out again,” He kisses you again, softly this time, “I’m probably supposed to wait a few days, Wooyoung would tell me I seem too eager, but,”

“Who cares about that?” You grin, leaning out of the bath far enough to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him, “It’s a date,”

“And Sunday?” His hands slide down your back.

You nuzzle his nose with yours, “I have a date,”

“Oh,” He says, deflating instantly.

“You might know him,” You tease, “he owns this lovely little cafe,”

He laughs, his forehead leaning on yours, “You’re mean,”

“You like me,” You peck his lips.

“I do,” He nods, “I really, really do,”

#honeyhotteoks updates #honeyhotteoks fics #yeosang x reader #kang yeosang #yeosang #ateez #yeosang ff #yeosang fic #yeosang smut

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internetgiraffekid1673 · 6 months ago

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Today on the list of "good stuff that happened": I got to tell my brother about how Percy Jackson in the Son of Neptune is absolutely insane and spends basically the whole book just making the Romans go "?!"

Highlights include exploded water cannons during war games, showing up carrying a goddes and tearing apart furies with a whirlpool, mouthing off to Mars, third-wheeling/babysitting the precious young smoll inexperienced beans that are Frazel, willingly drinking Maybe Poison, and generally breaking a lot of things by Fighting Like a Greek. Continued to explain that the best part about the multiple perspectives in these books is this:

Percy: I'm a loser, lol! I have no idea what I'm doing, also everyone is cooler than me and I'd die for them! Also Annabeth is cute when she's threatening people with a knife.

Annabeth: *while planning 6 steps ahead* Percy is an idiot. Dear gods I love him so much. Such a wonderful idiot.

Literally everyone else: Percy is (one of) the most powerful demigod(s) I've ever heard of, and he gives no shits about any rules anymore. This man is scary and dangerous and I am so glad he's on my side. Annabeth is a terrifying force to behold and I can't keep up with her. I am unsure if them being so in love with each other makes it better or worse. If they ever turn evil, we are so fucked.

#giraffe's ramblings #percy jackson #heroes of olympus #pjo #hoo #riordanverse #rick riordan #babbles with brothers #this has been talked about by other people before at length #but I love explaining it to my brother who's only exposure to this series are the very bad movies and “The Campfire Song” from the musical #he is so tickled by it every time

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mywritersmind · 4 months ago

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LOOKING GOOD - LN4

summary : fewtrell!reader <3 her brother leaves her alone with lando for less than five minutes and she manages to make her childhood friend blush.

listen up : no warnings!! a small blurb to get me back into writing bc i stopped for a day and am now lost.

word count : 634

⋆｡‧˚⋆

My brother doesn’t usually annoy me this much, but today he’s really making me angry. He said we would have a brother-sister day (aka we go out for lunch and shit talk while he pays) but I’m standing in a studio instead.

He’s talking to Lando who’s having photos done for a new LN4 drop or something. I check my phone again but am soon looking up again when I realize Lando and Max are now standing in front of me

“I’m gonna go change!” he throws me a hoodie, “I told you i’d get you free shit!” Max walks away as I eye the hoodie.

It’s the same dark green that Lando has on, but mine has a 4 on the chest and various little patches on the arms. I raise a brow at him but he talks first.

“Thought you’d like that one. You look good wearing my number.” I suck in a breath at his flirtatious tone. He’s got a mischievous smirk painted on his face as I rest my hands on the jacket.

“Did you do this to make up for not having the frat boy life you were destined for?” His smile doesn’t falter, just sits down next to me and rests his arm around the back of my chair.

“Sorry I've stolen Max away, today.” I can feel his fingers tap against the chair.

I sigh and shrug, “I get it. Best friend over his loving, stunning, iconic, caring, younger sister.”

Lando laughs a bit, turning his head away. When he does, it makes me realize I haven’t heard him laugh in a while. In fact, I haven’t seen him for months.

His tan is the same which is ridiculous and I fight the urge to ask him if he spray tans. But as my eyes catch on his hair, I swallow.

His curls are defined and cut into a mullet. I’ve always thought I hated them until I saw Lando’s haircut. He’s got his usual bracelets on and when I’m looking at them I get distracted by his hands.

Sometimes it’s really hard to ignore the fact that this man is the same absolute nerd I grew up with. He and my brother used to terrorize me and now Lando’s words are more teasing if anything.

I know he likes the way we talk because everytime I see him, he willingly starts a conversation with me even though I take every chance to bully him.

He blinks and my gaze is pulled back to my lashes, then his eyes. Fuck, those eyes. They’ve always been my favorite part of Lando’s appearance. Is that weird?

You could argue that they’re brown in the dark, but as soon as the sun hits you realize that they’re not specifically one thing.

Right now they look green as ever, the color in his hoodie bringing it out. I don’t realize he’s looking at me until he blinks again.

“Look,” Lando sighs, “If you’re gonna make a jab at how I have my name embroidered on my hoodie-” I let out a small scoff and he stops. “What?”

“I was gonna say you look really good.” I say simply as his jaw basically drops.

I think I've finally found a way to silence Lando Norris, and get his cheeks pink.

Max walks back in, his new Lando swag on display as I stand.

