#It's not like I was going to do anything with it anyway

[simpjaes]

SWEET LITTLE MONEY MAKER. ― S.JY

When your best friend quite literally gifts you an entire man, you realize that you’re in no place to pretend that you don’t love it.  or the one where you’re very much an “i don’t need a man” type of person, and Jake shows you that you do, in fact, need a man….him, you specifically need him. Only because he needs you. 

MDNI! reblogs help writers, so please show your support through a reblog! PAIRING ― stripper!sim jaeyun x rich!afab reader

WORDCOUNT― 13.6k

CONTENT―  he’s a switch and desperately wants to be ur sugar baby, you’re a boring rich bitch who has no interest at first, masturbation, reader is kind of power-hungry, jake chokes her NOTE ― if you’ve read this before, specifically for jeno, hi. that was written by me back in 2022 except now it’s way better and not an absolute trash-fire. enjoy! not proof read kind of.

nsfw tags under cut::

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

NSFW TAGS― jake is a stripper so obv dancing and stripping, HE’S VERY SWITCH BUT MOSTLY SUBBY HERE, hand job, masturbation, choking without permission, finger fucking, making out, protected sex omg GASP, slight nipple play, riding, lil bit of stomach bulge, sensitive cock continues to get fucked lmfao

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

It was a gift, or rather, he was the gift.

A downpayment of six hundred dollars told you enough about the man. It’s obvious he offers his services to lonely, sad, rich women who have no one else to spend their money on. A parasite, a leech, is what he is. Yet, still, your best friend has been taunting you with the idea for months in an attempt to have you give the guy a try.

She had apparently heard of the infamous Jake through various means. All rich women, all lonely and unsatisfied women. Which, to you only seems like a fucking insult to be taunted with the very idea of hiring this man. What is she implying? That you’re lonely and unsatisfied? Please.

Some best friend. Then again, she has since experienced Jake herself, and now her taunting feels more like…promises. 

“He’s so clean, toned, and oh god–” She had paused with a flush across her cheeks as she thought back to the heated night. “The way he moves, shit, he teases so much. I could have died right then and there if he were to–” 

The expression of disinterest on your face did not halt her doting, nor did the blatant grimace you eventually shot at her. Genuinely, you cannot take her seriously. Already you know too much about her, which is nice and all, but you could do without the details of her little stripper friend and how “wet” he left her. 

“I even heard that sometimes he even gives special treatments with his services…” She had rolled her eyes after she said that, almost looking offended. “Not that I'd know or anything, he took my cash and left when our session was up.” 

You recall knowing exactly what that “treatment” probably entailed, and the reason your best friend didn’t get it was likely due to the fact that she’s, well, not that rich. You’d assume such an expensive man wouldn’t give special treatments to women who wouldn’t end up being repeat customers anyway. Or, maybe, he just wasn’t trying to drain her dry. 

And even with all of the information being dangled in front of your face, practically force fed to you, the image should be more delicious than the century-old wine you have every night at dinner– for the entire duration of her doting compliments of Jake, you are simply not fucking interested. There’s other things to do in life, more to worry about than getting your body excited for someone who will never finish the job. 

Last week was when your bestie told you all about her single night with him. In fact, her entire visit was just her speaking of him, of how great he is, of how alluring he is. Arguably, you see that she’s a bit obsessed. Does it make you curious? Maybe a little bit, but not enough to actually give him a go yourself. And so, after that visit, you watched her leave with a menacing, evil little glint in her eye. You ignored it, as per usual considering she’s always up to something, unaware that the visit she lends to you today is not a complimentary marketing campaign of a male stripper, no, it’s a fucking ambush. 

When she appeared at your doorstep, she said nothing. She didn’t even look you in the eye, actually. Weird.  She did, however, have an envelope in her hand and you were almost offended at how she threw it at you and trotted away without a single greeting or goodbye. No afternoon lunch over champagne, no gossip, no advertising. Just an envelope. 

Suspicious.

Upon opening said envelope, you find that your bitch of a best friend dropped that six hundred dollar down payment, likely in an attempt to force you out of being the stick in the mud that you always are. There’s a note. Your name in bold letters, a date, a time, and a signature of none other than “Jake Sim” with a fucking website on the back. 

Shortly after huffing and rolling your eyes, about two seconds from tossing her six hundred dollars in the trash, you feel your phone ping to show your best friend texting you. 

Best Friend: I paid for it, you just have to tip him. a lot. tip him a lot. You: why the fuck would you buy a stripper for me?

Best Friend: you need it, trust me. 

So, now here you are waiting for that knock on your door and wondering why you even tried to look nice for some dude that’s about to swing his meat in your face. Appearance, reputation, whatever. Fucking unbelievable, you think, that there’s a stripper out there that only does private parties and your own best friend thinks you need it? You could have any dick you want, why the fuck should you have to pay just to look? 

He’s going to be expecting more than just you here, alone in your house. Surely, he won’t be expecting to waltz into someone’s home all oiled up only to find one very disinterested woman. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

To your dismay, Jake has apparently already been warned of you. Your best friend probably told him that you’re a nightmare, too difficult to fluster or gain an interest from. The first words out of his mouth when you opened your door was “She said you’d give me that look.”

Still, even so, your best friend wasn’t lying to him. You played the part of yourself all too well as you watched him saunter into your home as if he owned the place. You’re impressed actually, with the way he doesn’t seem to feel out of place in such a lavish room. He looks…comfortable here as he scopes out his stage for the night, like he belongs. 

“Big place, looked smaller on the outside.” He says casually, filling the silence in the room since you make no attempt yourself to greet him. 

You watch as he tosses his bag beside your living room couch and eyes the spacious area just in front of the large fireplace. His eyes flick to the windows, to the walls, counting the outlets and looking for shelves with space. 

“The smaller the better, sometimes it feels too big in here for just me.” You finally speak, admitting a small weakness of yours almost immediately. You are lonely, despite never wanting to admit it. And you watch as he shrugs, now crouching to grab wires from his bag. 

“Oh yeah?” He glances at you. “Must get lonely. What a good friend to purchase me to help you with that.”

You bite the inside of your cheek at that, noting his calm and cool tone as he talks his business. The little smirk at the corner of his lips is charming, but it’s all for show. He’s just a pretty man, that’s all he’s got going for him and you guess you can respect the hustle. 

“This was not my doing.” You cross your arms, pretending to be unimpressed. 

“Yeah, yeah–” He waves you off as he begins to set up, making space for small lights to set the mood, looking to see if you have a sound system he can use. “I already know that you’re new to this.” He’s still calm, still collected.

“Lucky for you, first-timers are my favorite to entertain.” He smirks again, now looking directly at you as he, now, fluffs some of your couch pillows. 

Your curiosity spikes again only for a moment. You really did think that the initial meeting would be different, less casual. You half expected him to waltz in cock swinging. Wasn’t he, like, supposed to pretend to be a cop or something? You know, show up and press play on a magical stereo that didn’t exist beforehand and start vibrating on you? 

Instead, he’s just setting up…fully clothed in a ratty sweater with jeans that hug his thighs. He doesn’t appear at all to be a man that gets paid to take his clothes off. It makes you wonder. Makes you want to ask questions. Then again, you still have no interest in learning about him considering you already know exactly what he will be doing soon enough. 

“You’re good with the mood lighting, yeah? Or do you prefer the morgue lighting?” His eyes shoot up to the bright white lights on your ceiling as he goes for his laptop now, presumably to connect it to your very obvious sound system.

You only take slight offense to his comment on your living room lighting, considering you have a control panel that can make them way less blinding, but– he’s right. And now you’re a little insecure that you prefer such a drab color in your home. You make your way to the wall, clicking the buttons on the panel just to prove you have warm lighting too, and that you can adjust the brightness. 

“Ah, perfect.” Jake hums from across the room, eyes focused on his laptop screen before glancing to you and your extravagant light switch. “A little lower.” He guides you, knowing exactly which lighting accentuates his toned body the best when paired with his own little LED colored lights. 

You turn the knob slightly, wondering just how good he must be at dancing in houses like this one. 

“Little more.” He smiles

You dim the lighting more, looking at him and his relaxed posture. 

“Right there.” He finishes in a more gentle tone, eyes focusing back on his laptop as he prepares not only the playlist but the mood lighting from his end too. Red. Lots of red.

And you just watch, his voice ringing in your ears as you try to pretend that your best friend wasn’t right. Even with just this casual set up…he’s…goddamn, he’s alluring. In that ratty old sweater, with his messy hair and pretty smile. 

Stunning. 

This motherfucker is stunning. 

“Go and sit–” Jake says now, nodding to your couch as he places his laptop down, presumably done with the set up. “Just tell me where I can get myself ready and I’ll be back out shortly.” 

You point towards the guest bathroom as you take your seat on the couch, unsure as to why your hands feel so clammy. And by the time he rounds the corner and you can hear the bathroom door shut, you attempt to make yourself comfortable. 

And goddammit, no matter how many times you’ve napped here on this plush and soft surface, you can’t find the comfort here right now. The curiosity of why you’re okay with this burns in your gut despite knowing exactly why. Despite the fact that your best friend can always see straight through you and know exactly what you are. 

At the end of the day though, why the curiosity exists isn’t what matters. It’s the curiosity itself. You want to know how much money Jake makes doing this, if he likes doing it, how he got started, what he does to advertise himself in a way to only find women like you, and many other things. Countless things. He’s hot as hell, actually, and how he’s come to do this kind of work is either one of two things. One being that he’s using what the Gods gave him to the fullest. Two, being that he had no other choice. 

If he’s going to be paid to give you attention, the least you can hope is that he does it because he enjoys it, not because he has to do it. And if it does end up being because he has to do it, then perhaps his tip would be even larger than what you’d give for the ladder. 

You’re uncomfortable. 

The fact looming that you genuinely could go out and find a man at any given moment, yet here you are with a man forced upon you because you simply won’t do it. The implications of this man being here, why he’s here, how he ended up in this situation. 

You’ve never been one to care, so why start now? 

“You overthink too much.” Your best friend had said to you once, twice, hundreds of times during your friendship.  Maybe she’s right, maybe you should just enjoy the show without feeling entitled to a slutty man’s life story.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Jake remains in the bathroom for a good thirty or so minutes, each of them passing like a nightmare in your head. Back and forth your brain goes, from not wanting to be in this situation to fighting yourself for being such a fucking bore. A very, very attractive man is primping himself for you to look at, he’s going to come out and do his best to turn you on, the least you can do is let yourself enjoy something for once. Enjoy him. Gawk and fawn over him. After all, at least you know there’s no promise to be had after he leaves. 

No missed calls, no blocked numbers. This is business. 

Fucking thankfully, the moment he comes out of your bathroom your mind has adjusted itself into the correct state of mind for this. A torturous adventure of thoughts, but you made it nonetheless. You actually can’t even look away from him now that he’s revealed himself, even when you tried. He isn’t dressed in anything that looks tacky or cheap. Hell, he doesn’t even look sexual. He just looks…

Expensive. 

Jake genuinely looks like this is a place where he belongs. He smells like he belongs here, walks and murmurs like it too. 

You feel yourself physically react to him in his blazer and dress pants. Business is what got you to where you are today, but never have you found the attire sexy in any way until now. The suit looks much like what your team would wear day to day in the office. Always all those shy men coming into your office, stuttering through their questions and need for approvals. Jake isn’t stuttering in his suit though, he’s standing confidently at his laptop as if he hasn’t even noticed you staring yet. 

One look from him though is all he needed. Choosing this attire for someone like you is sure to mix both business and pleasure. It was a gamble of course, to bring your work home for you, but he does have the slight hope that you’ll never look at a man in a suit the same way again after this. 

And goddamn the way his abs were glistening in the dim lighting before he had turned away from you. His blazer was partially open revealing nothing but skin when he walked into the room, and you honestly wonder if he even needed to do that. He could be fully clothed at this point and you think the room would still feel hotter than usual given your mind-state. 

The way his belt held his pants on his hips was enough to have you thinking, looking as if it’s begging to be unbuckled just so the sound of it could fill your ears. The way the blazer widens his shoulders much more than the sweater from before. He looks bigger right now, both physically and in aura. 

The scent of him wafted off of him in an even prettier way when paired with his image. He smells like a sweet type of musk, something you’d be interested in drinking alongside your dinner on special occasions. And under the assumption that the scent is why his abs are fucking glistening– fucking body oil. He uses body oil for this.

His hair rustles about when he turns to face you again, this time with the bass of whatever song he’s playing accentuating each step towards you. So…the talking is done then? Your cheeks heat up at how quickly he starts his session with you, even without a single roll of his body. Already, you could eat him alive, the smirk on his face leading your eyes straight to him. 

Trailing down, down down. To his neck, that small glimpse of exposed chest, to the even more exposed lower abdomen section. His belt.

“Good?” He asks, leaning over you and placing his hands on either side of your head as he grips the couch.

You can’t look up at him, eyes training on his chest that you can now fully see through his single buttoned blazer. That same sweet musk assaulting your lungs. 

Watching you from up here, Jake can tell you’re going to be fun to play with. A woman with such a harsh exterior now melting at the mere image of him when he’s got the right lights on him. To be fair, he really was warned and prepared by your friend, which didn’t seem the type to afford him on more than one occasion.

He thought it was nice that she paid for another session, shocking him to learn that it wasn’t for herself at all. What a wonderful friend, and what a bitch you’d be to have turned him away. 

Finally, you nod to him, still eyeing his body in a shameful show of how much you genuinely did need this. What’s so bad about paying to look? Especially when the man is Jake, and he’s presenting himself like this.

“Rule number one.” Jake smiles, swaying in front of you as his grip tightens against the couch, wanting you to feel trapped and hopefully mesmerized by him, “I only accept bills of twenty, fifty, and one hundred. If you toss a fucking dollar, I’m leaving.” 

That’s clearly not an issue you could fathom having, despite your internal protests. You only carry bigger bills anyway so you nod to him, quickly forgetting he even shared that ridiculous rule that would never apply to you by means of watching his hips swirl rather than sway. You see the heaviness in his pants, and you wonder if he gets himself hard for these little shows. 

You fear looking up at his face now too, because you know he’s staring down at you, watching your every breath, every move. 

“Rule number two,” He lends down now, lowering his voice and blowing against your ear in a short breath. “Don’t touch me without being invited, or without asking.”

Now, that’s a rule that applies to you only because you immediately want to defy it. There’s a knee jerk reaction almost that makes you want to reach out, to grip his flexing body and pull it closer. You wanted to feel how slick his skin is with that wonderfully scented oil. You wanted the scent on your fingers for later, you wanted to feel how warm he must be. 

He doesn’t wait for your nod this time though, already noticing a familiar look on your face that he gets from most, if not all, of his clients. This is why he’s so in demand, after all. If he plays hard to get, sometimes he gets more out of his sessions. Sometimes he even gets a repeat client. 

“And rule number three–” He continues, this time pulling back and positioning his face in front of yours. This rule appears to be an important one, the rule where you need to look at his face rather than his body. As if it needs to be heard. “I won’t touch you unless you ask– or beg.” 

What you’re not realizing at this moment is that rule number three isn’t something he often speaks of. Sometimes, very rarely, Jake is in a mood when he goes out on a job. Condoms are always with him, just in case, but he never intends to use them or utter rule number three until meeting said client. They pay to look at him, not to touch him, however…if they pique his interest he surely offers the third rule. 

And if a client never hears of it, they know that even if they ask to touch, he would never. Even if they want him to touch, he wouldn’t touch anywhere too pleasurable. 

Meaning, you were right to assume what he was doing in your bathroom for so long. His hand felt better than usual against his length for the split second he had of tucking it into the most attractive position. He knew instantly that tonight was one of those nights, and you were to be a point of his own desire too. He played with himself for a bit, allowing himself to get half hard before coming out of the bathroom.

The way you looked at him finished the job, allowing his cock to grow to full attention at the mere sight of you fawning over him in silent discomfort. So– yeah, the third rule being for you was a given. 

And when you swallow around a lump in your throat and look dead into his eyes, he thinks you know exactly what he means too. You’re lucky his cock is acting up, hell, he’s lucky it’s acting up. Look at you, fuck. Those tired eyes look ignited, and what luck the two of you have to have ever known your best friend. 

“Deal?” He finally says, tilting his head cutely and waiting for you to nod. And you do nod, just as he suspected you would. Slowly, before glancing down at his body again. 

He knows now that it’s time to start moving. Really moving.

“Is the song okay?” He asks, now pulling back and bracing himself against the back of your couch with all of his strength. “It was picked specifically for you.”

You’re not entirely what he means by that, but you assume your friend must have told him what she thinks you’d like. 

“It’s fine.” You say, glancing away from his direct eye contact and suddenly feeling like a love-struck puppy in the way you feel so incredibly fucking shy because of him.

Jake notes that you didn’t ask what he meant by the song, but he doesn’t push. He’s better at talking with his body anyway. So, he begins to focus. Opting to start slowly and work his way up, specifically to work you up. 

He steps back and away from the couch, centering himself in your living room as he closes his eyes and stretches his arms up to loosen his body a little more. Most of his clients love to see the way his muscles move as he stretches, and he suspects you’re of the same mind. 

This entire playlist is chosen for clients like you. The ones he intends to let see all of him if they so wish to. The music is slow, the bass is strong, and each beat runs through the body in a way that makes him shiver. He can move as if he’s fucking you even from across the room without so much as a touch, and he knows you’ll realize it.

He’s at his best too, when this sort of thing happens to him. The eye contact is more intense, his hips are more pointed for a reason other than payment, and arguably he feels he’s most attractive like this too. Considering the countless times he’s been paid to dance and expose himself to women he’d never even look at twice, it always hits differently when a client is just his type. 

And when he looks at you through the start of his dance, you appear to be painfully stiff against that soft couch. He smirks, a small chuckle rumbling from his chest. If only you knew how lucky you are, knowing his clients would be on their knees for a chance to experience him like this. 

The fact that it’s your first time doing this…he’d be smart to not pull this shit on you. He’s never tried this with a new client, after all but–fuck, just look at you.

Jake’s hips move on their own for the most part, he doesn’t have to think much when he’s getting into it. He easily dances along to the music for you, as if it’s second nature to him despite not yet removing any clothing. It’s the build-up for him now, and he thinks it may be that for you too. Of course, if he leaves your house tonight with a large tip in his pocket and a hard, untouched cock, that’s fine too, though not preferable. 

You watch him the same way he watches you, after all, the electricity for this to play out is there. It’s rare that he can feel goosebumps raise on his skin by a mere look from a woman that looks far too powerful despite sitting there helpless. He’s making you helpless, the dim lighting of this room accentuating his body is making you helpless. 

And truly, you find yourself understanding with each shadow on his stomach as to why he’s so favored in the groups of lonely women. Arguably, you’re shocked your best friend decided to share him.

As the song begins to fade, Jake readjusts himself. He watches you during the brief silence, a sort of fondness in his eyes making you wonder if he’s looking at you or if he does this for everyone. It feels intimate with the way his eyes slowly scan your body in the quiet room. As if the silence doesn’t need to be filled with anything other than eye contact.

For him though, a woman has never met his eye between songs. Typically, their eyes are glued to his chest, cock, hands, and neck– never his eyes. They’re muttering, moaning, or shouting for him to hurry up, that the clock is ticking and they want to see more. But not you. Even as the next song plays, your eyes stay focused on his until he looks away and starts closing the distance. He skews his body now, allowing you to see him in profile. 

In some ways, you have him feeling a bit flustered in the way you keep meeting his eye despite his body making a show for you. He’s never had to act with his face more than he has with you, even as he drops to his knees during a particular part in the song, thrusting his hips forward in an attempt to make you imagine yourself bent over on the floor in front of him. 

He glances to his side, and still you’re searching his face.

He, now, looks back down for a moment, finding himself trying to guide yours somewhere else. He knows his job is to be looked at, to be seen, but this is far too seen for his liking. Thankfully, your eyes do follow his, and you gasp at the way he moves. 

Your mouth falls open, gripping the hem of your dress as you imagine exactly what he intended.

The fact that this is your first time, Jake realizes this is new ground for him too. Typically, he speaks with his body and it appears now, he needs to portray some form of sexuality to you with his eyes. Like the roles are switched, he has to do to you what you’re supposed to be doing to him.

This is new, but warranted. Easy, even, for him to do it because he does want you.

You watch him intently, not fully realizing that you’re barely watching him fuck the air in front of him. Yeah, you see that too, but your eyes always go back to his and now, his own gaze is meeting yours. His gaze is searching your body, watching you move in reaction. From the way your fingers grip at the clothes he’d like to see on the floor later, to the way you slightly rub your legs together in a way that is almost too easy to miss. This alone is enough for him as his eyes burn their gaze into you. Much like you’re supposed to be doing to him.

He’s supposed to be able to look at you and know exactly what you’re thinking. So be it, the least he can do is let you know what he’s thinking. 

Jake’s dance is more intentional now when he leans back on his arms, throwing his head back but keeping his head turned towards you. He tries to show you specifically what he would do to you. That bulge in his pants is large and blatant as he thrusts forward and back to the music. You glance to it, offering the same jittery reactions of arousal. 

And this is when he allows his blazer to slide off of his shoulders, reaching to unbutton that single clasp for it to go sliding to the floor. He continues his movements through it, watching your eyes move to his arms and the strength used to hold himself up, his skin more and more visible to you. You do try to keep eye contact but…well, the way his abs flex when he presses forward, going concave with each inhale of those sensual lips that constantly smirk at you. 

It’s a shame, really, to know that the bulge in his pants will remain there, unseen. 

With his blazer now pooled at his wrists, he regains his focus. He wants you so badly by this point that it’s driving him crazy how hard he’s having to work for it. You’re supposed to be feeling this way, not him. Even if he can see that his routine is causing a reaction from you, he’s practically masturbating himself against the inseam of his pants just to get you to say something to him. 

Meaning, he needs to work harder. The current song is soon to be replaced with another, his favorite to dance to, his favorite to fuck to. And to be fair, by the time this playlist gets to this song on this specific playlist, usually his clients are already shaking under him. Not you though, you’re holding yourself back and he can fucking see it.

He ignores the fact that it’s technically not time for him to move on to his next set of dancing, mostly because he almost never has to get to this part, he leaves his blazer on your floor as he positions himself back on his knees, turning towards you this time and looking you straight in the eyes. The fact that he’s hard and horny is enough to amplify the way he’s looking at you, confidence so high that he’s fine with being seen in any way you want.

He’s slow when he does it, crawling a few steps closer to you. You watch the way his shoulders move in the light, his eyes rounded and cheeky, his hair falling in front of them with a charming movement. It’s not intentional when you rub your legs together at the image yet again, very much wanting to spread them the closer he gets to you. 

You can’t help but think he looks smaller on his hands and knees, eyes looking up at you as if he could eat you whole. You do wonder if your face reads the same for him, with the nervousness hitting you off and on. 

“You’re hot when you look down at me like that.” Jake mutters out of nowhere under the veil of his music, stopping in place in front of you, planting himself right at your feet. “I’d like to touch you, is that okay?”

Nevermind the fact that Jake has never actually had to ask to touch a client before, he really can’t help it at this point. His cock is aching in his pants and he isn’t quite ready to wait an entire playlist worth of songs just to put his clothes back on and leave the door with pain between his legs. He very much wants to fuck something right now, preferably someone.

You.

On the other hand, he’s pleased to see how fucking fast you accept his request. Yes, he can touch you. Fuck, you want him to touch you.

And the whole idea that this is just him doing his job is so far in the back of your mind right now that you almost forget that he probably does this to most of the women he’s paid to entertain. Quite frankly, you don’t give a fuck. You can pretend that he only does this for you, you can live in a fantasy just for a night. 

Jake lends you a smile as the current song finally fades out, the silence back except this time, you’re not looking into his eyes when you nod. 

He’s slow when he places his hand on your knees, rubbing up, up, up until he’s able to lift himself and hover over you. He intentionally pushes your dress up your thighs, solely because he wanted to see you rub them together in full, shameless view for him. He wants to know what his body does for you. What it does to you. 

And he stands, hovering over you for a moment with his hands glued to your thighs before he stares down at them. You just do as he expected, you rub your legs together, you look anywhere but at his eyes now, your hands grip the couch beneath you.

“I’m going to get on top of you,” Jake says now, dipping his head into your line of sight and forcing eye contact again, now gripping the back of the couch rather than your thighs, Just as he did when all of this started. “Would you like that?”

“Do you do this for all of your clients?” You suddenly ask with a smaller voice than you gave him upon opening your door. You breathe in sharply when he moves instead of answering your question immediately. 

He spreads his legs, propping himself right on your lap, facing towards you, letting you feel the warmth of his chest radiating near your face. 

“What kind of answer are you looking for?” He laughs fondly, grabbing your hands and placing them on his chest. “You should touch me, by the way.” He foregoes his own rule with that one, not wanting to wait any longer for you to maybe ask him yourself. “Just pull away if you don’t want to.” He adds, guiding your hands over his chest and down his abdomen.

“You didn’t answer my question–” You interrupt him, feeling the warmth pool and drip into your panties. “It’s a yes or no question.”

He chuckles sweetly, stopping your hands at his abs and holding them there. 

“No,” he admits, moving his focus to the music now that he’s got your hands on him. “I don’t do this for all  of my clients.” 

Jake isn’t sure why he does it, but now he can’t bring himself to look at you. The eye contact feels more intimate than it should with you asking him such a question and demanding an answer. Even as he swirls his hips, feeling his clothed cock rub up and against you every few seconds, it feels almost too intimate. 

“Oh, yeah?” You nervously chuckle back, feeling his muscles move beneath your hand as he thrusts his hips forward. 

“You know,” He mutters, guiding your hands a bit lower despite his own confusion at how much he’s enjoying this moment with you. You feel the cold metal of his belt buckle against your palm and you think he’s going to stop there, like maybe this is just something he does to amp up the show or something, but no. He drags your hand down further until you feel the warmth of his cock under his pants..  

Your pulse quickens as your ears start to ring. Your eyes avoid where your hand is right now, taking in a deep breath and looking up at him with question. He’s not looking back though, instead, his head is dropped and he’s staring at his pathetic bulge against your hand. He’s dancing into it, against it.

“I’ve never gotten this hard over a client that doesn’t want me.” He admits shamefully in a pathetic little laugh, bucking against your palm again to the beat of the song. “I can’t tell if I’m doing my job well enough.”

You feel shocked at that. A client that doesn’t want him? Is he fucking insane?! Then again, you need to be honest with yourself sometimes. You’ve tried to appear as uninterested as possible until he started crawling to you. There is clear attraction, obvious needs swirling in the air right now. You force yourself now to look at your hand with the hefty bulge rubbing desperately against it. The sheer size of him is something entirely different from what you were expecting out of him. This feels forbidden.

Wrong, even, But goddamn. The man is masquerading his dance solely so he can fuck against your right now. Maybe you should show some interest. 

“You’re doing well, Jake,” You finally mutter to him, the first compliment you’ve given since he got here. 

“Yeah?’ He sighs out, relieved as his hips press harder into your palm. Arguably, he’s not even dancing at this point, just trying to get off. “How well?”

Yeah, he’s a little desperate at this point for you to do something on your own. It’s so out of character for him to do all of this just to…well, get off.

“Show me,” He raises his brows, now removing his hands from yours and running them up his chest. His hips continue to move on you, and he watches you as you hold your hand in place. “Come on, the buckle is right there–” he nearly pleads. “You don’t have to be shy.”

Like a book, the two of you read the other at this moment. You’re not a woman of many words and he seems to understand that now, taking your single compliment and running with it. You do as he says, unbuckling his belt and now, sliding your hands up his body to meet his. 

“There you go,” He stresses through another relieved sigh. Leaving your hands where they are against his chest and sliding the belt from his loops on his own. He tosses the belt behind him, relishing in that lost look in your eye.

You clearly have no fucking idea what you’re doing, but you seem to like it. And god, does he fucking love it. Especially when he motions his head back down, forcing your hands back to where they belong and helping you unbutton his pants. 

“Take it out, go on.” He says in a rush, “I’m asking you to do it.”

To be fair, you’re going to do it despite the nervousness in your gut. It’s been so long since you’ve touched a man, and even longer since you wanted to. You could half argue that you feel like you’re about to lose your virginity right now despite all those hook-ups in college. Still, you don’t even nod at him when you do it. Carefully tugging his pants down and watching the weight of his cock do the rest of the work for you. 

His legs spread wider as he points it up at you, a lewd scene, one that feels both disgustingly sexy and very, very, straight forward. You’ve never been like this with any other person. Or rather, no one has ever blatantly shown themselves like this to you. 

And still, Jake just looks at you. So much eye contact becoming more and more comfortable as he learns what you seem to like. He can feel the air in your apartment against the head of his cock, the cool air rushing past his shaft and causing him to shiver with a very quiet moan. He still only looks at you during this moment, wondering why you’ve let your hands fall to his thighs. Then he sees a new look in your eyes.

Are you…waiting to be told what to do? 

For some reason, he keeps forgetting that you’ve never had a stripper in your home before, let alone been seduced by one. Honestly though, he assumed you’d catch on by the point his cock was out. This isn’t for show anymore, he wants you. 

“Touch me?” He asks gently, reaching back down to your hands and urging you to grab his cock. “You don’t even have to move, I can do the rest–” He chokes out a groan mid-sentence as he feels you grasp him in your fist.

Such a silent woman beneath him. He can only read you in specific moments, this one not at all being one of them. You’re hesitant but willing, perhaps? You leave him questioning himself and his own motives, still wondering if that compliment you gave him was genuine or just part of your own little show. 

Yet still, you’re gripping him tightly and allow him to focus his hopes. Dancing beautifully into that little circle your hand creates for him. The best part is that when or if he ever actually dances to this song, it’s when he’s blatantly fucking someone. So the movements come naturally, just as they would if your legs were buckling and your pussy was spread open on him. So, basically, this dance is nothing short of fucking your fist, pretending to keep up an act that he so wishes you’d see through. 

He keeps his face intense, moving his shoulders and arms as if it’s easy for him to turn the tables and position you to where your legs are on his shoulders and he’s rubbing his cock against your, hopefully, soaked panties.  

It’s a struggle though, to not moan out in desperation when you tighten your grip on him. He watches your pupils blow out, and can see the way you’d now probably ask him to do just that. To put it on you, to shove it in you. And so, he slows his hips a bit and catches his breath, staring down at you in wait. 

“You’re really expecting me to get off all on my own?” He finally says in an exasperated breath to your stillness and silence. He really is, trying to act as though he can’t see the look in your eyes and how it’s changed since he started dancing. “Baby, don’t you want it?” He adds, now waiting to see if you’ll move your hand away from him.

You don’t though, to his surprise, you actually start moving your hand on him. You’re jerking him off, staring up at him like you want it, squeezing the head of his cock before dragging those pretty fingers back down. 

Instantly his eyes roll back. “Fuck, that’s good,” He compliments your hand, shaking a bit and shivering at the fact that you really just did that. “Can I stop pretending that I’m still dancing for you now?”  

You find it in yourself to chuckle now, nodding with a confident sort of smile. It hit you fairly quickly, actually, as you watched him chase his pleasure all by himself. He’s so hard, and so incredibly thick in your hand, you’d be stupid to say it didn’t turn you on. It’s that fact that you’ve barely said anything to him and he’s begging you to look at him, to watch him, to touch him. All of your nervousness slowly disappeared because it was being replaced with power. 

Now, that, you’re used to. You know what power feels like in all aspects of the working world, but never at home. Never when sex is involved. You’re always expected to play the part of a desperate woman in need of love, and that’s just not you. No, you’re a powerful woman with nerves that could kill you. And the way Jake parallels your working world, it’s almost too perfect. You’re used to men being beneath you, begging for your money, giving you all of their attention, apologizing for normal human errors. 

Jake isn’t exactly begging you for money, but he’s still begging for your hands. 

“No.” You finally say, relishing in the shock on Jake’s face. “Keep dancing, it’s what you’re being paid to do.”

His eyes fall a bit now as he nods his head. You almost feel his cock falter at the same time at your response, but you move your hand a bit faster. You grip a bit tighter, urging him to do whatever it is that’s on his mind. You want to see if he will actually do as he’s told now, considering you’re the one with the money to bring him back here. 

It’s endearing how he does his best, and honestly, his best probably far surpasses some of the most notable dancers on the market if you had any idea of how they were. It’s just a bit hard to continue this act for him when you’re gripping his cock in such a beautiful way. 

“You’re–” He pauses to hold in a moan, feeling the way you drag your hand in time with his dance. “You’re not going to ask me to touch you?” He finally adds, meeker than before, far less confidence. 

In fact, he’s hiding his face.

You smile in response, looking up at him with dark and wide pupils as you swallow each movement his body makes for you. Your ears are still ringing, unable to comprehend the music blasting in your sound system. Your focus is solely on him, your hands are on him, your confidence is because of him. 

The answer to that question should be a given, after all, shouldn’t he be well aware considering this little stunt he pulled that actions truly speak louder than words?

“No wonder she liked you so much.” You start, now loosening your grip on him just to see the way his hips frantically chase the warmth of your palm.

“Wait–” He asks slightly out of breath, cheeks flushed and bashful. “You really thought, I let her get me off like this?” 

It almost pisses him off that you’d say that to him, then again, it’s not like you knew that this specific instance is rare and reserved for very few clients. 

“You couldn’t even look at me properly thirty minutes ago, now you think you can make assumptions?” He argues, pushing away from you.

Your response is skewing an eyebrow at him, watching him fight for control as he pulls his hips back and shuffles off of you and onto his feet. You glance down at his cock and the way it stands painfully erect, twitching at the sudden lack of friction. 

“Is it wrong to assume when you very clearly want me to make you cum?” 

He stills himself, a blank expression turning to that of a devilish smile, eyes narrowing at you as he leans over you. 

“Are you suggesting that you’ll get me off?”

You smile, spreading your legs a bit and feeling the stickiness drip through your panties now. 

“She did tell me that some clients have gotten special treatment from you,” You mock him slightly, watching his eyes glue themselves to your thighs. You make a show to spread your legs a bit for him. “I also know that she was no such client.”

A small moment of silence as he devours you with his eyes, seemingly interested in the attitude you have towards him now.

“I also didn’t imagine your clients would be the ones getting you off.” 

Honestly, it’s like he hit the fucking jackpot with you. Challenging him, mocking him with his cock out in front of you. If you so much as wiggled your cunt in front of him, he would instantly be back on his knees, letting you soak his face in whatever way you please. 

“Normally they’d be jumping at the chance, you though–” Jake very nearly growls at you with a deepened voice. “You look like you’re the one who needs to get off, if anything to get that snarky grin off your face.”

“Go on then, dance.”

It’s almost like a game now, he feels. You know he’s trying to seduce you and it seems you’re enjoying the fact that you haven’t let him yet. He knows that you intend to let him, so yeah, fuck yeah, he’s going to play along. 

He raises a brow at you as he steps back once more, trying to ignore the fact that his cock is aching to be touched again. You still want your show? Good. He’ll fucking give you a show.

Jake does as he’s told, finally kicking his pants off in full and keeping his eyes on you the entire time. He watches the way your legs spread when he rubs his hands down his naked chest, straight down to his cock where he only briefly tugs at himself. He can almost see under your dress as you continue to spread your legs more and more, but the lighting is far too dim to see what his act is doing to you just yet.

When he saunters behind you, dipping his head by your neck and whispering the dirtiest part of the song into your ear, he can see your sharp intake of air, and he watches the way your breasts move with each breath he forces out of you, and the way your nipples perk through the fabric.

So, he stays here behind you with his hips pressed to the back of your couch, ghosting his hands over your neck, moving down your arms, and then to your chest. He doesn’t touch, because you still haven't asked yet, but he knows hovering alone is enough. It’s like he can feel the electricity beneath his fingers somehow reaching your skin. 

  And he continues to sing against your ear, leaning further forward to plant his hands on your thighs again, mostly because he’s already been given permission to touch you there. 

“More,” He gently demands between lyrics. “Spread them all the way.”

Jake watches for a moment from behind you, pressing his cock against the back of the couch the moment he sees your legs stretch open, your dress hiking up past your waist, enough now that he can at least see a glimpse of the skin closest to your pussy. 

“Ask me to touch you.” He pleads against your ear, trailing his fingers up your thighs enough to where he would need you to tell him to stop otherwise. “Just tell me you want it.” 