“I’m gonna wait in the car.” I smile at him and as I walk past my brother, I look back to Lando. “Thanks for the hoodie, Norris.”

He’s watching me walk away, a confused look still on his face. I bring my hand up and wiggle my fingers at him. I hear my brother start to yap loudly as the corner of Lando’s mouth quirks.

#fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #lando norris #lando norris fanfic #lando x reader #lando imagine

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mostlysignssomeportents · 7 months ago

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The true, tactical significance of Project 2025

TODAY (July 14), I'm giving the closing keynote for the fifteenth HACKERS ON PLANET EARTH, in QUEENS, NY. Happy Bastille Day! NEXT SATURDAY (July 20), I'm appearing in CHICAGO at Exile in Bookville.

Like you, I have heard a lot about Project 2025, the Heritage Foundation's roadmap for the actions that Trump should take if he wins the presidency. Given the Heritage Foundation's centrality to the American authoritarian project, it's about as awful and frightening as you might expect:

https://www.project2025.org/

But (nearly) all the reporting and commentary on Project 2025 badly misses the point. I've only read a single writer who immediately grasped the true significance of Project 2025: The American Prospect's Rick Perlstein, which is unsurprising, given Perlstein's stature as one of the left's most important historians of right wing movements:

https://prospect.org/politics/2024-07-10-project-2025-republican-presidencies-tradition/

As Perlstein points out, Project 2025 isn't new. The Heritage Foundation and its allies have prepared documents like this, with many identical policy prescriptions, in the run-up to many presidential elections. Perlstein argues that Warren G Harding's 1921 inaugural address captures much of its spirit, as did the Nixon campaign's 1973 vow to "move the country so far to the right 'you won’t even recognize it.'"

The threats to democracy and its institutions aren't new. The right has been bent on their destruction for more than a century. As Perlstein says, the point of taking note of this isn't to minimize the danger, rather, it's to contextualize it. The American right has, since the founding of the Republic, been bent on creating a system of hereditary aristocrats, who govern without "interference" from democratic institutions, so that their power to extract wealth from First Nations, working people, and the land itself is checked only by rivalries with other aristocrats. The project of the right is grounded in a belief in Providence: that God's favor shines on His best creations and elevates them to wealth and power. Elite status is proof of merit, and merit is "that which leads to elite status."

When a wealthy person founds an intergenerational dynasty of wealth and power, this is merely a hereditary meritocracy: a bloodline infused with God's favor. Sometimes, this belief is dressed up in caliper-wielding pseudoscience, with the "good bloodline" reflecting superior genetics and not the favor of the Almighty. Of course, a true American aristocrat gussies up his "race realism" with mystical nonsense: "God favored me with superior genes." The corollary, of course, is that you are poor because God doesn't favor you, or because your genes are bad, or because God punished you with bad genes.

So we should be alarmed by the right's agenda. We should be alarmed at how much ground it has gained, and how the right has stolen elections and Supreme Court seats to enshrine antimajoritarianism as a seemingly permanent fact of life, giving extremist minorities the power to impose their will on the rest of us, dooming us to a roasting planet, forced births, racist immiseration, and most expensive, worst-performing health industry in the world.

But for all that the right has bombed so many of the roads to a prosperous, humane future, it's a huge mistake to think of the right as a stable, unified force, marching to victory after inevitable victory. The American right is a brittle coalition led by a handful of plutocrats who have convinced a large number of turkeys to vote for Christmas.

The right wing coalition needs to pander to forced-birth extremists, racist extremist, Christian Dominionist extremists (of several types), frothing anti-Communist cranks, vicious homophobes and transphobes, etc, etc. Pandering to all these groups isn't easy: for one thing, they often want opposite things – the post-Roe forced birth policies that followed the Dobbs decision are wildly unpopular among conservatives, with the exception of a clutch of totally unhinged maniacs that the party relies on as part of a much larger coalition. Even more unpopular are policies banning birth control, like the ones laid out in Project 2025. Less popular still: the proposed ban on no-fault divorce. Each of these policies have different constituencies to whom they are very popular, but when you put them together, you get Dan Savage's "Husbands you can't leave, pregnancies you can't prevent or terminate, politicians you can't vote out of office":

https://twitter.com/fakedansavage/status/1805680183065854083

The constituency for "husbands you can't leave, pregnancies you can't prevent or terminate, politicians you can't vote out of office" is very small. Almost no one in the GOP coalition is voting for all of this, they're voting for one or two of these things and holding their noses when it comes to the rest.

Take the "libertarian" wing of the GOP: its members do favor personal liberty…it's just that they favor low taxes for them more than personal liberty for you. The kind of lunatic who'd vote for a dead gopher if it would knock a quarter off his tax bill will happily allow his coalition partners to rape pregnant women with unnecessary transvaginal ultrasounds and force them to carry unwanted fetuses to term if that's the price he has to pay to save a nickel in taxes:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/09/29/jubilance/#tolerable-racism

And, of course, the religious maniacs who profess a total commitment to Biblical virtue but worship Trump, Gaetz, Limbaugh, Gingrich, Reagan, and the whole panoply of cheating, lying, kid-fiddling, dope-addled refugees from a Jack Chick tract know that these men never gave a shit about Jesus, the Apostles or the Ten Commandments – but they'll vote for 'em because it will get them school prayer, total abortion bans, and unregulated "home schooling" so they can brainwash a generation of Biblical literalists who think the Earth is 5,000 years old and that Jesus was white and super into rich people.