It’s silent save for the music playing, and his cock is aching so badly by this point that each time he rubs against the couch he’s almost breaking down to fucking beg you to let him touch you. That alone could make him cum, but god, you’re so good at playing hard to get even if it’s blatantly obvious that he’s already got you. 

You’re fucking playing with him, and he can’t decide if he loves it or hates it. 

Your silence is so damning to his dripping cock, and his skin feels so hot right now that he’s almost forgotten that he was paid to be doing anything that’s not this. 

“No.” You playfully respond, dangling yourself just out of reach. You breathe in deep though, knowing you can’t keep denying him for much longer with the way his hands are rubbing at you. “I like it better when you’re the one asking for it.” You lean your head back and rest it against the cushions of the couch, and he instantly moves from your neck to look down at you. 

Oh. 

“Cute.” He says, having no issue at all to be the one to ask, beg, plead, or cry. Whatever it takes to get a feel of you at this point. It’s just…new to him.

Another long moment of eye contact has him trailing his hands higher than before, almost to the point that there’s no skin on your thighs to touch that doesn’t involve your panty line. 

“May I?” He asks, leaning down a bit closer so that his face is mere inches from yours. “Will you take my fingers?” 

You could mistake this distance as something that should not be crossed between the two of you. Barely hearing his question at this moment, the only thing you want to do is to kiss him, and it hit you so fucking fast that you almost forgot he’s doing anything you ask of him. 

“Come again?” You smile, blinking up at him. 

He breathes in, seemingly frustrated.

“My fingers. Take them.” He says rather than asking this time, already moving his hands to trace up your panties and feeling the wetness seep through onto his fingertips. “You’re already dripping–baby,” He stops to moan at it, amazed by how fucking soaked you are. “I can imagine they’d slide right in.” 

Typically, you wouldn’t allow anyone to call you that. “Baby.” but coming from his mouth, it sounds fitting. It sounds seductive, sexy. It has your stomach in knots, actually, your hips bouncing up just slightly at his words with the pet name attached. Finally, you let him. Finally, you grind yourself against his fingers. 

“I’ll make you feel so good–” He groans at your movements, loving how desperate you suddenly appear despite pretending you weren’t going to work for your own pleasure. He continues to trace his fingers up and down just to feel the mess of you, the one that he created, and the one that he intends to make messier. 

“Moving your hips isn’t the answer though, baby.”

You swear he can read your mind, there’s no fucking way he would say it like that without knowing how you just internally admitted to liking it. 

“Yes,” You let out shortly, darting your eyes away from him. “I’ll take them.”

That breathy laugh he releases sounds sweet, almost dripping like syrup when he lays his head beside your neck. His soft singing picks back up as he listens to you now more than the music, his fingers continuously ghosting where he promised to put them, not yet moving your panties. 

Paired with it, his abdomen stays tense as he humps against your couch, his muscles locking up at the pleasure running through him in this position. Your hips lightly chase his fingers, up when his fingers move down, and he can’t help the shy smile that spreads across his lips. It’s one you don’t see, but the constant shift in your personality is something that keeps him on edge. Keeps him wanting more, to know more, to see and feel more of you. 

And when he finally reaches around you with his other hand, pulling your panties to the side and exposing your pussy, he watches you take over for him and push them down instead, offering far more than he anticipated. He watches as you kick them off your ankles almost elegantly, as if you could do this job of dancing better than he can.

“Eager?” He teases, knowing you won’t respond to that. And you don’t. It pleases him to know that at least by now, he can kind of read you. Yet, still, there’s nothing more at this moment that would please him more than getting to see you in full. To wander back around this couch and get a real good, close up look at what he’s doing to you. 

“You’re so wet right now.” He groans, knowing that you were soaked before and only hoping you’re dripping more and more for him now. His cock is weeping as much as he’d like for you to be, chasing any amount of friction he could have. And he can see his fingers slip and slide through your slick into places he wasn’t even attempting to touch just yet solely because of how wet you are. 

“You held out for so long,” He coos now with a soft breath against your neck, feeling your cheek nuzzle against his flexing arm. “Look at that,” Two of his fingers tease at your hole before– “they slipped right in.”

Your breathing is labored by this point, feeling him play with you as if he has all the time in the world to fuck with your head. Which is…nice. No rushing despite the time limit on his session, proving time and time again that you’re getting more than others get from him. Lucky you, that you can moan out without shame for him. 

And you do, grabbing his hand and practically fucking yourself with his fingers. That takes him by surprise as the warmth and sheer tightness envelopes his digits. You are excruciatingly sexy to him, he doesn’t even attempt to stop you.

In fact, he doesn’t even hold back now, meeting each chase of your hips with the force of his fingers plunging into you deeply, with full intention. He scissors them open, feeling your hole stretch around them beautifully enough to fit in a third. And god, you’re so fucking wet. He can hear the slapping of his soaked fingers inside of you pushing more and more of that arousal out. 

He moans blatantly against your ear now, easing you into talking back to you. 

“Bet you could take cock so well–” He murmurs, feeling you shiver against his grasp. “How long has it been? Hm?”

He’s talking to you, yes, but hyping himself up at the same time. The scent of your hair forcing a slight obsession with you in his mind. The way you feel, look, smell, move when you’re just inches from him like this. He knows you won’t respond to a goddamn thing he says too, but it doesn’t matter too much to him at this point. Because now, you’re whimpering.

Such a confident, well respected woman…fucking whimpering.

“What was that?” He asks playfully, running his other hand up your body until he gets to your neck. “Has it been that long?”

And for the first time, you were going to answer. For the first time, he doesn’t leave room for you to answer. Instead, you feel his palm resting flush against your neck, now pressing in and practically holding you down by the neck as he fucks his fingers into you faster. 

Painfully faster.

“Cry for me again,” He encourages you, wincing as his own hips frantically chase the back of your couch. “You’re allowed, come on, do it again.”

And because he’s working for it, because he’s doing so fucking well, you let out another choked moan. His hand straining your neck so tightly that any sound coming out sounds strained and desperate, even the sound of yourself right now ignites a fire inside of you. You can feel that grasp tighten each time his fingers fuck into you with a painful jab, his palm placed so perfectly that you can feel your clit being rubbed each time he pulls his hand back.

It’s…overwhelming.

“Yes, fuck- again.” He groans, bucking his hips forward and frantically lifting his head from your shoulder, all so he can look down at you. He’s heard you, now he wants to fucking see how desperate you are when you cry out. 

When you open your eyes again, wincing every few seconds at both the pleasure and pain of his desperate hands, all you can see is his face. All you can feel are those same long fingers threatening more and more cries from your chest. He’s hitting spots inside of you that haven't been touched in a long time. Feeling it now almost burns, even with the cold metal of that single ring on his finger against your neck. 

And when he tightens that hand on your neck once more, not only do you cry out, but he matches you with his own stuttered gasp. You strain to keep your eyes on him through this moment, watching the way his teeth appear to scrape at his bottom lip when the sound of you envelopes his ears. So, you do it again, and again, and again. 

His fingers only continue their aggressive assault inside of you, his palms still hitting your clit, and that other hand around your throat…honestly? You could fucking sing songs to him at this moment if he so wished it. 

“You’re shaking.” He comments, eyes flicking to your body. “Can you even breathe right now?”

His smile looks so fucking mean, knowing full well that you can’t breathe and only tightening his hand harder against your throat. Nevermind the fact that you never discussed this type of thing with him, fucking wasn’t even in the agenda. But now? Fuck it. You do like it. Maybe you even love it. The way you’re moaning for him is all either of you need to know. 

This time though, when you moan out and it’s sounding particularly raspy, he releases his hand from your throat and instantly leans down to your lips. He’s a bit shocked that you immediately strain your neck to kiss him. What he was going to do was degrade you. Now though, he’s just tasting the way you’re so desperate to kiss him. As if you’re wanting this to be real, to be intimate. 

Arguably, your idea was better than his own because now he can’t bring himself to degrade you. In fact, he was stupid to even consider such a fucking thing. Despite never kissing his clients, things with you have already lasted far longer than he’d normally allow. Things have already surpassed the intimacy level he allows too, even with the very few lucky women who get to touch him. He’s never asked for it, and he’s never gotten this much of his own pleasure out of finger fucking them. Not once has he ever fucked himself against a couch to hold himself back for a woman either. 

Maybe just this once, he can want it to be real too. Even if he leaves with a pocket full of cash, the fantasy right now is enough for him to accept it as is. If you want him to kiss you, he will fucking kiss you.

His pupils grow as his eyes close, slowing his fingers unintentionally as he focuses on your lips and tongue. Even his body against your couch relaxes and his hips slow to that of a sensual thrust forward, one that offers a long and painful drag against his already raw and reddened cock. You kiss him back better than he’s even been kissed before, and falling into it was terrifyingly easy. 

His brain nearly short circuits at the softness of it, allowing his hands to move on their own accord, cupping your jaw with one hand and emptying your pussy to rub your clit with the other. He’s intentionally deepening the kiss far past his own comfort level.

But he is comfortable, and that’s precisely what’s uncomfortable about it. 

“You can take it–” Jake mutters between kisses, more focused on your lips than the words he spilling to you. “You want more, right?” He continues, only now pulling back in a breath and waiting for you to adjust your eyes on his. 

Immediately, when you open your eyes they widen at him. Goddamn, was he this sexy before? Did he even look this into you when he was on your lap fucking your fist? Out of all of his begging, this…this right here. Are you really about to fuck a stripper? The man you were so against meeting just this morning? The man who has $600 in his bank account from your lovely, fucking adored and beautiful best friend? 

The man that you’re probably going to give the entirety of the contents in your purse to the moment he packs up and moves on as if this never happened?

Yes.

“I want more–” You say to him, blinking at his pretty eyes and intentionally rubbing your clit against his fingers, mostly because it appears as if he’s stopped functioning all together.

And before you can even blink, his fingers are pulled away and his presence is gone. You lift your head to watch him, cock still erect and heavy against his thigh as he goes directly to his bag. As if he knew it was going to happen, as if this was his plan before he even met you, he pulls out a condom and slips it on without so much as a sigh of relief.

After all, he does have to take precautions to be fucking an absolute stranger like this.

“Oh.” You huff in disappointment, not entirely meaning for him to hear it. 

He raises his eyes to you as he pulls at the end of the condom, offering plenty of space for whatever release he intends to have soon, but his eyes don’t seem concerned nor bothered. 

“What? You want it raw?” He asks playfully, wiggling his eyebrows briefly before making his way back to you. “That’ll require a bit more discussion, you know.”

Discussion that neither of you are willing to have solely because your pussy is throbbing and his cock appears to be more pathetic than it already was being strangled in that thin layer of latex. And without another word, allowing both of you to put that to rest for now, he’s right back over you, lifting your dress up and off of you. 

“Fuck.” He breathes out as your tits falls from their perfect place within the dress. The sopping wet couch beneath you only soaking up more of your slick as his words force more out of you. God, you feel so wanted. 

You keep your arms lifted to help him ease the dress entirely off of you, leaving you bare beneath him as he instantly goes to grab both tits, pressing them together before flicking both nipples with the tips of his fingers. 

Your body jolts at the sensation, feeling it run through you and swell your clit more than it already was. The ache is worse, your hole is pulsing, yearning, wanting to be filled. Still though, he takes his precious expensive time, leaning down and sucking one erect nub into his mouth and flicking it all the same with his tongue. 

“Right here?” He mouths from around your tit, eyes closed and tongue still focused elsewhere. “You want to be fucked here?” He mumbles again, realizing that his question will likely go unanswered. It’s very likely that he is going to fuck you right here, on your living room couch. Asking you such a thing was stupid, borderline cringe-worthy. 

To his surprise though, you lend him a small “no.” as you lace your fingers in his hair, pushing his lips to your other nipple just to feel the warmth of his tongue.

“No?” He questions, blinking up at you from your chest before biting gently around the sensitive bud against his mouth. “Where then?” 

To his dismay, your smile is still beautiful but the way you close your legs and sit yourself up from the slouched, relaxed position you were in disappoints him. Mostly because he’s now forced to stand up too, and even more so because he has to keep his head dipped in order to keep his mouth on that perfect nipple of yours. 

His disappointment fades as you hold his head there, feeling your legs almost buckle against him when he moans around it, sending vibrations through your chest. You remain gentle though, wobbling on your legs and shuffling forward, allowing him to continue his antics. Slowly but surely, you turn him around and back him up against the couch.

Only now, when you push him back and his teeth graze your sensitive nub do you realize that he’s so, so much needier than you expected. Even with his begging, his little disappointed sound didn’t go unnoticed. His brows are still furrowed now, not even paying attention to the fact that you’ve just shoved him down so that you can be the one straddling him. It’s cute, actually. Noticing how he was so intimidating when he came into your house, walking with confidence, dancing with intention, finger fucking you and choking you as if he had a right to do it…only to now look at him and the way he’s melting.

The way he’s needy, borderline puppy-like to be near you.

His eyebrows shoot up from that little face of disappointment though, when you pull yourself from his mouth and instead plant yourself right on his lap, letting your pussy lips envelope the underside of his cock as you grind up immediately.

It’s the first slippery touch his cock has felt all night and honestly? He’s been on edge this entire time. You grind so fucking beautifully, and it’s a first for him to realize that he’s entirely speechless.

You’ve rendered him incapable of speaking. 

“You’re cute, I don’t think you realize that.” You comment, gliding against his cock and watching his hands reach out to grip your waist, “Really cute.”

He doesn’t falter at your compliments, instead he just melts into it even more. His cheeks are permanently blushed as he leans forward to try and get your tits in his face again, and all you can do is grip his hair and let him. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt the head of a cock bumping your clit, and you’d never forgive yourself for not letting yourself have this kind of fun more often. 

And Jake just gets whinier. His cock pulses and twitches to be inside of you all the while despite the discomfort of that latex layer likely needing to be replaced already. Still, his hands keep moving your waist, pushing and pulling you faster against him until– ah.

You angle yourself perfectly when he slides your upwards again. All you had to do was perk your ass out and wait for him to push you back down. Finally, he slides in without fully realizing that’s what was going to happen, and goddamn the sound he makes, fuck.

“Mmfuck,” He winces, digging his nails into your hips at the speed of which he bottomed out. The breath is knocked out of him and all you can do is stare down. Look at him now, so docile and sweet like he wasn’t fucking your livingroom floor prior to this. 

And the grip of you on him, so strong. The slide was so easy, so fast, that he genuinely is seeing stars at how good you feel wrapped around him. The velvet walls inside of you pulsing, pushing and squeezing his cock all over. He can’t help the sounds he makes, grunting and feeling that grip you have in his hair intensify his pleasure. 

Both of you now let out a long winded breathy groan at the sensation of your body adjusting to his, in all fairness, you had to grip onto something and his hair just so happened to be the best thing at the moment. He seems to love it though, so when you finally regain your senses of being absolutely fucking full, you pull at it again, tilting his head back so that you can see the expanse of his neck and the way it moves when he swallows. 

“Bounce.” He croaks out at you, eyes glistening with pure fucking hope that you will. 

And, well…when you feel his length pulse in place inside of you, you do exactly as he asked. You bounce, taking his full, thick cock each and every time. Not allowing a single inch of it to be neglected. All he can do in response is squint, trying to keep his eyes open through each breathy groan of praise and encouragement. He does lose himself entirely to the feeling of euphoria and the pain of how harshly you keep his head tilted back. 

He really didn’t think you could get any sexier, honestly, and as far as he’s concerned…if he moves right now he’s going to cum. So, he doesn’t. Instead, he just lazily smiles at you and lets his eyes finally close so that he can fall right back into the state of seeing nothing but stars.

Frustrated, yet incredibly turned on by the way you’ve just completely lost him, you bounce harder, then you sit flush against him, twisting and swirling your hips. Grinding forward back, counting how he moans each time you do something that feels particularly sensitive for him. And you hang onto that, repeating those actions, lifting your ass and sliding back down. Again and again, until your legs shake and your fingers threaten to pull his hair too hard.

“Look at you now,” You half-chuckle out of breath, hearing the wet slaps of skin on skin paired with his blatant and sensual moans drowning out the playlist that has been long forgotten. “You can’t even move.”

All he does is nod his head, that same lazy and cocky smile appears as if to insinuate that you’re damn fucking right he can’t. Like he’s proud of it. And you’re not going to ignore the fact that his hands are still on your waist either, gripping onto you so tightly that you fear he could draw blood if you move the wrong way.

“Keep going, baby–” He somehow manages to say to you. “Don’t stop.”

There it is. This entire time he’s been begging to fuck you, and now he’s finally begging you to fuck him. His voice still sounds like honey, with that impressively hard cock inside of you pulsing so constantly that you could probably feel him in your stomach if you were to press against it. 

“Mhm,” You answer him, promising that you won’t stop through just a half-moan and a long winded intake of air. Honestly? At this very moment, you feel like you’re sitting on a throne. Jake, obviously, being said throne but whatever. The fucking power he’s making you feel is nothing short of alluring. 

And now, as that power goes to your head, you opt to grind rather than bounce for him now. Your hips aren’t as erratic, yet still he tenses up for you, forcing his cock to somehow feel even harder as you fuck it into yourself through lazy drags of your clit against his pelvis. 

If you keep going like this, you could cum in an instant. But before you can even finish that thought, you look down at him on instinct due to his sudden silence. 

His eyes are squeezed shut tightly, and his mouth is open in a silent moan. You can see that he’s not breathing, seemingly holding his breath even after you release his hair. His head lolls back with that same expression, and that’s when you feel his fingernails dig.

“Oh,” You moan, now resuming your grinding much harder now, making a point to bump your clit repeatedly against him. “Fuck, are you cumming right now?”

Still he doesn’t respond, you can only feel his hips stutter under you despite trying to remain entirely still and stiff for you. You know that now is when you need to be chasing, because you’ll be damned if you’re not going to cum with him inside of you. 

You want to be full like this, you want to squeeze him, to play with his sensitive cock even if it starts to soften. He’s too pretty, too fucking pretty when he whimpers. And so, you continue grinding, up until you’re on the brink of your orgasm but not quite there yet. To the point his cock is only half in you with the way you’re angling your clit against him, chasing your own high so aggressively that you barely feel his fingers tightening on you again. 

Jake shoots his head back up, eyes opening as the sensitivity hits him quicker than he would have liked, but you don’t relent. The pain is intense from how hard you’re riding him, but he can see how close you are, the image alone compliments that sensitivity he’s feeling right now. 

He seethes out painful praises to you as your desperate cunt finally reaches orgasm, squeezing against his softening length so tightly that he can’t help but whimper with you. Still, he studies your face through his own winces, shuddering at the way you close your legs around him despite them being forced to stay open in this position. You try to curl into the pleasure, as if you wish you could disappear completely alongside it. 

And god, the way you grip at his arms for leverage as you shake through it. Dare he say…he’s fond of you. It still hurts, but it kind of hurts more when he knows it’s over. Mostly because it feels like he’s been in this room with you for days, knowing that’s not true. Surely he’s stayed longer than your allotted time with him, but you seemed to have given him something worth staying for at least.

When you slump over him, he almost wants to cry from how fucking sensitive he is right now. Thankfully, you seem sensitive too as you wince before he does, remaining as gentle as you can when you reach down to the base of his cock and hold the condom, allowing him to slide out of you at his own pace. 

And then, the playlist comes to an abrupt end at just the wrong moment, because it forces Jake to realize that he hadn’t stayed at all over his paid time frame. Now, all he can hear is the way his breath is entirely too uneven compared to any of his sessions with prior clients like this. He’s breathing much too fondly for you, or rather, not breathing well because of you. He can’t just…go home can he?

“You okay?” You ask to the slight panicked look on his face, seeing how he stares straight up at the ceiling, not blinking, no readable expression. “Jake?”

He shakes himself out of it, eyes slowly moving and blinking to look at you.

“That–” He tries to talk, genuinely, he does. “Um…”

The change in atmosphere almost freaks you out. Isn’t this what he wanted? You saw the way he lost himself there briefly though, you can admit. None of this was even that rough or kinky, so you’re a bit confused as to why he’s acting like this.

Maybe you even feel a bit guilty. Like you’re the problem. So, you silence yourself and lift onto weak legs to stumble and find your dress. You throw it on quickly, hiding your shame that he so wanted to see just fifteen minutes ago. Then, you head for your purse and grab every single bill you have folded neatly inside. 

Just like that, you place the money in his shaking hand and can’t bare to look at him.

“Wha-” He starts, licking his dried lips and sitting up a bit too quickly. “Why are you giving me so much?”

“It’s your tip.” You try to say casually as you clear your throat. “You can shower too, if you’d like.” 

Jake holds his breath, hoping you don’t genuinely think he did all of that for the money. He was already paid to be here, the whole…you know, fucking thing, was his doing. What happened was because he wanted it, and…he still does. Are you truly just strictly back to business like this? You literally just handed him his rent for the month and then some, it kind of amazes him. The audacity. As if he’s never been handed handsome sums of cash from drunken lonely women. You aren’t a woman who needs him, and yet you pay like you did. 

“Shower with me?” He forces himself to ask, because he knows he’ll regret it if he doesn’t. After all, this tip feels like a rejection of what just happened. Hush money, even. 

He doesn’t know what just crept into this room through the fucking silence, but he doesn’t like it. And it seems you don’t either, because you instantly comfort him with a smile and a step forward. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

He didn’t intend to spend the night, free of charge no less, but he did. All of that including some embarrassing talk involving the seriousness of how this is not normal for him. 

Surprisingly, you believe him. 

After the shower, the mood had shifted into something that felt natural and less rehearsed. He wasn’t just some stripper you could call over with a downpayment of $600, he was Jake, a man trying to make ends meet in a city far too expensive even for you if you’re being honest. 

Jake, a man wanted by several women. You, on the other hand, feel the need to mend your lonely and stone-cold heart with him, however much that may cost. Not to fall in love, or to fill any type of voice. If anything, you want to be taken care of in specific ways, and you’d like to take care of him in turn. 

So, when he grimaced at your joke, saying that he would practically be your sugar baby and that you’d run off all of his other business out of need to continuously be fucked by him and him alone, you almost stopped pressing the matter.

Because you would run off all his clients solely for keeping him too busy with you to go to them. You would be paying him every time, making damn sure he’s well taken care of and financially stable. 

Jake did notice how you looked disappointed, quickly backtracking his grimace.

“Wait, you’re serious?” 

You nod shyly, blinking at him.

“It’s not like we have to sleep together every time, you won’t even have to dance for me anymore.” You argue, knowing that’s at least a half-lie. “All I ask is that you don’t fuck your other clients if you’re still seeing me, and intending to..you know–”

Jake nods happily, without question even.

“So, what happens if I’m horny and you’re not available then?”

You narrow your eyes at him. 

“Jerk off like a normal person?”

Fair enough.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

man, i forgot how lame this fic is but yknow what? good for me. jake is so fuckin’ fine fr I DON’T EVEN CAREEEEEEEEEEE. pls reblog and leave feedback on my work :D

[cherrygirlfriend]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ my nerdy boy

pairing: nerd!rafe x pervert!reader synopsis: all about nerd!rafe and his popular, secretly pervy girlfriend ૮꒰ ྀི >⸝⸝⸝< ྀི꒱ა warnings: smut, masturbation (f), implied virgin!rafe, MDNI! wc: 500 a/n; this is the first rafe fic on this account that isn't a repost! anyway lmk if you want to read more about them, this was sort of a 'morning thoughts' kinda post i wrote within an hour of waking up ໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১

when you first met rafe, he was tutoring you for math and the moment you saw him, you thought he looked downright edible in his little specs and his slicked-back hair. he wore baggy hoodies and sweatshirts adorned with your college's name, but one time, you grabbed his bicep to 'steady yourself' (to feel him up) and you felt the hard planes of muscles hidden under his clothes that immediately gave you filthy thoughts.

from then on, you'd do anything to see that pretty blush that'd sometimes grace his defined cheeks, and it wasn't even a difficult thing to achieve. really, most of the time calling him cute was enough to get him turning as bright as a tomato.

you always wore something low-cut and tight to your tutoring sessions, biting down on your lip and shamelessly pushing your cleavage together as you pretended to listen to him explain statistics, your panties getting wetter and wetter the more and more he stumbled with his words.

when he finally gathered enough courage to ask you out on a date, you took him to see a movie, keeping your arm around his shoulders the entirety of the movie, until the final thirty minutes when you pretended to stretch and yawn, moving your hand to rest on his thigh.

rafe stiffened in his seat, a bulge starting to form in his jeans that you pretended not to notice, all the while drawing hearts on the inside of his thigh with your long, pretty nails.

when you two finally started going out officially, you could tell that he didn't have much experience with relationships, his kisses were clumsy and he kept apologizing if he was 'doing it wrong' and you thought it was the most adorable thing ever.

the first time he let you into his dorm room, it was like his personality had been transformed into a bedroom. when he slipped off into the bathroom, you rolled around in his sheets, smelling his shampoo on his pillow, your hand going to rub yourself over your leggings.

you giggled when you saw all the different boxer shorts neatly arranged in his drawer, grabbing a blue plaid pair and slipping them into your bag.

later that night, you called him, wearing his boxer shorts, your arousal soaking them the moment you put them on. he answered in a groggy voice that caused another pang of arousal to go through your body. he'd been up late doing homework, explaining the subject of his essay while you simply 'mmhm'ed and 'oh?'ed at everything the boy said, too busy rubbing yourself to pay any real attention.

you were looking at a picture that you'd secretly taken of him as you worked yourself closer and closer, picturing his hand was the one getting you off, thinking about what it'd be like to jerk him off with your favorite strawberry-scented lotion.

when you finally felt your orgasm rock through you, you bit down on your pillow to muffle the moans and the 'nngh!'s that escaped you.

and for the next ten-or-so minutes, you just listened to him rant about his classes, your hand still in his boxer shorts, a satisfied smile on your lips, thinking of all the ways in which you wanted to defile his innocence.

[aurorawritestoescape]

ALL THE GOOD GIRLS GO TO HELL

Stepdad Joel Miller x f!reader || 4,7k

part 3 of A Step Into Hell || can be read alone

Summary: you can't stop thinking about your stepdad so you do something risky to have a little more of him. But Joel is not the "little more" kind of guy.

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, step-cest, Joel's POV, reader’s pov, still technically dub con but reader's very into it, big legal age gap, dark!Joel, perv!Joel, possessive!joel, f!oral, both holes pronouns, cock pronouns, corruption, object insertion, fingering, creampie, degradation, anal, praise kink, daddy kink, pussy spanking, cum eating, swearing. The pics are for the mood only. Reader has no specific physical descriptions. Joel can lift reader.

A/n: huge thank you to my love @milla-frenchy for this inspiring ask, for beta-ing and for the title. ILYSM❤️ also thank you to everyone who enjoys this naughty series, I’m grateful for your love, your asks and your thots! I hope you’ll enjoy this part❤️‍🔥 dividers by @/saradika-graphics

SERIES MASTERLIST || MASTERLIST

”Joel, wake up.”

Joel opened his eyes, startled by a figure standing next to the bed in the darkness of the bedroom. He cursed under his breath when he realized it was just you.

“Hmm?” all he could muster to say, groggy with sleep.

“Can you — can we talk?” you whispered and beckoned him with a hand.

Joel was blinking at you for a few seconds and then his eyes slid over your barely clothed figure. Even in his half awake state he realized that it wasn’t normal - you, standing in his and his wife’s bedroom in your tiny pajamas like a slutty ghost, your voice shaky with nerves.

Joel got up, moving carefully so as not to wake up his sleeping wife. As he was following you downstairs a scary thought passed through his mind - what if your guilt brought you to him in the middle of the night? Did you feel bad for sleeping with your mother’s husband and decided to break your thing off? No! He’d just found a perfect fuck toy in his own backyard and he wasn’t going to let you slip out of his paws. So he decided to intimidate you and remind you that he had you by the pussy.

You

You thought that Joel was hot the moment your mother introduced you to him but when you started living under the same roof, his rough nature, gruff voice, piercing eyes and broad frame became your obsession. You wanted him to be with you, not with your mom. It was so filthy and naughty to think like that about your stepdad and your heart skipped a beat every time he was staring at you. You were scared that somehow he had read your mind and realized that his stepdaughter was a cock-craving freak. Needy and desperate for him.

You would have never confessed your feelings but somehow you got what you wanted anyway.

Yet your thirst wasn’t satisfied, instead it grew and grew until it took over your mind and body. You couldn't sleep any more - your nights were spent tossing and turning, sweating against the clingy sheets and thinking of Joel. Remembering his hands greedily exploring your body, his lips, too mean to give you a long kiss, but hot enough to brand you as his, his cock so deep inside you, it was hard to take a breath.

Tonight was especially hard. He hadn’t fucked you in three days - you were busy with the college, he worked late and your mom always seemed to be around. You were dying to get filled by his him, to feel his body pressed to yours. But most of all you craved to be degraded by him. Whenever you saw each other, he was cold, indifferent, looking through you and it was understandable - he had to keep your sick relationship a secret, especially in front of your mom, but it elevated your need even more. You wanted him to be mean, to call you a slut, to manhandle you, to give you anything to satisfy your twisted thirst for his attention.

All you had was your pink dildo; after Joel prohibited you from getting some on the side, the toy was your only respite. The one that still had Joel’s fingerprints on the shaft. No way you’d wash him away. You were so desperate you slept with it like with a damn teddy bear, it was always in your hands when you were alone in your bedroom, feeling empty without your stepdad’s cock plugging you, cold without his arms around your body.

You’d been fucking yourself sensless every night but all in vain. Your body and mind demanded him, your attraction turned into a fixation. You must have gone completely crazy with ‘the horny’ but on the fourth day in the middle of the night, surprisingly even for yourself, your feet carried you to his bedroom.

Joel

You led Joel to the kitchen and when you both entered, you turned on a little light over the cooker and stood a few steps away from him. Joel shivered, feeling chilly only in his boxers and a white tank top, and grumbled with an intention to intimidate you,

“What’s up?”

You looked anxious as hell, shifting on your bare feet, chest heaving under your cute pajama top, restless hands fidgeting with the lace on your shorts. You looked so small and vulnerable in front of him, that Joel’s cock twitched.

“I— Joel — sorry for waking you up but — I can’t sleep.”

Your stepdad furrowed his bushy brows.

”Want me to sing you a lullaby or some shit? How the hell is it my problem?“

He glanced at the clock and then glared at you, his hands on his hips.

“I have to get up in 3 hours.”

Avoiding his stare, your eyes slid down his broad torso and landed on his bulge. He followed her line of sight and smirked at his hard cock creating a glorious tent in his boxers.

“What a little slut. ‘s called morning wood. Don’t be flattered, jus’ nature.”

You quickly looked away, but he didn’t miss the way you bit your soft lower lip and pressed your thighs together.

“Wait...” His breath hitched. With his eyes narrowed he took a step towards you.

Could it be…? No way! Did you wake him up because you were horny?

Suddenly Joel was 100% awake.

You shifted back and pressed your body to the counter, looking embarrassed. And there was something else in the way you moved. Need.

‘Fuck. Me.’ Joel thought, staring at you, as a mixture of triumph and relief expanded his chest.

The bitch didn’t want to break up with him, she wanted him to break her back. A wolfish grin twisted his face as he cooed, inching closer,

“Aww, someone needs daddy’s milk to sleep better?”

He grabbed himself by the heavy balls and gave them a shake, stepping up closer to you. “Have it all right here for ya.”

Now there were mere inches between you and him. You looked so delicious - your eyes downcast, your body almost trembling out of your clothes, fast breaths making your chest flutter.

“My cock-hungry girl,” he whispered.

You shook your head, still not daring to look at him, but stayed silent. Yes, it must be hard for you to deny the obvious — you were madly horny for your stepdad.

Joel tilted his head and his smile faded. He shifted his jaw, suddenly serious and concentrated. There were so many ways he could ruin you tonight and he had just a few hours. Why did he always have so little time with you?

“Don’t worry, sweetie, I’ll take good care of you,” he whispered in your ear and bucked his hips against your lower belly, making you gasp. “Your pussy keeps you up at night?” —his hands slowly pulled down your shorts— “She wants my meaty cock?”— he lightly slapped your folds and you moaned his name — “Poor thing.”— He massaged your wet pussy —“Hungry cunt, always drenched.”— Slap!

“Ahh!” you cried out. Slap—slap—slap!

“Joelllll….”

Your hands grasped his strong biceps, nails hurting him like a little kitten would, while he was spanking your damp folds with his paddle of a hand.

“A few days without daddy’s dick and you run to him —,” Joel pushed his index and middle fingers between your folds —”in the middle of the night…riskin to wake up your mother.”

Joel shoved his thick fingers inside you and started fucking you slowly and steadily. Soon you were whimpering and shaking, eyes shut, lips parted, almost drooling.

“What if you woke her up, huh? What’d you say? ‘I need daddy to fuck me to sleep?’”

“Nooo, Joel—“, all you could do was to moan.

“You know what I like to be called.”

“Daddy -ohh, daddy…”

You spread your legs wider, watching his hand work your pussy until Joel spat,

“Eyes on me.”

You followed his command and he almost came in his boxers.

“Look at you, dirty slut, you love it. Love bein finger-fucked by your stepdad.”

Your beautiful face was twisted with pleasure he was giving you and he pressed his lips to yours and licked possessively into your mouth.

Joel was rubbing his clothed hard-on against your side, working himself up, and then pushed your clit with his thumb and started rubbing it up and down in rhythm with his fingers, that were knuckles deep inside you. You mewled into his mouth and soon your pussy began clamping on his digits hard and fast.

Joel parted from your lips and watched you closely, reveling in the way your body was succumbing to his dirty actions. He still couldn’t believe that he got to do that to his hot stepdaughter. Corrupting you felt so damn good.

When you fell into his arms, exhausted from the hard climax, he lifted you and helped you to wrap your weak legs around his waist.

“Daddy’s turn, sweetie,” he huffed, carrying you to the door, and after checking that the coast was clear, stepped into the hall.

“Lie down,” Joel ordered, locking the laundry room door behind you two and turning on the dim lights. There wasn’t much space but it was enough for him to have some fun with you.

“Right here? On the floor?”

“Damn! Ain’t ya a fucking princess,” he grumbled. “‘k, I guess my knees could use a little padding too.”

He grabbed a basket with dirty laundry and unceremoniously dropped its contents on the floor. Then he scattered the clothes with his bare foot and motioned for you to get comfortable.

You looked at the messy makeshift bed with a pout and then at Joel but his dark eyes told you to do what he’d said and soon you were lying on your back in front of him.

“Good girl,” he sneered, palming himself at the sight of you. Then he kneeled down with a grunt, settled between your legs after spreading them wide with his bear paws.

“Oops, daddy ruined your shorts, babydoll.“ A dark spot between your legs made him salivate and he quickly slid your bottoms off.

The view of your naked cunt, wet and pretty, was the last drop. His desire skyrocketed and took control over him completely. He didn’t care about anything else at that moment, he wanted to grab, thrust, squeeze, bite, eat you whole. He’d never felt anything like that before, the animalistic need to claim your every inch.

“Top up. Show me the girls.”

You exposed your breasts and he ogled your body for a few moments.

“Fucking ‘ell. I hate you. You can’t be this fuckin hot.”

Your little smile was cute but soon your lips parted and you gasped when he leaned down and pushed his nose right between your folds. He took a deep breath and growled, sending vibrations through your tense body. You jerked with overstimulation but Joel didn’t care. Keeping your thighs apart with his palms, he was busy sliding his nose like a credit card up and down your cunt, coating his face with your juices, collecting some with his plush bottom lip and tasting you greedily.

It didn’t take long for your thighs to tremble and when Joel sucked in your clit between his lips with a loud slurp, you came again. Joel drank everything your pulsating cunt had to offer, then sat back admiring the way your pussy clamped around nothing.

”Fuck. This cunt. Wish I could put you in my pocket and carry you around. Fuck you whenever I want. Wouldn’t it be nice?”

Your eyes were closed, chest heaving, and Joel lightly slapped your mound to get your attention.

“Ouch… Yeah, yes, daddy.”

Joel’s cock was rock hard, his boxers soaked with prefuck juice, but he wanted to keep playing with his stepdaughter as long as he could.

“Ya know I still have your panties. They were handy when you were studyin. Jizzed all over them. Now they’re ruined.”

He glanced at the stacks of clothes on the dryer and picked up one piece.

“These yours, right?”

You nodded slowly blinking at the pink lacy thong in his hand. He pressed it to his nose and mumbled with disgust,

“Clean.”