Time and again, the leaders of the conservative movement prove themselves capable of acts of breathtaking cruelty, and undoubtedly many of them are depraved sadists who genuinely enjoy the suffering of their enemies (think of Trump lickspittle Steven Miller's undisguised glee at the thought of parents who would never be reunited with children after being separated at the border). But it's a mistake to think that "the cruelty is the point." The point of the cruelty is to assemble and maintain the coalition. Cruelty is the tactic. Power is the point:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/09/turkeys-voting-for-christmas/#culture-wars

The right has assembled a lot of power. They did so by maintaining unity among people who have irreconcilable ethics and goals. Think of the pro-genocide coalition that includes far-right Jewish ethno-nationalists, antisemitic apocalyptic Christians who believe they are hastening the end-times, and Islamophobes of every description, from War On Terror relics to Hindu nationalists.

This is quite an improbable coalition, and while I deplore its goals, I can't help but be impressed by its cohesion. Can you imagine the kind of behind-the-scenes work it takes to get antisemites who think Jews secretly control the world to lobby with Zionists? Or to get Zionists to work alongside of Holocaust-denying pencilneck Hitler wannabes whose biggest regret is not bringing their armbands to Charlottesville?

Which brings me back to Project 2025 and its true significance. As Perlstein writes, Project 2025 is a mess. Clocking in an 900 pages, large sections of Project 2025 flatly contradict each other, while other sections contain subtle contradictions that you wouldn't notice unless you were schooled in the specialized argot of the far right's jargon and history.

For example, Project 2025 calls for defunding government agencies and repurposing the same agencies to carry out various spectacular atrocities. Both actions are deplorable, but they're also mutually exclusive. Project 2025 demands four different, completely irreconcilable versions of US trade policy. But at least that's better than Project 2025's chapter on monetary policy, which simply lays out every right wing theory of money and then throws up its hands and recommends none of them.

Perlstein says that these conflicts, blank spots and contradictions are the most important parts of Project 2025. They are the fracture lines in the coalition: the conflicting ideas that have enough support that neither side can triumph over the other. These are the conflicts that are so central to the priorities of blocs that are so important to the coalition that they must be included, even though that inclusion constitutes a blinking "LOOK AT ME" sign telling us where the right is ready to split apart.

The right is really good at this. Perlstein points to Nixon's expansion of affirmative action, undertaken to sow division between Black and white workers. We need to get better at it.

So far, we've lavished attention on the clearest and most emphatic proposals in Project 2025 – for understandable reasons. These are the things they say they want to do. It would be reckless to ignore them. But they've been saying things like this for a century. These demands constitute a compelling argument for fighting them as a matter of urgency, with the intention of winning. And to win, we need to split apart their coalition.

Perlstein calls on us to dissect Project 2025, to cleave it at its joints. To do so, he says we need to understand its antecedents, like Nixon's "Malek Manual," a roadmap for destroying the lives of civil servants who failed to show sufficient loyalty to Nixon. For example, the Malek Manual lays out a "Traveling Salesman Technique" whereby a government employee would be given duties "criss-crossing him across the country to towns (hopefully with the worst accommodations possible) of a population of 20,000 or under. Until his wife threatens him with divorce unless he quits, you have him out of town and out of the way":

https://www.google.com/books/edition/Final_Report_on_Violations_and_Abuses_of/0dRLO9vzQF0C?hl=en&gbpv=1&dq=%22organization+of+a+political+personnel+office+and+program%22&pg=PA161&printsec=frontcover

It's no coincidence that leftist historians of the right are getting a lot of attention. Trumpism didn't come out of nowhere – Trump is way too stupid and undisciplined to be a cause – he's an effect. In his excellent, bestselling new history of the right in the early 1990s, When the Clock Broke, Josh Ganz shows us the swamp that bred Trump, with such main characters as the fascist eugenicist Sam Francis:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9780374605445/whentheclockbroke

Ganz joins the likes of the Know Your Enemy podcast, an indispensable history of reactionary movements that does excellent work in tracing the fracture lines in the right coalition:

https://www.patreon.com/posts/when-clock-broke-106803105

Progressives are also an uneasy coalition that is easily splintered. As Naomi Klein argues in her essential Doppelganger, the liberal-left coalition is inherently unstable and contains the seeds of its own destruction:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/05/not-that-naomi/#if-the-naomi-be-klein-youre-doing-just-fine

Liberals have been the senior partner in that coalition, and their commitment to preserving institutions for their own sake (rather than because of what they can do to advance human thriving) has produced generations of weak and ineffectual responses to the crises of terminal-stage capitalism, like the idea that student-debt cancellation should be means-tested:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/03/utopia-of-rules/#in-triplicate

The last bid for an American aristocracy was repelled by rejecting institutions, not preserving them. When the Supreme Court thwarted the New Deal, FDR announced his intention to pack the court, and then began the process of doing so (which included no-holds-barred attacks on foot-draggers in his own party). Not for nothing, this is more-or-less what Lincoln did when SCOTUS blocked Reconstruction:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/20/judicial-equilibria/#pack-the-court

But the liberals who lead the progressive movement dismiss packing the court as unserious and impractical – notwithstanding the fact that they have no plan for rescuing America from the bribe-taking extremists, the credibly accused rapist, and the three who stole their robes. Ultimately, liberals defend SCOTUS because it is the Supreme Court. I defended SCOTUS, too – while it was still a vestigial organ of the rights revolution, which improved the lives of millions of Americans. Human rights are worth defending, SCOTUS isn't. If SCOTUS gets in the way of human rights, then screw SCOTUS. Sideline it. Pack it. Make it a joke.