Suddenly his face lit up.

“Let’s make a souvenir for daddy, uh?”

“What?”

Joel answered your question when he brought the thong between your thighs and began wiping your pussy with it, soaking the fabric with your cum.

“Here we go, now they gonna smell of your tasty snatch.”

You were mewling, jerking again and again when he’d graze your puffy clit with his hand, but your legs stayed open for him. At one point Joel slid the panties over your entrance, that was stretched by his fingers, and without any thought in his mind he began pushing the thong into your glistening hole.

“What are you doing?!” You gasped, lifting yourself up on your elbows, your eyes wide.

“To soak ‘em better,” he mumbled, inserting the panties into your soft hole with his thick fingers. “Nice ‘d wet.”

He tilted his head, admiring the view of your cunt sucking the lace in, fluttering around the fabric, while you both were panting, aroused to the max at the sight.

When his hand was working, Joel’s eyes would fall on your asshole, winking at him from time to time.

It was calling to him - ‘Fuck me, Joel. Stick your fat cock right here.’

Joel stopped stuffing you with your thong only when the side string was sticking out of your hungry pussy.

He took a deep breath and looked up at your face.

“I’ll let it sit for a bit, ‘k? Ya pussy full now so… I’ma fuck your ass, baby.”

You

Joel looked crazy— eyes blown out, curly hair disheveled, mouth parted, lips and chin wet with your slick, so when he announced that he was going to fuck your ass, all your holes clenched extremely hard. You’d never done anal before but you could imagine that taking such a huge cock would split your ass in two. And you loved your ass. You didn’t want to go to the ER in the middle of the night.

‘Help me, doctor. I ...I fell on my stepdad's cock.’

Yet Joel was too hot to say ‘no’ to. His broad chest, stretching his tank top with every mighty breath, his monstrous bulge between the thick thighs, his handsome face, his muscular arms, his veiny hands…you could come just from staring at him. And the best part was that he wanted you. So much that it made your head spin and your knees buckle.

He probably noticed your scared expression, you weren’t really hiding it, and gave you a faux sweet smile. Then he cooed at you with the weirdest tone of voice — sugary and calming, that was so not like him, it made you even more anxious.

“I’ll be careful, sweetie.”

Suddenly he got up and went to the door.

“Joel?” you called but he pressed a finger to his lips, opened the lock and went out.

Joel came back a minute later holding something in his fist. He took his place between your legs, your pussy still full with your panties, and you saw a little bottle in his hands.

“Got us some lube, sweetie. Bought it the next day we fucked. For your ass. And we both know your pussy can drown the whole neighbourhood.”

A pathetic ‘aww’ almost escaped your mouth. You were down bad for him but you couldn’t show that you took ‘buying lube to ruin your butt’ as a sign of affection.

Meanwhile Joel was already opening the bottle and pulling his hard cock out. You almost moaned when you saw it. He was throbbing, his veiny thick member looked engorged and ready to destroy you. Your asshole clenched and pussy squeezed the wet thong.

”Daddy, fuck my mouth instead. Please.”

Joel, who was already pouring the slick liquid on his palm, shook his head.

“Nah, babydoll. Been there, done that. You woke me up so now face the consequences. Or rather let the consequences fuck your ass,” he chuckled and you whined, slowly closing your legs. Your inner thighs clamped against his hips and Joel froze, his eyes boring a hole in you. He clenched his jaw and his expression turned dark. A cold shiver ran down your spine. ‘He’s gonna make me,’ you thought in panic, ‘he’s gonna make me do it.’

Joel

‘Fuck! Joel thought. The bitch was about to say ‘no’. She woke him up, made him hard, made his cock leak like a fucking fountain into his boxers and now she was gonna leave him high and dry. Two orgasms spoiled her. Why the hell was he always so generous to this ungrateful brat?’

Yeah, your pussy was bomb. Yeah, you let him stick a dildo and his cock inside you, ate his cum like crème brûlée and at that moment were lying in front of him with your panties sticking out of your hole. You were a perfect slut. And yeah, your fear was valid - his schlong was huge and intimidating. But Joel knew that your ass would be heaven-like so he had to do a little ground work. Anal was worth it. You were worth it.

Joel sighed and glided his hand over your thigh.

“Ya scared?”

You nodded with your eyes glossy, lips trembling.

He sensed that you needed some sugar. So he could get your sweet ass.

“I get it,“ Joel sat on his butt and offered you his hand. You took it, looking confused, and he gently pulled you up and manhandled you to sit on his lap, your knees pressed to the floor. Your stuffed pussy snuggled up to his hard cock and Joel clenched his teeth and gathered all his will not to stick it in any hole that would be close enough. He needed to fuck something soon or he’d explode.

“It’s ok. I won’t make you do it. I'm big.”

”Yeah, so big, daddy,” you mewled, nuzzling the crease of his neck. His hands were gliding over your juicy asscheeks, soothing your nerves but also intentionally turning you on. You whimpered and he smiled in his mind. The slut was getting needy. Already feeling the tight squeeze of victory around his dick, he cooed,

”But listen… I know how to make it easy, sweetie. Know how to make it feel good for us both. You’ll feel so fuckin good, I promise.”

“Mmm,” you hummed against his skin, the sound unsure. Joel wrapped his arms tight around you and pulled you closer to his torso. Your thighs spread wider around his hips, your back arched and your butt stuck out more. Perfect.

“I also know that —,” his hand shifted to the crease of your ass and you jerked in his arms when his lubed up finger caressed your asshole, ”— she wants me too.”

Joel glided the pad of his finger over your tight ring, teasing it, spreading the lube over your puckered hole while you were moaning softly, probably fighting the urge to beg for more. But you will. Bet your cock-fearing ass you will!

“All your holes were made for me, babydoll. And this one too,” — his middle finger gently pushed on the ring — “I’ll work her open, carefully, sweetie, don’t worry, and in no time she’ll be able to take me.“ Pouring sweet honey into your ears, he inserted the tip of his digit in and your body tensed.

“Shh, relax, baby, relax. Gimme those sweet lips.”

Joel knew that you loved kissing him, always melting in his arms when his tongue was fucking into your mouth. So he gave you what you wanted - a long and passionate kiss while working your tight asshole open slowly but steadily, relaxing your muscle, making room for his fat cock.

When Joel was deep inside you to the knuckle, he moved his finger in and out a few times until you broke the kiss. You parted from his lips and searched for his eyes, almost frozen in his embrace.

“Oh, fuck, you’re inside me, Joel… daddy… I..”, you were choking on your words, your voice breathy, and he gave you a saccharine smile.

“Yes, tell me, sweetie, what do you need?”

“I need … need your cock there. Please.”

That was almost too easy but after playing with you for so long, Joel’s jizz wanted out and he was happy that your cock hunger took over your fears.

“ ‘course, babydoll. Get back down.”

He wanted to see you take him in your little ass lying on your back, wanted to see your pussy chew on your panties when his cock would neglect her and instead fuck another hole.

You were trembling, probably still scared but your eyes were screaming for a good fill.

“Hngg, like that. Hold your knees—yeah, good girl.”

“Please, be careful, Joel,” you asked with a timid voice.

Joel didn’t reply, busy applying more lube on his cock and groaning at the sensation.

“Daddy, please, be gentle.”

“I will, I will.”

Joel was hovering over your torso, his cock finally at your asshole, his wet hand guiding it. His head was empty, occupied only by you. All his being was taken over by the instinct to pierce his stepdaughter with his cock. But at the back of his mind a tiny voice reminded him that he needed to be careful with his favorite toy so he could play with it as long as possible.

Wanting you so badly that his balls were buzzing, Joel bit his lip hard to stop himself from busting just from the sensation of his cold cock-head pressed to your warm skin.

“More lube.” Yeah, he needed more.

Only when his schlong was slippery enough to fuck a whole cheerleading team, he stopped lubing it up. Your ass was worth it and he really needed you to enjoy it.

Joel pushed the tip against your hole but you weren’t letting him in.

“Babydoll, relax. Breathe deeper.”

You nodded but your chest was heaving, panic swimming in your eyes. You needed him close so Joel leaned down and covered you with his body, not putting his weight on you, just sharing his warmth.

Your eyes were inches from his, nervous, glossy, turned on.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, fuck being sorry. Just relax. Enjoy it.”

Enjoy my cock in your ass.

His tip knocked at the heaven’s door again and you finally granted him the access.

“Yeah, oh yeahhhh, baby, ahhhh—“

Joel didn’t care that he sounded needy and ecstatic, that was exactly what he was feeling at that moment. His tip was inside your glorious ass, your warm ring squeezing him hard, and to stop himself from coming, Joel closed his eyes and imagined his wife. He’d been imagining you whenever he was fucking her for some time now and he could have chuckled at the irony but at that moment only grunts and moans were leaving his mouth.

Your nails were digging into his biceps, widened eyes darting between his, your lips parted in a silent moan until you whimpered loudly, too loudly for a quiet house.

“Ahhdaddydaddydaddyyyy!”

He shut you up with a kiss and rocked his hips forward, slowly nailing your ass with his stiff cock.

If anyone had stopped him at that moment, he’d cry, that’s how amazing he was feeling. He’d fucked a fair amount of asses in his life but yours was definitely in top three.

“Need to see her take me,” be mumbled feverishly as his lips left yours and you whined.

“Quiet, needy slut. I’m still here.”

Joel was careful as he sat up and lifted your hips, wishing to stay in your tight hole and also not to rip you in two. When he dropped his head, his hands on your juicy asscheeks spreading them wider, the sight made him curse,

“Fuck— you seein it?”

He was mesmerized, watching your tight ring flutter around his glistening shaft while your stuffed pussy was squeezing the drenched panties. Your thighs began trembling when he fumbled with the wet fabric sticking out of your hole.

“Shit, baby. You’re somethin else.”

Joel slowly moved his cock, in and out, dipping it further with every forward thrust. You were watching him ruin your butt, breathing fast, and then murmured, choking on air,

”Oh my god—I feel like I’m gonna explode— don’t go deeper— please.”

Joel really wanted to push further, wanted to feel your tight ring hug the base of his cock but he was already on the verge of ecstasy, ready to empty his heavy balls. He was a glass-half-full person so half of his cock in his hot stepdaughter’s ass was enough for him. Yet wishing to keep you on your toes, he growled, “Don’t tell me what to do,” and slapped your pussy. The hit was light but his hand grazed your puffy clit and it electrified you like a bolt of lightning. You cried out through your teeth, your body tensed up and you squeezed him hard.

“Hnnnggg, yeah, choke ‘im, c’mon,” Joel grunted at the feeling and slapped your folds and clit again.

Slap- slap- slap!

“Daddyyyyy,” you moaned as you came, shaking in his arms, both of your holes contracting fast.

A string of curses left Joel’s mouth as he was watching your soft pussy nibble on your thong, making it dance over his cock.

“She’s droolin even gagged, fuckin ‘ell.”

While the orgasm was still rippling through you, he pinched the string of your panties with his thick fingers and began slowly pulling them out. It seemed to be prolonging your climax as you rolled your eyes at the sensations and kept jerking against the floor.

Joel immediately brought them to his lips and licked the fabric, breathing in your scent.

The sound he emitted was animalistic. The taste and smell of you, your asshole gripping his fat cock, the image of you, ruined and fucked out, finally made him let loose and explode inside your ass. He grabbed your hips tight and began fucking you with shallow thrusts, staying half-cock in just like you wanted. His balls were bouncing, slapping your asscheeks as their contents were flooding your channel like a tsunami.

“Take it— take it — take it,” Joel chanted through clenched teeth and you did take it — your asshole sucked in and swallowed every drop of his hot cum.

Joel slowly pulled out and dropped your butt on the pile of clothes. He tucked his cock back into his boxers and got up with a grunt, knowing well that his knees would hurt like hell the next day. It was worth it. As always after playing with his favorite fuckdoll, Joel felt greatly satisfied. As always after being fucked by him, you looked completely wrecked.

He offered you a hand and helped you to stand on your trembling legs. Then he pinched your chin and tilted your head up, searching for your hazy eyes.

“Ya good?“

You nodded with a drunk smile and he sneered. He really found a perfect slut.

“‘k, clean yourself up and go to bed. You’ll sleep really well now, babydoll.”

He pressed his body to yours and snaked his hand to your naked ass. He found your hole and gently prodded it. It was leaking his cum.

”Say ’thank you for the milk, daddy,’” he whispered, looking into your eyes with a sneer.

“Thanks for the milk. Daddy,” you mumbled, still trying to catch your breath.

Joel brought your panties to his face and took a deep whiff.

“And thank you for the souvenir, little slut,” he winked at you and then left the room.

Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic!<3

SERIES MASTERLIST || MASTERLIST

Tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @joelmillerisapunk @pascaltesfaye @fruityreads @itwasntimethatdidit40

People who were interested in pt 3; no pressure to read, bbs: @tateypots @amyispxnk @filetofishfan @lilac-boo @toxicanonymity @sunshineispunk @thundermartini @arcanefox207 @tammythr

[larvacola]

I could probably leave my thoughts as tags but it’s really interesting to me that people (not necessarily this post by any means, but posts I’ve observed elsewhere on tumblr and other platforms) are gleeful about the idea that Americans are getting bodied (just using the verbiage here) when in reality it’s.. rather scary they feel this way?

I say this because the American people genuinely need help. They don’t need criticism. As an American, I know that probably no other group of people deserves it more ESPECIALLY after the recent election. I get it. Trust me. I do.

But -and I’m not very articulate I just throw out my thoughts so bear with me- exposure to these conversations on rednote will be the first time millions of Americans have ever been involved in outside perspectives like this. It’s a learning moment for so many, and in a way has been a slight lifting of the veil over millions of American eyes.

There is no propaganda machine like the US government. If you come from a state that doesn’t fund education, support immigration or exposure to other cultures, is relatively isolated from the rest of the world (like I know none of you are vacationing to like… Nebraska I guess), and the only exposure to anything outside the US is basically what the government and media are telling you? That healthcare is bad abroad and you wait months to be seen for emergencies (just as a small example)? Then OF COURSE you’re going to believe that you live in the greatest country in the world.

It’s brainwashing. Centuries of propaganda has led the American masses to truly believe they live in a first world country. How would they know they don’t really if they’ve never been told what it’s actually like on the outside? And you guys.. this country is massive. You can drive like 8 hours and still be in the same state. It’s not as easy as going from one European country to the next. Flights are expensive and you’re lucky if you get enough PTO to even plan a trip like that.

And sure - there is the internet. But there are entire areas of the US that don’t have access to it (though I know this was pushed recently in the Biden administration). But um, as you’ve noticed, our government will literally just ban access to something when they want to and when they feel they can’t control the narrative (woohoo free speech).

Anyway I’m starting to ramble but my point again is that Americans need help. Like, real and serious help. US propaganda is very bad and very, very real. You’re laughing at these people when they don’t know what they don’t know. And this lack of information and control of the narrative by the government will never allow these people to think anything else.

Take away from this what you will and if you disagree then that’s okay. I promise so many of us want it to be different. I don’t think it’s a stretch to say we need your help.

americans are getting bodied

[moonstruckme]

i was wondering if you could do a softdom!remus x fem!reader like drabble? and i wanted it to be something about driving bc i am really nervous when i drive (even at 22) and i was wondering how remus would help with that?

Ty

cw: driving anxiety, anxiety in general, Remus being a bit stern but he loves us I promise

soft dom!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 500 words

“Breathe,” Remus reminds you. 

You try, but it gets caught in your throat when the car in front of you brakes abruptly. “Shit,” you hiss over the hammering of rain on your windshield. “I can’t do this.” 

Traffic starts moving again. You hardly take your foot off the brake, trying to put distance between you and the car in front of you. In your rear view mirror, another set of headlights glares at you, insistently close. Remus’ hand covers your thigh.

“You can,” he says soothingly. “Take it at your own pace.” 

You take your lip between your teeth. You can hardly see twenty feet in front of you through the downpour, the brake lights ahead an indistinct smear of red. You’re terrified of hydroplaning. 

“Sweetheart.” Remus sounds almost amused. “Breathe.” 

You let your air out in a long whoosh. His thumb strokes just above your knee, but your entire body stays tensed nonetheless. 

“You can’t keep holding your breath like that,” he chides. “You’re alright.” 

“The guy behind me seems angry,” you worry. 

Remus turns around, noting the headlights pressing close to your car’s rear. He frowns. 

“If he’s really upset, he’ll go around,” he says. “You’re not doing anything wrong, dove. That’s our junction coming up anyway, J5.” 

You shrill. “What? I don’t have time to get over!”

“You do,” Remus says placidly, “but you don’t have to if you don’t think you can.” 

“Of course I have to.” You flip your signal on, checking your mirrors desperately for an opening as the junction approaches. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me until just now!”

“Oi.” Remus gives your thigh a warning squeeze. “Calm down. I didn’t think you’d need more time than this, but it’s fine.” 

“I don’t see a place to get over,” you fret, though you’re minding your tone a bit more carefully now. 

“That’s fine, dove. Take your time. It’s not the end of the world if we can’t make it.” 

“You mean we just miss it?” You’re still looking for a chance, though losing hope now. The flow of cars seems endless. 

“Yes,” he says sternly. “Take the next one. We’ll still get there.”  

“Oh.” You let out a breath, relaxing some. “Okay.” 

“There. You were doing it again, see?” Remus’ hand leaves your leg, coming instead to rub between your shoulder blades. “Stop holding your breath. Just take whatever time you need to make good decisions.” 

“Okay,” you say again. You lean back into Remus’ palm, and he huffs a laugh, rubbing more firmly. “Okay, yeah. Sorry I snapped at you.” 

A low hum. “You’re alright. We’ll call it extenuating circumstances, but just this once, yeah?” 

“Okay, thanks. Sorry.” 

“It’s forgiven, sweetheart.” 

Finally, there’s space to move into the next lane. You signal. “I can take this exit here?” 

“Mhm.” 

You slide into the opening seamlessly, loosing another breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Your eyes slide to Remus guiltily. 

He laughs, rubbing between your shoulders. “That’s it. Keep going, dove.”

[pricklyjim]

I genuinely can't get past the idea that when Orion gets the Matrix it's got to be incredibly disorienting.

Imagine nearly doubling in height all at once, being given that much more strength, power in every fiber, and potentially not knowing how to use all of it appropriately. Good gods.