Fuck it.

This isn't to argue for left seccession from the progressive coalition. As we just saw in France, splitting at this moment is an invitation to literal fascist takeover:

https://jacobin.com/2024/07/melenchon-macron-france-left-winner

But if there's one thing that the rise of Trumpism has proven, it's that parties are not immune to being wrestled away from their establishment leaderships by radical groups:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/16/that-boy-aint-right/#dinos-rinos-and-dunnos

What's more, there's a much stronger natural coalition that the left can mobilize: workers. Being a worker – that is, paying your bills from wages, instead of profits – isn't an ideology you can change, it's a fact. A Christian nationalist can change their beliefs and then they will no longer be a Christian nationalist. But no matter what a worker believes, they are still a worker – they still have a irreconcilable conflict with people whose money comes from profits, speculation, or rents. There is no objectively fair way to divide the profits a worker's labor generates – your boss will always pay you as little of that surplus as he can. The more wages you take home, the less profit there is for your boss, the fewer dividends there are for his shareholders, and the less there is to pay to rentiers:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/19/make-them-afraid/#fear-is-their-mind-killer

Reviving the role of workers in their unions, and of unions in the Democratic party, is the key to building the in-party power we need to drag the party to real solutions – strong antimonopoly action, urgent climate action, protections for gender, racial and sexual minorities, and decent housing, education and health care.

The alternative to a worker-led Democratic Party is a Democratic Party run by its elites, whose dictates and policies are inescapably illegitimate. As Hamilton Nolan writes, the completely reasonable (and extremely urgent) discussion about Biden's capacity to defeat Trump has been derailed by the Democrats' undemocratic structure. Ultimately, the decision to have an open convention or to double down on a candidate whose campaign has been marred by significant deficits is down to a clutch of party officials who operate without any formal limits or authority:

https://www.hamiltonnolan.com/p/the-hole-at-the-heart-of-the-democratic

Jettisoning Biden because George Clooney (or Nancy Pelosi) told us to is never going to feel legitimate to his supporters in the party. But if the movement for an open convention came from grassroots-dominated unions who themselves dominated the party – as was the case, until the Reagan revolution – then there'd be a sense that the party had constituents, and it was acting on its behalf.

Reviving the labor movement after 40 years of Reaganomic war on workers may sound like a tall order, but we are living through a labor renaissance, and the long-banked embers of labor radicalism are reigniting. What's more, repelling fascism is what workers' movements do. The business community will always sell you out to the Nazis in exchange for low taxes, cheap labor and loose regulation.

But workers, organized around their class interests, stand strong. Last week, we lost one of labor's brightest flames. Jane McAlevey, a virtuoso labor organizer and trainer of labor organizers, died of cancer at 57:

https://jacobin.com/2024/07/jane-mcalevey-strategy-organizing-obituary

McAlevey fought to win. She was skeptical of platitudes like "speaking truth to power," always demanding an explanation for how the speech would become action. In her classic book A Collective Bargain, she describes how she built worker power:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/23/a-collective-bargain/

McAlevey helped organize a string of successful strikes, including the 2019 LA teachers' strike. Her method was straightforward: all you have to do to win a strike or a union drive is figure out how to convince every single worker in the shop to back the union. That's all.

Of course, it's harder than it sounds. All the problems that plague every coalition – especially the progressive liberal/left coalition – are present on the shop floor. Some workers don't like each other. Some don't see their interests aligned with others. Some are ornery. Some are convinced that victory is impossible.

McAlevey laid out a program for organizing that involved figuring out how to reach every single worker, to converse with them, listen to them, understand them, and win them over. I've never read or heard anyone speak more clearly, practically and inspirationally about coalition building.

Biden was never my candidate. I supported three other candidates ahead of him in 2020. When he got into office and started doing a small number of things I really liked, it didn't make me like him. I knew who he was: the Senator from MBNA, whose long political career was full of bills, votes and speeches that proved that while we might have some common goals, we didn't want the same America or the same world.

My interest in Biden over the past four years has had two areas of focus: how can I get him to do more of the things that will make us all better off, and do less of the things that make the world worse. When I think about the next four years, I'm thinking about the same things. A Trump presidency will contain far more bad things and far fewer good ones.

Many people I like and trust have pointed out that they don't like Biden and think he will be a bad president, but they think Trump will be much worse. To limit Biden's harms, leftists have to take over the Democratic Party and the progressive movement, so that he's hemmed in by his power base. To limit Trump's harms, leftists have to identify the fracture lines in the right coalition and drive deep wedges into them, shattering his power base.

Support me this summer on the Clarion Write-A-Thon and help raise money for the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers' Workshop!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/14/fracture-lines/#disassembly-manual

#pluralistic #politics #project 2025 #heritage foundation #history #jane macalevey #rip #tactics #republicans in disarray #turkeys voting for christmas #rick perlstein #know your enemy #fracture lines #when the clock broke #john ganz #hamilton nolan

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no-goodbyes-no-regrets · 2 months ago

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Here's a little "nobody knows we're back together" ficlet that I definitely didn't write while avoiding the prompts in my inbox.😅🙊

---

"Buck! Where are you? I've been banging on your door for the last fifteen minutes, your neighbours are going to call the cops on me soon." Chim said when Buck finally answered his phone.

"Chim? What's going on?" He asked, still half asleep.

Two minutes ago he'd been warm and comfortable, asleep in Tommy's arms, planning on enjoying the fact neither of them had anywhere to be for the next three days, and now his brother in law was yelling at him over the phone.

"What's going on is that I'm outside your door and I need you to open up before I get arrested for disrupting the peace."

"That's not a thing." Buck mumbled as he reluctantly untangled himself from Tommy's grip and looked around for something to wear.

He put the call on speaker as he pulled a hoodie over his head and was vaguely aware of Chim telling him it was most definitely a thing while putting on a pair of sweats that may or may not be his.

"Where are you going? Come back to bed." Tommy mumbled, reaching out for him. His hair was a mess and there were pillow creases in his cheek, but Buck thought he'd never looked better.

"Someone's at the door. I'll be right back." he leaned down for a kiss and only just managed to resist the urge of letting his boyfriend pull him back into bed with him.

"Hurry back."

"Yeah, I'll get rid of him and then I'm all yours."

"I can hear you, you know." Chim's voice came through the phone. "And will you just open the damn door already?"

"I'm coming, relax." Buck mumbled and dropped a kiss in Tommy's hair before making his way down the stairs. He hoped whatever Chim's problem was, would be an easy fix and he'd be back in Tommy's arms soon.

They'd been back together for a few weeks now, after Buck had finally decided to call Tommy, and then show up on his doorstep when he hadn't answered.

They'd yelled and cried until they'd both been exhausted and collapsed into bed together for the best night's sleep either of them had had since the break up.

The next morning they'd decided to keep things to themselves for a while, to actually enjoy dating and getting to know each other without friends and family getting involved.

As far as he knew nobody suspected anything, though that could be changing soon.

Buck rubbed the sleep from his eyes and opened the door.

"Finally! Your neighbour from down the hall is this close to calling the cops on me." Chim held up his thumb and pointer finger, barely an inch apart, as he walked into the loft, followed by Jee-yun who was holding onto his other hand, looking unsure of what was going on.

"What? Which one?"

"Does it matter?"

"No I suppose not." Buck mumbled, closing the door behind Chim. "What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here? I'm here to drop off your niece, who you agreed to watch today while both me and Maddie picked up extra shifts."

"Wait, what? When did I agree to that? Why are you working an extra shift?"

"I don't know, the second child that's on its way maybe? Or the family trip to Korea we've got planned for next year? That I told you about. More than once."

"I... Uh... Yeah... Ok... Right."

And whoever you've got up there can either leave or get down here and deal with you watching your niece." Chim said, raising his voice slightly and yelling up the stairs." I heard you talking to someone so don't try the there's no-one there thing."

Buck sighed.

There was no way Chim was going to let this go. And if he was, Jee would tell him or Maddie by the time they came to pick her up.

"Babe, are you awake? Just put some clothes on and get down here a minute."

"Babe? You call your hook up babe?" Chim asked but Buck ignored him.

They heard the bed creak and there was some shuffling upstairs.

"I think I've got your sweats, just grab mine." Buck called out and did his best to ignore the looks Chim was giving him.

"You've got a guy up there? Well good for you, getting back out there after Tommy. You're not getting out of babysitting though."

Buck gave him a slight shrug and just kept watching the top of the stairs.

He could tell the exact moment Tommy came into view and Chim recognised him without even watching either of them.

Tommy slowly walked down the stairs, still half asleep, and wearing Buck's clothes. He gave Chim a half wave as he shuffled past him and over to Buck.

"Morning." he pressed a dry kiss to Buck's lips and then turned to face Chim. "Morning Howie. I hope you'll forgive me for not giving you a good morning kiss, I haven't brushed my teeth yet."

"But you will kiss me before brushing your teeth?" Buck teased and Tommy tilted his head and raised an eyebrow.

"I think we both know I've done a lot more than that without brushing my teeth and you didn't seem to mind."

Buck laughed a little but decided not to argue with him.

"When did this happen? When did you get back together? Are you back together?"

"We are." Tommy confirmed, slipping an arm around Buck's waist and sleepily resting his head on his shoulder.

"We got back together a few weeks ago but we wanted to keep it quiet for now." Buck explained. "But I guess everyone will know within the hour now."

Chim looked at them, trying to process the information, until suddenly the loud music from one of Jee's favourite shows started blaring through the loft.

Buck kind of regretted teaching her how to work his TV.

"I... You... But..." Chim stammered then focused on Tommy. "Wait... When you blew me off last week when I wanted to take you out to karaoke..."