Anywhoo :] I want to know if your Orion would go though some kind of brief transition period where he has to like, figure that shit out. Stumbling and bumbling around like a new mech.

Haha- yeah, the idea of Orion gaining the Matrix and nearly doubling in size all at once is something I absolutely agree would be incredibly disorienting.

like- imagine being told you’re tiny and small your whole life and then waking up to a completely different body:

one that’s way larger, snd stronger, and far more powerful than anything you’ve ever known! It’s definitely bound to come with a very steep learning curve.

For my take, yes, I think Orion would go through a transition period where he’d have to learn how to function in his new frame. I picture him stumbling and fumbling like a newly-forged mech trying to find his balance, since it’s now off kilter-

He’d probably underestimate his strength too, accidentally break things, and feel utterly awkward and embarrassed.

And although cybertronian doorways are quite large anyway, since Optimus becomes an above average Mech, his attempts to walk through an average doorway, tend to leave him hitting his helm on the frame.

The loud clang startling nearby mechs, as Optimus mutters an emotionless, “Apologies,” as he ducks awkwardly, trying very much to not seem in pain.

While picking up things, he applies too much pressure and crushes anything with a sharp crack. His optics widening as he stares at the remains in horror, and mechs, watching from nearby, burst into uncontrollable laughter, and although they don’t mean harm. It makes Optimus feel quite incompetent in his new form.

Training sessions are also a total mess now, Optimus is unable to find a proper sparring partner, the only one able to do so being Magnus- but Magnus has never really been one to spar with his commander.

The physical adjustments wouldn’t be the only challenge, there’s also the psychological toll. Suddenly, everyone is looking up at him, not just in height but in status.

His face plate, previously shadowed by his helms cap, is now exposed and on full display for all to see. Where mechs once looked down on him, they now study him with closely, awed, at now being able to see Optimus’s face with such HD 4K 1080 detail, now able to see the tiny details and little dents that scatter his face like freckles.

and I think this is where the battle mask comes in.

For Optimus, it becomes more than just armor—it’s a shield from the weight of peoples stares. Even if others see him as regal or commanding, he struggles to see himself that way.

The mask lets him hide the insecurities he feels about his worn helm and dented face plate, protecting him from the crushing expectations from those he leads.

So, yes, I absolutely think there’s a period of stumbling… both physically and emotionally—before he becomes the Prime we all love. but It’s definitely a journey, one full of mistakes, reflection, and eventually, acceptance of one’s self ❤️.

But, I also believe, his transition with his height is far easier for him, then it was for Megatron. Since the only original part of Megatron’s body that remains is quite literally his memory drive, the body he currently has not being made from any of his original form.

[gangstalkerbarbie]

As a non autistic individual (it is possible to be passionate and unconcerned about social norms with the other brain wiring) I have a secret to share with all of you are you ready

Literally whenever someone tries to make you feel weird for not behaving like they want, think about how this would play out totally differently in another country without whatever expectation they have. People overall are wired to be smallminded, conservative and sure of the way things should be; people usually think the way everyone around them does things is "normal" regardless of any facts about those people, which is how we can get used to anything.

The alpha response to "UMM you're not ACTING LIKE I WANT ARE YOU DUMB OR SICK?" is "no YOU, why are YOU being weird about this? Why are your panties up your ass?"

They never see it coming. But if it really is something tiny and dumb it makes them uncomfortable to contemplate, because now you're not meekly accepting that you're Deviant and Deserve Correction, you're making a gentle inquiry: yeah and, what's it to ya?

NT teenagers know this instinctively and must be socialized out of going for the jugular at people like that ("L+ratio+you're bald" has nothing to do with why they're being attacked, but they're hardly ever usually getting rank pulled on them for an inherently respectable reason from their own perspective).

You too can reembrace the power of just looking at people weird for judging you on something inherently subjective. Was I supposed to know that? Why? Oh you learned it on TikTok? I'm not on TikTok. Oh all normal people are? Who died and made you boss? Is it really the end of the world that you expected something arbitrary from me and I didn't do that thing? Watch me ignore you for a second, see how you feel. Anyway moving on, how's it going, literally everyone else?

there's a new social cue coming out. no we're not telling you about it

[canthelpit0]

Dacryphilia

[prev. Unreleased from kinktober 2024]

Pairing: Chris x Reader

Wordcount: 3.6K+

Summary: 4 times Chris gets aroused at your crying, and 1 time he does something about it. (Sort of?)

Warnings: smut, fantasizing, crying, sweet!chris, refer has a naval piercing, porn with a lot of plot, voice kink, praise kink

A/N: bear in mind, this is old. It was originally for the kinktober series but since I gave up on that…. Anyway. This was written 12.05.2024, so it’s just been sitting in my drafts for a while.

00.

You and chris met at a party. It was just a month after Chris had moved to LA with his brothers.

You were both influencers and had collabed a few times before.

01.

The first time it happened Chris didn’t think anything of it.

Your boyfriend, who you had been dating for over a year had cheated on you.

Chris had met the guy once, and as soon as he had he hadn’t liked him.

Tho who was he to tell you he didn’t like your boyfriend, when you’ve been dating him for literally longer than you’ve known chris.

When you found out that your dear boyfriend was cheating on you, the first thing you did after breaking up with him and screaming, telling him to never talk to you again, was drive to the triplets house.

You wanted to see your best friends.

Even tho you’ve only known them for a few months they were one of the only genuine people in LA

You were crying in nicks arms, hysterically sobbing, and all Nick could do is be glad that you didn’t crash your car on the way here.

Matt, who’d been in the kitchen came to the living room faster than Chris.

And while Matt and Nick were doing a fine job calming you down, trying to get you to explain what happened without hyperventilating, as soon as Chris was there all the work was out of the window.

As soon as you spotted Chris at the top of the stairs and now in the living room, you ran over to him and hugged him.

He hugged you back letting you bury your face in the corner of his neck and sob into his shirt.

Chris felt a wave of dread and sadness wash over him. That was until he gently pulled your face out of his chest and looked at you.

Your eyes red and puffy. You had tear streaks running down your red-tinted cheeks. Your lips were red and puffy. You had that adorable yet sexy pout on your lips. Your eyebrows were low. your eyes narrowed in sadness.

You had no right to look that hot right now.

Chris wanted to comfort you, but he couldn’t help but scan your features again.

Your mascara being waterproof only fell in black tiny little clumps. A bit of it smeared at the corner of one of your eyes lower lashes.

Chris hadn’t really ever seen a woman cry. He’s never dated anyone, so he’s just never made a woman cry. At least not that he knew of.

He tilts his head at you as if examining your face even more. You think you’re imagining it when you see his pupils dilate. You blink up at him.

The way he’s staring at you seems so outlandish that it makes you curious. Curious enough to make you momentarily forget about your sorrow.

Chris blinks seeing that your tears stopped. Seeing that you weren’t sobbing anymore. After a slight pause he snaps out of it.

Having sexual thoughts was one thing.

But having sexual thoughts about his best friend who was crying was a whole Nother thing.

In the end you started crying again while explaining what had happened.

02.

Chris was borderline scared of himself for thinking like that.

Well not really scared, but he was weirded out by himself.

You weren’t one to cry easily.

Yet today had been a horrible day.

You originally wanted to edit your newest video, just to have the revolution that the audio hadn’t picked up and that the entire 30 minutes of footage was useless.

You let go of it easily, simply sighing and letting it go.

You then decided to make yourself an iced coffee like you used to in 2020 for old times sake. The infamous whipped coffee.

When you started to use the frother on your mixture of instead coffee, sugar and hot water, you somehow managed to let the glass down out of your hands.

It landed on the floor with a loud crash and you jumped at the impact.

It wasn’t fun having to clean that up and the bottom of your pink satin pajama pants were slightly stained now.

But you sucked it up and reluctantly cleaned up.

You went to change and get ready for the day, you wore a cute button down you’d just gotten.

You walk out of your bedroom to the living room and have a mini heart attack thinking you lost your phone. Until you realized that it’s probably still in your bedroom, since you thought you took it with you.

Being clumsy as you are tho, while walking back into your bedroom you walk straight into the door handle. The door handle catches on your button down and rips off a button.

You groan. You end up searching for that damn button for too fucking long. You put the button on your desk already taking the top off to sow the button back later.

Then you remembered you were searching for your phone. So you searched every corner of your bedroom while still not wearing a top.

You decide it’s a problem for later and find yourself a new top that fits with your flared jeans.

These jeans were a little tight on you, but that meant that it just showed off your curves great. That was until you tripped on a stray sock.

You fell in a weird way. Your hands instinctively flying out to catch your body, wich caused you to twist your wrist.

With the pain in your wrist you hadn’t even heard the loud rip of your jeans.

You groan turning around to sit up. You instinctively cross your legs and hold your arm with your other arm. You sigh heavily letting your head fall forward.

When you open your eyes tho you notice a patch of skin peaking through your jeans. You pause pulling your arms out the way.

Your jeans had ripped along the seam on your inner thigh. You scoff, beyond done with today.

All you want to do at this point is go to bed and sleep, but after the iced coffee thing you’d texted Nick that you’d be coming over and you didn’t want to stand him up.

So you get up and take the jeans off once again changing your entire outfit. Then you have another mini heart attack and search for your phone.

After a while you give up and decide to go back to the living room, Your kitchen being open to the living room.

You suddenly hear the telltale sound of an iPhone notification. You look around only to see your phone blowing up on the counter of your kitchen.

After that everything goes smoothly. Well except for you consistently bumping into things.

You don’t know what’s up with you today, normally you’re not clumsy or prone to accidents at all.

Now you’re at the sturniolos house sitting in the couch. Nick had gone upstairs to change for some reason, and Matt and Chris had been in their rooms all day.

You feel thirsty and get up. You just have to go to the kitchen to get a drink, it’s not that hard-

You stub your toe. On the fucking couch table. You’d been overthinking so much, that you didn’t pay attention.

But instead of scoffing and playing it off like you have been all day you actually let out a cry at that.

It was like that was the last straw and the floodgates snap.

Chris who’d been on his way upstairs to get a Pepsi sees this unfold. He sees the way you double over in pain and start crying.

His immediate instinct is to rush up to you and ingulf you in a hug.

You weren’t really crying because you stubbed your fucking toe, you were crying because you suddenly felt every single bruise on your body that you had gained today from just bumping into shit.

You suddenly felt overwhelmed with the feelings you’d been pushing back all day.

“Sh, sh You’re okay.” Chris whispers sweetly. He lowers you both to the ground.

You sit on your legs your hand in his. It still hurt from when you fell on it earlier, you just felt it even more right now.

You let out a pathetic sob. You can’t help but look up at the ceiling trying to compose yourself.

Chris watches you with awe. He couldn’t help it. And he really felt confused of why he thought you were hot like this. A crying and sobbing mess on the floor.

Sure you were attractive, but why did he find this sight particularly arousing?

All he wanted to do was to cradle your face into the crook of his neck and whisper sweet nothings to you. And that’s just what he did.

He wanted to care for you, to soothe you and to make you calm down. He wanted to see your big glossy eyes right after you finally stopped crying.

03.

It was the week before your period. Your lower back was aching, it felt like a bunch of needles were being stabbed through you over and over.

You were feeling all emotional like you usually do the few days before your period.

The triplets were at your house once again.

They’d just invited themselves in with nicks spare key before you had woken up. You woke up just to see the three lounging in your living room and eating your snacks.

You didn’t even bat an eye at it.

You simply walk to your kitchen getting stuff for a toast ready.

Once you’re finished with preparing and making your food, you sigh. You lean against the counter plate in hand and take a bite of your warm toast feeling the cheese melt on your tongue.

Suddenly you hear Chris gasp. You look over, wich wasn’t hard since your kitchen is open to the living room.

You watch the way Chris jumps up from his seat on the couch and then proceeds to fumble around with something.

You just raise an eyebrow but keep eating your toast while it’s still warm.

You watch Chris walk around the kitchen island to you.

Chris holds out a small white paper bag. You put your plate on the counter and clap your hands together to get any and all crumbs off of them.

You swallow the food in your mouth “For me?” He nods simply.

You tenderly take the paper bag from his hands. It somehow looks fancy. You raise an eyebrow after peering into the paper bag.

You take out a small box. You slowly place the paper bag on the counter not bothering to take your eyes off of the small white box in your hands.

“Open it” he urges. Chris looks like he is about to jump out of his shoes. He’s practically radiating energy. He looks so excited.

Your eyes momentarily lock on Chris’. This was probably some jewelry, but what kind. Had he gotten you a ring, you’ve been needing some new ones in your collections. Or ear rings or-

Before you can think about it too much you’re already opening the box.

You’re greeted with the sight of jewelry for your belly button piercing. It’s cute silver jewelry with a Viviane Westwood chain dangling off of it.

Your eyes start to Involuntarily water.

You love Viviane Westwood. You had some cute earring, and when you had talked about wanting to buy the matching necklace Chris had given you his.

“When I saw this I thought of you” he explains rubbing the back of his neck slightly. He was mildly embarrassed. But it was a cute gesture.

You gently put the box on the counter next to the other stuff. You were aware that Viviane Westwood probably didn’t sell belly button rings, wich only means he’d probally gotten it off of Etsy or something.

Even tho you knew it was probably just stainless steel and not actual silver, it was the gesture, the idea that counts.

You look up at him with your teary eyes.

You wanted to damn your sappiness to hell right now, but that was probably the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for you, or at the very least that was the only thing you could think of.

You knew you probably looked like a mess. Your hair being messy, no make up on, your bottom lip quivering as you hold in tears. You were always an emotional train wreck a few days before your period starts.

“Thank you so much” you croak out.

Your vision is too blurred to notice but Chris is giving you that look again. He looks fond.

With a swift move, you wrap your arms around Chris’ neck and hug him. Out of instinct his hands go to your waist.

He sighs. “That’s so sweet” you let out under your breaths a chocked out sob following after.

You feel Chris’ arms wrap around your waist to pull you even closer.

He’d accepted it, he liked seeing you cry. Obviously he didn’t like seeing you sad, but he thought you were cute. You always were, even sobbing with mascara running down your face.

But seeing you cry out of happiness because of such a small gesture, a small gift Chris got you… that was a whole other high for him.

04.

Chris decided on a random Tuesday morning that he had nothing good to do. He felt incredibly bored.

So he decided to google random things that come to his mind.

Whether it be learning more about fish types going down the rabbit hole of the internet and what not.

He always googles random things he thought about to find out more about it so he could maybe talk about it in a car video or something.

Suddenly he thought about you and the few times he’s seen you crying.

He thought about it more, and it became apparent that he thought that crying was hot.

He googled his thoughts out in multiple diffrent ways. And at the end, the watered down version was “why do I find crying hot?”

He continued to lay in his bed semi intreated in what google had to say.

the first thing that popped up was a Wikipedia page with some title he couldn’t even pronounce.

So he continues scrolling trying to find the meaning of said word without having to klick on the link because he was too lazy to.

Dacryphilia (also known as dacrylagnia) is a form of paraphilia in which one is aroused by tears or sobbing

He reads out in his head. “Huh?” Was literally all that went through his mind after reading that.

And the follow up question was “what the fuck is a paraphilia?”

So Chris went down a rabbit hole.

Chris figures out that Apparently philia is a Greek word that means “love”. Better yet, a paraphilia is apparently a non-normative sexual interest. - a fetish. Not really but almost.

The word ‘pedo-philia’ now makes a whole lot more sense. It’s a taboo fantasy. And it’s taboo for a reason ew.

Chris spirals from topic to topic almost forgetting why he even started this search.

Until he goes back in his history to read over the meaning of this thing again.

“I have a crying kink?” He says under his breath his eyes narrowed at the screen while he questions his life and everything that got him to this point.

Chris wrecks his brain to think. It’s like his brain is empty trying to process the information.

Suddenly his mind comes up with a scenario he’s all too familiar with. It’s always the same, just slight differences.

You, His best friend under him crying loudly while choking out moans while he eats you out.

Him fucking you from behind, his eyes glued on the tears rolling down your face through the mirror.

Chris, watching you come on his cock, your orgasm hitting you so hard that you break out in tears, your chest heaving while you try to catch your breath.

He sighs heavily closing his eyes. These were all thoughts he’s had before. He licks his lips his eyes locked on the ceiling. He’s hard, painfully so.

In hindsight, he doesn’t know how he thought these thoughts were average. Well first off he’s fantasizing about his best friend, but also because they seem kind of extreme.

In hindsight it makes sense

+1

Chris continues to thrust into you.

He doesn’t really know how this happened really.. it just kind of did.

He’s kept you in missionary all night thrusting into you.

Some of his messy hair strays were sticking to his forehead from the thin layer of sweat coating his skin.

His eyes stay glued on you. He knows it’s wishful thinking, but he wishes sho much that you’ll start crying for whatever reason .

Of corse he doesn’t want to hurt you or anything, but he would love for his fantasies to become reality.

“Fuck please keep talking” you pant your eyes shutting as you try to take in this moment.

You never in a million years would’ve thought that your best friend would rail you this good.

He keeps hitting every right spot in you to make you weak in the knees.

“Mhm?” He mumbles. You groan in response. he was teasing you. You wanted to hear him talk, and praise you, but instead he was waiting for you to beg for it.

“Come on” you whine. Your head is thrown back at the overwhelming amount of pleasure.

“Eyes on me ma.” He demands. So without any second thought, your eyes snap open and connect with his.

He’s looking down at you with so much love in his eyes, it’s almost painful. Despite literally fucking you dumb right now, he’s looking at you with such intense need and desire it almost makes you melt.

Your mouth drops open when he quickens his pace even more.

Your legs stay wrapped around his torso trying to keep him close.

“So pretty” he breaths out. One of his hands mindlessly grabs one of your boobs starting to toy with it.

He keeps thrusting into you, and the intensity, both physical and emotional, makes your eyes water.

You really were not an overly emotional person, but this good ass sex was making you weak and you silently curse yourself for it.

You let out a slight sob. You immediately fell embarrassed, you slam one of your hands on your mouth to shut yourself up the other one still tangled in your bedsheets.

His eyes widen seeing your eyes become glassy. He felt a corse of adrenaline shoot through him.

“You okay?” His thrusts don’t waver, he doesn’t seem phased by your tears, if anything, only more turned on.

You nod eagerly. You try to make it abundantly clear that you don’t want him to stop since you’re getting close.

He lets out a breath his eyes becoming somehow even darker. “Let me hear you” he says under his breath. His tone is so low but borderline seductive.

He grabs your wrist pulling your hand from your mouth. You have tears running down your face ruining your once perfect make up.

You close your eyes in embarrassment while you can’t help the few sobs between moans. Chris’ desire only seems to be fueled more as he keeps up pace.

You feel the rubber band in your stomach twist up so uncomfortably, ready to snap at any moment.

“Eyes on me or I’ll stop.” Chris threatens gruffly. And as soon as your glossy eyes meet his again,his pace only seems to get messier and more uncontrolled.

You can’t even warn him through your loud sobs, whines and moans, and before you know it you’re creaming a round his cock.

The impact of your orgasm feels like a brick to your head. you feel lightheaded, your eyes only watering more while you can’t seem to keep quiet for the life of you.

Chris is close behind you, and seeing the expression you make, trying to keep your eyes open, but not being able to focus, along with the tear stains on your cheeks and the mixture of sobs and moans, sends him over the edge.

He doesn’t even bother pulling out instead giving you a few more deep and significantly slower thrusts to help you both through your highs.

You blink the tears in your eyes away trying to compose yourself. You honestly don’t know why you have such a man emotional reactions with Chris.

“So pretty” Chris coos. He leans down cupping your face and showers you in kisses. He doesn’t even bother pulling out while he does so.

“You’re not disgusted?” You breathe out. You’ve only cried once during sex before and it was your first time. The guy had been disgusted at it, but ‘let it slide’ since it was your first time.

“No.” Chris chuckles leaving a long kiss on your forehead. “Why would I be?”

His goofy grin makes you smile.

You watch Chris lick his lips. “I’m sorry I’d didn’t ask this before, but.. uh, can you be my girlfriend?” He starts to get more shy again his eyes soften as he looks down at you.

He looks at you with practically heart shaped eyes.

You feel happy when he asks you tho, you don’t want to be his fuck buddy, you want to be his.

“Yes” you breathe out looking up at him.

Chris connects your lips in a sweet and passionate kiss, one that makes your heart melt.

he pulls away with a boyish smile. He slowly pulls out his eye never leaving your face. “I’ll be right back” he mumbles pecking your cheek.

He gets up quickly putting on his boxers, he practically sprints into your bathroom.

You smile at the eagerness. Your new boyfriend was just the sweetest.

Masterlist

‼️ please don’t copy my work/idea‼️

A/N: proofread, but English is not my first language so idk. Tell me if you wanna be added/removed from the taglist. I do not write for the triplets anymore, this is a draft.

Taglist: @muwapsturniolo , @sturnad , @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 , @evie-sturns , @me09love , @fratbrochrisgf , @spideylovin , @chrissgirlsstuff , @stunza , @whicked-hazlatwhore , @sturniooolos , @ecliphttlunar , @orangeypepsi , @klaus223492 , @char112244 , @sst7niolo , @slut4chriss , @mattsturniololoverr , @th3-3d3n-g4rd3n , @st7rnioioss , @t1llysblogs , @nonat-111 , @blahbel668 , @rockstarchr1s , @sturnsintrouble , @nayveetbhh , @tillies33ssss , @sturncakez , @strnilo , @somegirlfromasgard , @mattslovelygf , @sturnsmaeve , @sturnstvr , @lucianastrun , @jnkvivi , @jamiesturniolo , @chr1sgirl4life , @h3arts4harry , @whosthislyssbitch , @jamiesturniolo , @sturniololover-09 , @zayyluvz , @sturnzsblog , @jetaimevous , @imwetforyourmom , @yoongslvr69 , @ilovethesturnstriplets , @obsessionsarenotfortheweak , @mininishiriki , @bigbootyjudyyyy , @harry-winkes , @likefirenrain , @emely9274

[umamaki]

THE SWEETHEART GRIP

one way soldiers kept their loved ones close during battle was by inserting a photo of them under a clear grip of either plexiglass or acrylic on their pistols. this is known as the sweetheart grip.

l&ds sylus x reader

me finding out about anything: how can i make this about love and deepspace... and yes i am american. yes i still don't respect anyone involved in or supporting the military leave me alone.

divider

So... Sylus definitely has a sweetheart grip of you. On all of his guns, actually. And you're not even aware of it.

They're all his favorite photos of you. Pictures of you on dates, selfies you've posted on social media, polaroids he's taken of you after sex.

He's insanely adept at weapons assembly so of coursee all his stuff is custom. Takes them apart, adds tributes of you, puts them back together.

You know he STAYS strapped. Always has a gun on him, always has a piece of you with him. As if your souls are not literally bound together. Whatever. He needs a physical reminder I guess. Can't go anywhere without some sort of keepsake. Keeps him sane.

Likes keeping his weapons clean; never lets your image get bloody, wet, scratched, foggy. Carries around a cloth to wipe away at any imperfections. Would never ruin your picture like that. Spends a modest chunk of his day making sure they're clean to his liking. It's so canon, have you seen this man during the in-game study and work feature even??!

Looks at your pretty picture all the time. Whips out his gun as if it’s his phone. Professional meetings, philanthropy galas, you name it. Intimidates everyone around him in doing so, thinking he's gonna shoot them—not that they would say that to his face—but no. He simply misses your cute face. Just wants a reminder of who's waiting at home for him.

Looks at your picture while he aims his gun at someone's head. Asks himself if this is what you would want. Shoots them anyways lol. Uses his palm to cover your photo as he pulls the trigger, careful to not taint your darling image with his enemy's blood.

You're bound to find out. He doesn't hide the fact from you, doesn't flaunt it either, so it's a while before you do end up finding your face staring back at you whilst looking through his armory.

"Sylus, what is this?" You ask, holding up the pistol so he can see.

"It's you, do you like it?"

"Well yes, I can see that it's me. Why is my face on your gun? And why am I naked in this one?"

"Technically your face is on all of my guns, sweetheart. That one's just my favorite." As if it's the most obvious fact in the world.

"... You did this yourself?"

"Absolutely. Do you not like it?"

"It's not that, but..." he waits, then the last thing he would expect you to say comes from your mouth, "...can you do this to my guns?"

He laughs, booming and robust, "why? You want my nudes on your guns? You must like me a lot, huh?"

It's enough for you to give him a slap on his bicep. "Fine. Nevermind. Don't know why I even asked."

He's still laughing as he pulls you into his body. He tickles your stomach, turning your pout into your own set of giggles, "I'm teasing, sweetheart. You can use as many nudes of me as you want. Shall we begin now?"

He jolts his hips up to your body, catching you off guard. He's noticeably hard now, tent in his pants evident. You get the hint.

“Why wait when we’re already here?”

“That’s the spirit, sweetheart.”

[cherrysolo]

I knew it, I know you.

yall have asked for a longer fic of this request, so here you go <3 instances where the reader comforts lu because of his back pain.

warnings: a wee bit of smut maybe angst too

you had been dating luigi for a couple of years now, you knew him better than anyone else. you knew all of his behaviours, every time he was frustrated and had a pout on his face, or when he would use his hands to talk during arguments. you could read him like a book, which was handy when he didn’t want to communicate. especially after having a rough time with back pain and surgery complications, you wanted to be the best partner you could be.

for instance, you guys were hiking together in hawaii, and halfway through the hike you could tell the mood completely changed. every couple of steps, lu would kind of stretch his back, or even let out a groan. it was obvious he was struggling, “baby is everything okay?” you questioned quietly, not sure how to approach this. “all good,” giving you a shy smile. you could tell he was in pain, but trying to pull through. you guys have been wanting to do this trail for months but never found time, until today. “why don’t we just go home and rest, it’s getting kind of hot out here anyways,” you suggest trying not to pry. you were already breaking a sweat and luigi was shirtless, so maybe this was a good excuse to leave. you wanted to take care of him but not baby him either. “but we made it this far, why give up now?” he snaps back. “yeah, but you’re in pain, let’s go, if we don’t stop now you’ll regret it later,” you snap right back because you want him to take care of himself, and sometimes that includes rest. “I’ll be fine,” you give him a look, raising your eyebrows. “fine, let’s go, it won’t change anything though,” he sighs grabbing your hand to walk back to the car. “I know you’re pissed at me lu, but you need to take care of yourself. I worry about you,” pleading with him to understand your side. he squeezes your hand, knowing that he does care what you say. “thank you, baby, I know you care, sometimes I do push myself too much,” he leans over to kiss your forehead. you two end up cuddling on the couch for the rest of the evening, sometimes rest is not a bad thing.

another time is when you two are intimate, it can complicate how a night can play out. communication is everything to you guys when you’re together. sometimes you could tell instantly from the way luigi moves or his face twitches that his back is starting to bother him. you always motion for him to lay back and you take charge. straddling him and grinding your hips onto him. “hmmm why don’t I take care of you lu?” you smirk down to him. lowering yourself onto him, he groans out as if it’s a sense of relief. his hands immediately fall onto your hips, gripping onto you as you bounce up and down. “you’re such a good girl, taking care of me like this,” he’d moan out. attacking your neck with kisses, pleasure taking over the room. as you guys both reach your peak, a sense of gratitude fills luigi’s heart. even though you’re showing love (literally) switching up positions or doing things for lu’s comfort makes his heart swell.

the most common thing is showing small gestures of pda. if it’s small back rubs in public, lingering kisses of comfort, or just simple whispers of “are you okay?”. you’d hug lu from behind, and ask him how his back is feeling, if he needed any ibuprofen, or wanted to go home. you were scared of overbearing him, but your affection and worry made him feel loved. he loved the way you always looked out for him even in simple situations. after a long night out, or a workout that didn’t help, you’d give him a massage or cuddle with him to relax. it was just the little gestures that meant the most. you just wanted him to be happy and healthy, without the worry of his back pain.

[rvn-of-hearts]

Yknow, I was gonna say something abt how I can’t write for myself bc I crave the approval of others but

I do write for myself actually??? Surprisingly???

I mean, part of it is the tropes and elements I like happen to be popular tropes/elements, and I always incorporate them into my stories *cough* found family *cough*

On the one hand, I get nervous sometimes bc a lot of my stories have similar elements, but I always end up going “well it’s a good trope. And also I have no idea how to tell this story without this trope. So it stays!”

Anyway my point is

Tell stories with stuff you like in it, even if it’s popular or repetitive bc if you’re anything like me, those stories aren’t going to see the light of day anyway! So who cares abt other’s opinions! Yippee!

if it's good enough for you, then it deserves to be made. don't let anyone else decide if your story is worth it or not.

[clockwayswrites]

Danny in Metropolis Ch2/P2

masterpost this is a first draft, please no editing or concrit <3

(much love to @fadinggalaxysalad for the idea of Kon considering his own logo)

Picking out a lunch box was surprisingly hard. It said so much about a person.

Jon's was a Robin lunch box, because of course it was. Though Kon very much doubted that Damian's was a Superboy one (especially since it wouldn't be a Superboy the Second one). Kon’s own was a simple black one that he has been doodling on all year with a silver sharpie.

Maybe predictively, school was full of lunch boxes of superheroes, pop stars, geometric colors, and semi-abstract artsy patterns. Anything deemed not too “kiddy”. Eliminating the kiddy things on the shelf didn't get Kon very far. His own logo caught his eye, sitting innocently on the shelf among the Justice League heroes.

It was a little tempting. The thought of Danny carrying around his symbol through school every day brought a flush to Kon’s cheeks.

But there was no was he was going deal with the teasing from his family for that choice.

He moved away from that area of the shelves, because he wasn't going to get Danny any other superhero's symbol either, and continued on down to the abstract section. It was small and Kon was ready to rule it out until he saw it: a mostly black bag with a stylized set of stars on it. It was a little like Kon's own bag without actually matching in a way he could be teased about. It also felt very Danny somehow.

Kon grabbed the bag before he could over think it and went to finish up the rest of the list he'd been given since he was going out anyways.

-

Danny was already at the table, head buried into his crossed arms. The rest of their table was still empty. It made it easier to walk over and set the new lunch box down in front of Danny, close enough to bump his arms.

After a beat, Danny turned enough to peer at the bag with one shadowed eye. “What's that?"

“Your lunch,” Kon said with every bit of calmness he could muster. He sat down across from Danny and put his own bag on the table.

He'd drawn a new monster in the bottom right corner during math.

“My… lunch…,” Danny repeated slowly. “I… don't have a lunch?”

“Yes you do, it's right there.”

“What.”

“Lunch, you, there, eat.”

“You Kronk,” Danny replied instantly, as if on instinct. He blinked like he was rebooting. “I'm sorry, how do I have a lunch?”

“Because my dad packed you one.”

Danny slowly reached out to poke at the bag. “…right. Why did your dad pack me a lunch?”

Kon opened his own lunch and pulled out the PB&J sandwich and took a large bite. Unabashedly, he answered with his mouth full, “Because I asked him to.”

“Con…”

“Danny, it's fine. Just eat it, okay? Not, like, don't eat anything you don't like, but there won't be anything on your no list in it.”

“Oh.” Danny reached and pulled the lunch box closer. “I… thank you? And tell your dad thank you?”

“Sure, will do,” Kon said as if it was nothing and he wasn't hiding a smile by taking another bite.

Both of them were saved from having to say anything more by the rest of their friends (a loose word, sometimes) arriving at the table. There was some shock expressed at Danny actually having lunch, but mostly good natured teasing and some expressions of how glad they were to see it.

Kon shot Danny a little look during it, and got a blush and little eye roll back for it. It was reward enough for Kon. He was just glad to see Danny eating.

[thetransscholar]

Kelsier: "I am the survivor of Hathsin! I returned when none thought I would! I will become more than a sliver of adonalsium and become corporeal again! And I will bend this Cosmere to my will!"

Kaladin: "Seems like a lot of work. Have you tried having supportive friends?"

Kelsier:"...what?"

Kaladin: "I mean, I just refused to die each time that something tried to kill me. And then I found inner peace and I'm helping others to find theirs."

Kelsier: "..."

Kaladin: "And I keep coming back from the dead, man. And I mean, this time I literally died. There's a body and everything. And you can bet that Bridge 4 is 100% certain I'm still coming back. They're definitely going to start a religion or something anticipating my return. Those guys have way too much faith in me."

Kelsier: "..."

Kaladin: "Anyway, I've found that working through my own issues and helping other work through theirs is much more fulfilling work than trying to amass power. So I'm gonna be hanging with some quasi-dieties doing group therapy for a while. If you're not busy with anything...?"

Kelsier: "..."

Kaladin: *waits hopefully*

Kelsier: "Get bent"

Syl: "I like him!"

[kismetlotts]

cw: angst, mentions of sex, best friend Simon Riley, mentions of knives, mentions of hurting yourself but no implications of actually doing so or having done in the past, mentions of cheating, mentions of alcohol, clueless Simon Riley, crying in each others arms, helping out your best friend, reader is self less

part 2 of Best Friend Simon Riley Angst (I recommend reading part one first to understand certain elements better)

You woke up in the morning, daylight shining through your curtains and you already knew it wasn’t sunshine- bound to be nothing but grey clouds out there, flooding the sky like a polluted ocean. Your nose and head ached in the silent flood of last nights memories, your crying, your actions and worst of all, your best friend.

Oh Simon, what a dickhead you were. Why did you have to come here?

Your body flushed against the cold sheets behind you, a weightless bed, giving you the impression he’d done a runner. Typical him honestly- you wouldn’t be surprised if that was what initiated their breakup; the same breakup that was at fault for all of this.

He was always so forward, front and confrontational within the field. The notorious ‘Ghost’ that installs fear in every enemy he has to face. He’s a fighter at work but ironically, in life, all he knew was how to retreat. Pull away before he can cause anymore damage, pull out before the mess gets bigger.

You flung the covers off you, their pretty, pink, innocent pattern already making vomit surface in your throat. He’d flopped down on that bedding countless times in the past: memories which made it hurt more came to mind. The knives that were already jammed in your gut, heart and what’s seemed as your brain, twisting a little deeper before freezing up in place.

You remembered the times when his body would accidentally fling you around the mattress, grunting and smirking while he settle down and got comfy. You remembered the way his fingers tapped on the cotton as he leaned over to see what you were looking at on your phone. Nosy but never prying in too much.

Imagining how you looked when you watched his hand sweep across the duvet on movie night, pushing every crumb onto your bedroom floor with a laugh and an apology leaving his lips. His hands, shooting into the air as he surrendered in playful shame. Not really paying attention as your voice scolded him for eating in your bed.

Your fingers stripped the bedding from its covers. Tossing them into a pile on the floor beside your laundry basket, the sheets so stained with both of your sweat and dirt from the situation, your nose scrunched up at the sight. You left it there ready to put in the wash later.

Though, a part of you can’t help but wonder if they will ever feel as clean as they did before.

If they’ll ever give you the warm, comforting sensation you got every night before nodding off to sleep. Would you ever hear their soft cries to slip back in bed when you wake up early for work? The covers flopped back in agony, silently pleading for you to come back and have five more minutes?

No. Now they just feel like you never got out of that bed, the duvet still wrapped around your body keeping you hostage and forcing you to go about your day. The weight of everything on your shoulders enough for you to trip and fall on the material.

You’d burn them if they weren’t so big.

The whole thing was absolutely ridiculous, why the fuck did you let it happen anyway? The sex with him wasn’t anything like you’d wished or dreamed of nor would it have never been.

He didn’t love you but something inside you obviously can’t comprehend that. Every chance you get to show or pretend that the two of you were more than what you were- you’d leap for it: eyes sparkling with the same hope a lost kid has.

He used you last night and you let him like the pathetic, lovesick loser you always were. It wasn’t sex, it was nothing more than a mere distraction and waste of time. A waste of his time, more hassle just for him.

Your fingers wrapped around your smooth doorknob as you pushed open your bedroom door, trailing into the kitchen before an aroma of pancake batter and fresh baking gripped you by the throat. Your big eyes meeting Simons, his familiar, large figure pressed against your kitchen counter as he sucked on his bottom lip.

His face was pale and his brown pupils never left the plate of fucked up pancakes, left on a placemat on the table.

You laughed. You laughed because you couldn’t trust anything else to come out- You couldn’t trust that you wouldn’t break down crying, that you wouldn’t scream or hurt yourself in front of him, that you wouldn’t wince at this- idiotic gesture.