"I had plans with Evan."

"I can't believe it." he mumbled and turned to Buck. "But you're still baking."

"We bake together. And some of the stuff I've brought in the past few weeks was store bought." Buck explained. "We just wanted to enjoy being together without everyone else getting involved. I'm just... tired of everyone telling me what to do or what I feel. I want to be with him, I love him."

Tommy lifted his head and smiled.

"I love you too." he said and the two of them shared a kiss.

"I... am happy for you guys." Chim settled on. "and you're going to tell me exactly how and when this happened." he gestured to the two of them. "But I'm running late for my shift and we need the money so..." he trailed off and quickly walked over to Jee. "Sweetheart, daddy has to go to work now, ok? You be good for your uncle Buck and uncle Tommy."

Jee nodded, barely paying attention to her father, eyes fixed on the TV screen. Chim kissed the top of her head and turned back to Buck and Tommy.

"Maddie will pick her up after her shift. She'll text you when she's on her way." he told them, making his way to the door. "You owe me a drink and a night of karaoke, Kinard."

"Sure. Text me. We'll pick a date."

"Sure. If you think you can fit me in between work and making out with my brother in law." Chim joked. "Ok I have to go. Have a good day guys, and please don't traumatise my daughter." he laughed and walked out the door, only to come back in right away. "Don't think this means you can elope when you get married. I need to see you all dressed up and standing up in front of everyone. Just so I can remind you I got you together." he paused and looked at Tommy. "Just don't give him a clipboard."

#Tevan #bucktommy #tevan fic #bucktommy fic

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chunghasweetie · 8 months ago

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍’ 𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 | J.JK

— pairing | fem!oc x husband!jjk

— summary | jungkook’s been working non stop and you’re finally sick of repeating yourself (healthy argument)

— warning | bad writing (i’m doing my best) medium angst, workaholic jk, makeup sex, mentions of breeding kink, unprotected sex

— word count | 2.8k words

— song suggestion | thinking about you — ariana grande

He knew he messed up. Big time.

It was very late at night. Damn near 2am.

Jungkook had just barely arrived home to a silent house. He walked into his twin babies room, noticing that both baby Hiro and baby Liyah were already asleep for the night.

He hadn’t seen them in days.

He was working like crazy recently, going into work when he really didn’t need to.

He ran his own car line and was always on top of it when it came to work. The last month he had hardly ever been home long enough to interact with his family.

His wife knew what she was getting into when she married him. She knew his company was important to him and she completely understood.

But recently things had been different lately. He was missing doctors appointments, events, and simply quality time with her and their babies.

The twins were around 7 months old and were definitely a handful for his wife. She could handle everything on her own but it wasn’t always easy.

She needed him.

Tonight he really messed up.

He opened his room door, seeing his wife on her phone. He had promised her that he’d get off early to attend a family gathering but he chose to work again.

He knew she was greatly upset. “Hey baby” He announced his presence, cracking their door open behind him.

“Hey.” She replied dryly, not looking up from her phone.

She was beyond pissed and he could instantly sense it.

Jungkook walked over to her side of the bed, sitting down beside her. He knew she was upset with him, and he couldn't blame her.

"Y/n,I'm sorry. I really am." His voice was low, sincere, and full of regret. “I just got caught up baby.”

She didn’t say anything, simply rolling her eyes.

Jungkook's heart sank as he saw her roll her eyes. He knew he hurt her, and it was killing him inside.

He reached out and gently took her phone, setting it aside on the nightstand. "Baby, please look at me. I really am sorry."

“It’s fine, Jungkook.” The irritation was visible on her face. He’s been working all day and night and she needed him around.

She hardly ever seen him. He promised her he would go with her and he still didn’t go. She was hurting.

Jungkook felt a wave of guilt wash over him as he saw the hurt and disappointment in her eyes.

"Baby, I know it's not fine. I messed up. I promised you that I would go to the party with you, and I didn't show up." He admitted.

“You know how fucking embarrassing it was?” She looked at him.

“I looked like a hot mess today Jungkook and everyone felt sooo bad for me and I felt so humiliated” She continued.

Jungkook's heart ached as he saw the pain and embarrassment in her eyes.

He took her hand in his, his thumb gently tracing circles on the back of her hand. "I'm so sorry, baby. I should have been there with you. It must have been awful for you."

“Yeah you fucking should’ve.” She rolled her eyes once more. “You begged me for a fucking baby and I gave you twins and you can’t even show up for them. I’ve been doing everything myself.”

Jungkook's heart sank as he heard her words, a knot forming in his stomach. "I know, baby. I'm sorry. I never meant for you to feel like you’re on your own."

He pulled her into a tight hug, pressing his lips to the top of her head. "I’m so sorry gorgeous.”

“Jungkook we’ve had this conversation so many times.” She shook her head “You’re a fucking workaholic.”

He knew she was right. There was no denying he was putting work over his family. He knew he had to make a change.

Jungkook sighed as he felt her frustration and disappointment. He couldn't believe he had let things get this bad between them.

"You're right, Y/n. I've been a workaholic, not giving you the attention you deserve." He took a deep breath and looked into her eyes.

“It’s not even me it’s your kids you need to be there for. I know they’re babies and they won’t remember but they still need you Jungkook. I need you.” She sniffed, obviously stressed and fighting tears.

“You missed it, earlier at the function Hiro was trying to crawl.” She then broke down, letting her tears fall. “And you missed it.”

“Fuck.” Jungkook listened to her, realizing the true extent of the damage he had caused. He felt guiltier than ever.

"I know, Y/n. I've been selfish, thinking only about work, neglecting my children and my beautiful wife." He sighed. “You shouldn’t have to suffer on your own.”

“I just want change. I-I just don’t know what else to do.” She sighed. “Both twins were crying and needy. E-Everyone was doubting me like I couldn’t take care of my own kids.”

Jungkook's heart ached as he heard the pain in her voice. He couldn't bear the thought of her feeling alone in this, feeling like she wasn't doing enough.

He reached out and gently took her hand. "Listen to me, Y/n," he said softly, "You are the perfect mother. You are capable and strong and loving.”

He continued, “I was wrong to leave it all on you and I promise that I will change. I will be there for our children, I will support you in every way possible. And to those who doubt you, let them eat shit."

She cried more at his words, hardly able to compose herself. Jungkook's heart swelled with love at the sight of her emotion.

He pulled her into a tight embrace and whispered soothing words into her ear. "Shh, it's okay, mama. I'm here for you now, always. I will never let you down again."

“Please mean it this time.” She hiccuped.

Jungkook cupped her face gently and locked eyes with her.

"I have never been more serious about anything in my life. I love you and our children more than words can express. I promise you, I will do whatever it takes to make things right and earn your trust back."

Jungkook's heart ached at the sight of her tears.

He pulled her into a kiss, caressing her back gently. "It's okay, mama. I understand. I'm here for you now. What do you need me to do to make you feel better? I’ll drop everything immediately for us baby.”

“Can you just stay home tomorrow? Spend time with the babies— That’s all I want.”

Jungkook smiled softly at her and held her closely, rubbing her back soothingly.

"Of course beautiful. I will stay home tomorrow. I will be here for you all day, just like you deserve. I love you." He then kissed her forehead.

“I’ll stay home with you tomorrow, the next day, next week, next month. Shit, I’ll stay home with you until they’re in preschool.” He told her, making her eyes widen.

He knew he needed to do this. Her crying and confronting him gave him the wake up call he really needed. She didn’t deserve anything he was going to her and the kids didn’t deserve it either.

He wanted a baby so bad and he was fortunate enough to have his wife give him

two. He was taking that all for granted and

he knew that now.

“I love you too.” She wiped her eyes.

Jungkook's eyes shone with love and devotion as he looked at her. "I am so lucky to have a wife like you, mama. You are my everything."

He gently wiped away the remaining tears and hugged her tighter, feeling his heart swell with love for her.

“I’m luckier. I know I complain and I bitch at you a lot but I do really love you.” She told him, pecking his lips.

Jungkook's heart fluttered at her affectionate peck on his lips.

He smiled, feeling grateful for her. "You are amazing, mama. And I know we have our moments, but I wouldn't have it any other way."

Jungkook chuckled and deepened their kiss, feeling his love for her grow even more.

He kissed her passionately, savoring the taste of her lips and feeling his heart race with excitement. "I would do anything for you, Y/n. You’re my world.”

Jungkook smiled against her lips, feeling his heart swell with happiness. He deepened their kiss even further, his hands roaming over her body possessively. "You make me complete, mama. You are my weakness."

“Am I?” She giggled against his lips.

Jungkook couldn't help but chuckle at her teasing tone. He nodded and nuzzled his nose against hers.

"Yes, you are. You have me wrapped around your finger, and you know it." He gave her lips another kiss.

He couldn't get enough of her, couldn't stop himself from kissing her. "Mama, you make me so happy." He whispered the words against her lips, before pulling back slightly to look at her. “You’re so pretty.”

“Thank you babe” She blushed.

"I wanna make this up to you" He leaned down to kiss her neck, making her giggle and squirm in his arms.

She let him kiss all over her neck, loving how much attention he gave her.

He moved his lips from her neck to her lips, kiss immediately turned hot in seconds.

She made out with him on their bed, giving wet sloppy kisses.

Jungkook groaned as she started to kiss him, his arms tightening around her as he returned the kiss.

He couldn't get enough of her, couldn't stop himself from deepening the kiss. "Fuck mama..."

The two hadn’t got into it in some time. He had been working and she was always occupied with something else.

Now with built up emotions, it was just the time to ease up with one another.

Jungkook pulled back slightly, looking at her with a heated gaze. "You are so fucking beautiful."

He leaned in to kiss her again, before pulling back and standing up from the bed. "Wanna have you now. Gotta show my woman some

love.”

“You’re gonna make it up to me like this?” She bit her lips

“You want it don’t you?” Jungkook smiled into the kiss, his hands reaching for her silky pajama shirt. He tugged it up over her head, revealing her lacy red bra.

"You are so fucking hot, Y/n." He whispered against her lips, before leaning in to capture her lips in a deep, passionate kiss once more.

“I know. You have a hot wife who still tries to look good for you.” She smirked against his lips.

Jungkook chuckled, his hands reaching for the clasp of her bra. "And I’m beyond grateful. She’s the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen.”

“Getting impatient baby.” She licked her lips, eyeing him.

Jungkook groaned at her words, his hands reaching for the button of his pants. "You have no idea how much I want you, mama."

He murmured, before pulling down his pants and boxers, revealing his hard cock. "I'm going to do you so good baby.”

“Better not disappoint me.” She replied jokingly.

Jungkook chuckled, leaning in to kiss her again. "I would never disappoint you and you know that.." He whispered, before guiding himself inside of her.

The couple both gasped as he slipped himself inside.

“Oh fuck” He looked down. “Missed this so much. To think I was missing this for work.”

“Fucking finally. Needed this.” She cursed, still taking him in. She was desperate for him.

Jungkook groaned at her words, thrusting deeper into her. "You feel so fucking good, mama." He growled, his hands gripping onto her hips as he moved in and out of her. “So fucking tight.”

“You could’ve been had this.” She hummed, “That’s your fault.”

"I'm sorry, mama. I know I've been working a lot lately." He whispered, kissing her neck. "But you're all I think about when I'm gone. I promise.”

“You sure? Prove it then.” She cocked her eyebrow.

Jungkook smirked, going harder into her, showing her just how much he loves and desires her.

"You think I'm not capable?" He growled in her ear before kissing her hard as he continued his thrusting. "You're the only thing on my mind."

Jungkook slammed into her, making her mouths shoot open in surprise at his new brute force.

"I'll take care of you real good." He promised, only after a few more hard slams into her. "So fucking beautiful. All mine.”

“Shit you feel good.” She whimpered, trying not to make too much noise. “Fuck that’s it.”

Jungkook smirked at her. "I know it does, mama." He whispered, his lips barely leaving her ear as he continued to thrust into her. "That's right. Take it baby.”

“So good— Missed this dick so much” She confessed.

Jungkook's eyes roll back as a moan of pure pleasure leaves his mouth. "Fuck, mama." He breathed out through clenched teeth.

"I missed this pussy, more than anything." He said, before picking up the pace, making their skin slapping louder and louder.

“My woman” He mumbled into her ear. “My wife. The mother of my kids. Rely on me more. Please.”

He continued. “Gonna fucking take years off work all for us. Gonna make more babies with you. Should I fuck another one into you tonight? Hm?”

She was beyond heated, unable to say anything but simply nod.

Jungkook chuckles as she admits what he already knows. "That’s it pretty girl" He groaned, slamming into her even harder at the revelation. "I haven't felt you like this in so long, I was fucking dying without you, Y/!.”

“You should’ve stayed home with me more— fuck.” She moaned quietly, “Only using my fingers was killing me”

Jungkook's thrust became wilder at her words, it's been so long since he heard her moan his name like this. "Fuck, mama. I will, I swear. I'll stay home with you every fucking night, no more having to do everything yourself.”

Jungkook leaned down, trailing kisses along her neck, then whispering against her lips.

She returned the energy. She made out with him roughly, taking her frustration out on him and letting it all go.

Jungkook deepened the kiss, pulling her closer and letting her release her frustrations.

His hand reached down, gripping her ass and pulling her even closer as he thrusts harder into her, grunting into her mouth. "Love it when you fuck me back, just like this."

“Can’t help it.” She fluttered his mouth with open mouthed kisses, whining.

Jungkook growls at the sound of her whine, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he gets closer to his release. "Fuck, I love it when you're like this. So fucking needy and eager for me."

“Been needing this dick for months now” She groaned into his mouth.

Jungkook smirks against her lips, his hand reaching up and gripping her throat gently. "I know, mama. I made you wait and I’ll never do that shit again. You deserve this shit every morning and every night."

“Better fucking mean that shit too.”

Jungkook chuckles, leaning down and sucking on her neck, biting down and leaving a bruise. "All to myself. I’m so lucky.”

Jungkook thrusts into her harder, losing his rhythm as he approaches his release. "Fuck, yeah, that's it. Come for me, mama. Show me how much you love my dick."

“Shit” She curses, “Fuck mm so close Jungkook.” She gripped on his hair roughly before finally reaching her high and cumming.

Jungkook groans and thrusts a few more times before he finally reaches his climax, filling her up with his hot seed, gripping her hips tightly.

"Fuck, Y/n. You got me going to make me fucking crazy with that tight pussy for years now.” He panted, trying to catch his breath.

“You look pretty with that afterglow.” Jungkook chuckles and kisses her forehead before standing up and grabbing a warm washcloth to clean her up.

“Such a gentleman.” She blushed.

"You're always so fucking cute, baby. I love it." He says, smiling warmly at her before helping her sit up and cleaning her down there.

“Thank you baby.” She caught her breath.

“Although you made it up to me right now, I really want you to spend more time with me and the babies.” She exhaled. “They’re only this age once.”

Jungkook nods, setting the washcloth aside before crawling back into bed and pulling her into his arms.

"You're right, mama. I'll make sure to spend more time with you and the babies." He says, kissing the top of her head. “I’ll be around 24/7 now baby. You never have to worry about me again.”

“Okay baby.” She pecked his lips, “I love you.”

Jungkook smiles and pecks her back before wrapping his arms around her. "I love you too, mama."

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