Was this an apology? Was this all you meant to him? A plate of sweet treats you’d have to force yourself to eat, to swallow down and help you forget everything bad that happened. Maybe, or perhaps it was pure coincidence it summed up his perspective of the night; perfectly.

“Did you make me pancakes?” The tremble and nerves in your voice was apparent and he nodded slowly, gesturing to the massive bag of groceries on the countertop.

“With berries and sugar on top. I’ve got some other things here though, chocolate- all kinds, some syrup and honey and other fruit in that bag if you want any. I just added berries because I know they’re your favourite.” He rambled on.

“When did I tell you that?” Your head turned to the side, twitching in uncertainty as you sat down in front of the plate. Eyes squinting as you bit the inside of your cheek.

“You said when we…-oh.”

That’s not her, Simon.

His hand lifted to his eyes, rubbing them to avoid looking anywhere. The rise and fall of his chest grew faster and you just knew how is heart felt, flooding with guilt and embarrassment at his own actions.

Staying mad at him was hard when you knew him so well. Mistakes get made and feeling get trampled on but he wasn’t a bad person. That’s why you fell for him all that time ago.

The knife in your hand cut through the pancakes like butter, your posture up straight and distant from the plate while your appetite warned you not to bite. Your eyes flickered over to Simon again, seeing his hands still firmly placed over his eyes, broad shoulders retracted inwards as his body jolted in silent cries. The metal rattled against the table as you put the knife down and jumped out of your chair.

“Simon don’t do this-“ You spoke comfortingly, lunging over towards his body. Your soft skin met with the roughness of his arm but before you could say another word he shoved your body away from him.

A voice you’d never heard before coming out loud and brute, as you took a step back from his harsh rejection.

“Can you just fuck off trying to make me feel better constantly- I know i’ve fucked up and I know i’ve upset you. Stop acting like everything is alright when it isn’t, you do this every time- i’m not a kid!” His fist clawed at his shirt. Pulling it away from his chest as if he wanted to rip his heart out to stop the torture he was suffering.

Spit flew from his mouth and his eyes looked red, sunken with despair. Your voice died in your mouth, tongue soaking up all your saliva and you tried to swallow.

He was lost. He ruined the thing he needed the most- fucked about and caused chaos with his lifeline. You were his saviour and always had been. He didn’t need for you to fix his relationship or his problems, he needed you to fix him. He didn’t sleep with you to use you intentionally, it was a drunken mistake and a shitty timing.

He inhaled through his mouth, his throat croaking as he gripped the counter for stabilisation. Face was locked down to the floor, glued and staring at his shoes on your kitchen floor.

The drops of his tears on the black leather of his boots and the drops on your tiles reminding him of how pathetic he was being. He was a man, he worked in the military. He had slept with people before, cheated, and ruined relationships but nothing hurt like this hurt. Nothing knocked him down so hard he was afraid to get back up, he was afraid to lose you. Simon was scared.

“I made a mistake and I’m so fucking sorry. I don’t know what I can even do to make it up to you- fucking pancakes- it is stupid I should know better and I should know what to do but I-” The whiteness in his knuckles disappeared as he lessened his grip on the counter. Hands falling to his side as he broke down on the spot.

The hard armour he lived in unraveling like flimsy pieces of ribbon. His wet eyelashes hitting his cheeks as he wiped his nose and face on the back of his wrist.

“I can’t think. I can’t be me without you here and I don’t know what to do, please, i’m so sorry just please come back to me. I know i’ve lost a part of you and I will fight until the end of day to get it back, but for now just let me have the rest back. I need my best friend back.” His hands met your lower back as you flung your arms around his neck, your own eyes dripping with tears of outrage and hurt but above all you needed Simon too.

You sobbed silently into his shoulder as he held you close to him finally getting his breathing back to normal. You bit your lips shut and breathed slowly so he couldn’t feel your body shake for air. You didn’t want him to realise how much you were struggling in his arms- how lost and abused you felt. You didn’t want your emotions to worsen his because he had to come first.

He’d lost the love of his life and he needs someone to be strong for him, help him get on his own feet. Be beside him with wide arms and a welcoming face. It wasn’t him being selfish, it was something you had to understand Simon to understand.

The two of you stayed like that for a moment before you hesitantly sat down and talked. It was a long talk hidden by cheap smiles and forced laughter but of course, he didn’t catch on. You let him speak, you gave him advice- hugged it out and as weeks passed by, the two of you were back to normality again.

He’d found a new girl quicker than you thought he wouldn’t, pretty girl and ironically she your figure and eye colour. The more you watched them interact the more they seemed to happy together, kissing, hugging, buying each other gifts. It felt just like how it was before.

Back to Simon and his lovesick best friend that will always be there for him even if he’s never there for her. Back to Simon and his awful dating life as he hops from one awful breakup to the next because they all are missing something.

All he wants, is girl with your hair colour. A girl with your eye colour and your smile. All he longs for is a girl that he can hold hands with but can also roll his eyes at when she teases him for being too cheesy. He wants a girl who can laugh and joke with him but still support him and by there for him in more ways than one. Not just a girlfriend but almost as if a best friend at the same time. That’s all he wants and asks the world for but for some reason she just isn’t out there for him.

And until he realises why he looks for you in every girl he meets. Until he steps back and opens his eyelids to everything right in front of him. She won’t ever be.

[marauders1971-1978]

This is the post I channel for James' characterisation for years 1-3

The dormitory grew brighter around him at a snail’s pace, the weak Autumn light struggling through the flat, white cloud cover. Remus was exhausted and frustrated, but still, infuriatingly awake. He gave up trying to get any rest and clambered over to the bottom of his bed to pull out a book from his trunk to read until it was a reasonable time to be up. 

His eyelids were just drooping over his copy of The Wishing Chair, Again that he’d brought from home to lend to Lily when something heavy and unexpected dropped onto his legs. 

“Morning!” James whispered over Remus’ grunt of pain. He was beaming, and looked like he’d slept outside in a hurricane. 

“Yeah, morning.” Remus pulled his legs from under James, lest he break them, and put his book to one side. “You’re up early.”

“I suppose. Hey, sorry to spring this on you, but I forgot to ask yesterday with all the excitement. Are you a werewolf?”

Remus lunged forward and clapped his hand over James’ mouth, looking over to his left in a panic. Peter was still snoring. 

“Jesus Christ, James, shut up.” 

James pried Remus’ hand away from his mouth and grimaced apologetically. 

“Sorry mate,” James apologised, keeping his voice hushed. “Anyway, you are, aren’t you? I double-checked the lunar charts over summer-”

“James, are you mental?” Remus groaned. He couldn’t take much more anxiety in one night. “What do you mean, you were ‘checking lunar charts’? It’s like, five in the morning - why are you asking me this right now?”

James looked horrified. “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry. I was so sure I was right - I suppose that was a bit presumptuous. Please, ignore what I said, I’m so sorry-”

“No, you’re right, it’s just that-”

“Wait, I’m right ?”

Remus wanted to obliterate himself on the spot. What an idiot. 

Well, he supposed at least he could stop worrying about it now. 

“Yeah, you’re right.”

He stole a tentative glance at James, expecting disgust, or horror, or fear. Instead, he looked… smug?

“ Knew it!” he hissed. “I’m such a great detective. Sirius isn’t going to believe that I figured it out before him-”

Remus couldn’t believe his ears. Was it simply that James hadn’t thought of the reality of what he’d discovered? Perhaps it was still all a game of Cluedo to him. Perhaps, once he’d had a few minutes for the horror of what he’d said to sink in, he’d go straight to Professor McGonagall, or Professor Dumbledore, and ask that Remus be housed elsewhere, or expelled, for their own safety. 

And he’d be right to. 

Remus flinched as a hand waved before his eyes, far too close to his face. 

“Hey, Lupin. You okay there?”

Remus blinked at him, waving his hand away. He didn’t want to touch him. 

“Am I okay?”

James huffed. “You keep just repeating me.” James seemed to stop, pull the breaks on his own train of thought, and really look at Remus for the first time since he’d sat on the bed. Remus could feel his eyes searching him. “Sorry. I think I’ve made a mistake.” 

There it was.

“I’ve really freaked you out, haven’t I?”

Freaked him out?

“I bet it’s been really hard for you, you tried to keep it a secret. And here I am blabbing away about it. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I can keep a secret, I promise. Especially for a friend.”

Remus refused to cry for the third time that day, so he leaned forward and hugged James roughly, before he could think twice about it. James squeezed him back.

BONUS - Peter

“I guess this is about the werewolf thing?”

Remus snapped his head up, bashing his forehead on James’ chin as he did. Peter stood beside the bed, sleepy eyed. Remus rubbed his head and looked bewildered at Peter. 

“How do you know?” He asked, incredulous. 

“You were sick at the full moon and your scars don’t heal,” Peter shrugged. “I supposed you were trying to keep it a secret, so I didn’t say anything. Seems like that’s over and done with now though.” He smiled up at him and Remus felt his chest ache like someone had reached inside him and squeezed his heart. 

How did he deserve this?

James unlatched himself from Remus and huffed at Peter. “Wait, when did you figure this out? I thought it’d gotten it first?”

“No way, I figured it out end of last year - I’m sure you only put it together in the holidays-”

“That’s not true, I was just double checking! I knew last year-”

“You did not, you’re a liar-”

Remus: Oh no. You don’t want to befriend me. I’m a handful.

James: [excitedly] I have two hands!!!

[lieslab]

It's my party and I'll cry if I want to

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Han X gn reader

Summary: Your boyfriend finds you celebrating your birthday alone in the dark.

Genre: Comfort/hurt

Word Count: 1.8K

A/N: I'm choking on nostalgia at 1 am and if I'm suffering, I'm afraid I'm going to make you suffer with me too. Happy birthday, celebrate your birthdays, or I'll cry.

_ _ _

“Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me.”

The lyrics were murky as your brain tried to remember the song from so long ago. With the light on above the kitchen sink, your view of the area was pretty dim. In front of you, a perfectly wrapped cupcake was topped with sprinkles and a single lit candle. 

Still tucked in your pajamas, you stood beside the kitchen island and sang quietly to yourself. The small flame reflected in your eyes and once you finished the song, the dark kitchen went back to silence. Your eyes remained on the flickering flame. 

The wax of the single black candle slowly began to ooze down the side. In the back bedroom, your boyfriend was sound asleep. Han had been out cold since he came home a few hours ago. Another day of practice and recording left him exhausted. 

In your head, it was fortunate. Your birthday was today, but the truth? You never had plans to celebrate it. What was the point, anyway? Another year of growing older. Another year where you’re forced to confront that you’re creeping closer and closer to death. 

Days tick by, but the thought haunts your subconscious. One of these days, it just might be your last and you’ll never know until it happens. Your anxiety surrounding death had been growing lately. 

Birthdays weren’t special to begin with. Birthdays were somewhat enjoyable as a kid. There was cake and ice cream. A few presents and a signed card. 

And then you grew up. 

The presents became less. The cakes disappeared. The few friendships dissolved and that was that. If anything, birthdays were just a painful reminder of how lonely you felt. Was there really anything to celebrate anymore? 

The wrinkles deepened and the mistakes of the past weighed on your heart heavily. Three-hundred and sixty-five days had passed since this time last year. So many years from when you were born into this world and it still felt pointless; just another nail in the coffin. 

“What are you doing?” Han’s sleepy voice broke through your thoughts. Across the way, his hands wiped at his sleepy eyes. He yawned and his attention went down to the flickering flame. “You made yourself a cupcake at this hour?” 

“Um…” Your head shook and you leaned forward to blow out the candle. “Something like that, I suppose.” 

Finally more awake, his half-lidded eyes met yours. He scanned the sink behind you for dirty dishes, but there wasn’t any. The scent of cake didn’t linger in the air. It must have been something you bought from a store. 

“A cupcake for a midnight snack is a weird choice, isn’t it? I’ve heard that sugar can give you nightmares before bed.” 

An ache squeezed your hollow heart at his words. You longed for the flavors to burst on your tongue, but instead you nodded. “Yeah, thanks for reminding me. I’ll probably just save it for dessert tomorrow after lunch or something.” 

The empty plastic container that used to hold the cupcake had been placed on the back counter. You spun around to grab it and blinked rapidly, trying to hide your tears. Han didn’t remember your birthday, of course, he didn’t. 

It wasn’t something you could be mad about. It’s not like you told him about your birthday. In fact, when he brought it up, you switched the topic. Your birthday felt so unimportant and dull, you tried to forget about it most of the time. 

But this birthday? Nostalgia bit into your heart this year. You longed for rich icing and moist cake. You wanted to recall the way your laugh sounded higher-pitched in childhood. If you chewed and squeezed your eyes shut, you were sure you could remember your mother back when you were only seven. 

When her hair was its original color and time hadn’t worn her down. Back when her joints were younger and she didn’t mention pain all the time. Her hair was longer and life seemed brighter. 

To a time when your father seemed to notice you more. When the future was bright and sitting on top of his shoulders made you squeal with delight. Up there, anything seemed possible and with his hands supporting your legs, you could do anything. 

Time is cruel and adulthood will rob you of everything you hold dear if you let it. Sharp teeth rip bites from your heart. Relationships fade and without work on either end, the distance between people grows like wild ivy. Phone calls dwindle and the steady texts disappear. 

Your parents become strangers. Friendships you knew like the back of your hand become foreign. Everything crumbles and then you’re left holding onto, not people, but the memories. Memories are just daggers to a beating heart. 

Things feel so achievable when you're young. Birthdays are some of the most exciting times of a child’s life. Dreams were so easy to accomplish back then, the sky was the limit, but this was now. Your star-dusted dreams died out so long ago, you couldn’t see them anymore. 

Han didn’t notice you reaching up to wipe a tear, but he noticed the rainbow sprinkles on the cupcake. He knew a lot of things about you and he knew that you didn’t like sprinkles on your cupcakes. You claimed they were too childish and yet, they were scattered along top of swirled icing. 

When it finally clicked, his eyes widened. “Oh my god, wait.” You spun around and his head snapped to you. “It’s your birthday, isn’t it?” 

“It doesn’t matter.” 

“But it does! What do you mean?” He rushed across the tile floor and grabbed you. “Happy birthday! I can’t believe I missed out on telling you that. Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“Maybe birthdays are just stupid.” 

You pulled yourself from his grip and grabbed the cupcake with two hands. You didn’t get far when he grabbed a fistful of your shirt and gently tugged you back to face him. “What do you mean?” 

Your eyes stayed on the floor. You couldn’t bear to look at those soft brown eyes. Not tonight, not with all the jumbled emotions swarming you. If your eyes found him, you’d fall apart in seconds. 

“What?” 

“Do you ever think about how pointless they are? So? I’m a year older, who cares?” You tried to squirm from his grip. 

“I care.” His hand reached up, gently grabbed your chin, and he made you face him. “I care an awful lot about your birthday. You’re here with me, aren’t you?” 

His cheeks puffed up in a sad smile. “You made it. Look at you go. Isn’t that something worth celebrating? Something to be proud of? You’ve done so much.” 

“I’ve done nothing.” 

“You’ve done everything. You’ve survived every challenge and you learned a lot. You discovered new things about yourself. You exist and that itself should be celebrated.” 

Your bottom lip quivered and you blinked rapidly. Your voice came out wobbly. “You’re not supposed to make me cry on my birthday.” 

“I don’t think you’re supposed to make your boyfriend cry on your birthday either, but it’s happening.” His thumb reached up to catch a stray tear. Just as your tear fell, his own soon followed. 

“Why are you crying?” 

“Because it makes me sad that you don’t view yourself like I do. You’re so precious to me and I hate that you can’t see the good. Birthdays are meant to be celebrated. Haven’t you ever had a surprise party or a party with all of your friends?” 

“Not really. I’ve had stuff with one or two friends, but never a surprise party. I didn’t have a large group of friends. My birthday parties were themed around my family and then I started to grow up. Families don’t care about birthdays once you reach a certain age.” 

His head shook, but you nodded. “That’s how it was with my family,” you continued. “Birthdays are just a waste of time and-” You gently lifted the cupcake. “Money. Besides, sprinkles are childish.” 

It tore his heart to shreds. In the dim light, you looked defeated. Your hair was a mess and brown bags curled beneath your eyes. Sadness pooled in the corners of your eyes and stayed there. 

He reached out and pulled the cupcake from your cupped hands. Setting it back on the counter, he hurried over to grab a lighter from a distant junk drawer. His name left your lips, but he ignored you. 

He came back to the table and the lighter flickered to life. The sparking flame reappeared and relit the candle on the cupcake. He stepped back and gestured to you to step forward. “Go ahead and make a wish.” 

“But I-” 

“Make a wish.” 

You stared at him for a moment. Wet streaks lined his cheeks, but the way he looked at you in that moment, it inflated your heart again. The flutter of hope in his eyes. The way the flame danced in his pupils. His hands kept gesturing for you to blow out the candle. His usual smile still tugged at one side of his mouth. 

You shut your eyes, stepped up, and sent out a single stream of air. The flame was there and then gone, just like that. Before you reopened your eyes, Han clapped excitedly.  “Happy birthday, baby!” 

You squealed as you were grabbed by your waist. “Han Jisung!” He giggled with glee and slung you over his shoulder. “Put me down!” 

“No can do, we’ve got places to go, people to go see, and a birthday to celebrate. The night is still so young and we’re not going to waste it.” 

“It’s midnight!” 

“It’s basically happy hour somewhere. So first I was thinking that we should go get Minho. We can use him to break into Seungmin and Felix’s dorm. We can steal Felix’s video games and while we do that, Minho can draw a mustache on Seungmin with a permanent marker. In the morning, it’ll all be Lix’s fault.”  

“That’s cruel.” 

“And the entertainment from pranks lasts forever. So then we’ll sneak into Chan’s and Jeongin’s place and raid their food stash. We’ll end the night in Changbin and Hyunjin’s dorm. You can get sappy with Hyunjin while we eat snacks. Changbin can sing happy birthday at the top of his lungs.” 

When he put you down outside your apartment’s front door, he grimaced. Your arms were crossed over your chest and you scowled at him. “That’s the best you could come up with?” 

“Uh…” 

“It’s perfect, let’s go.” You looped your hand through his and began to tug him into Seoul’s darkness. “But since it’s my birthday, I had nothing to do with this.” 

“Hey, I thought you didn’t like your birthday.” 

“It turns out, I like it when it can be used as a get out of jail free card.” 

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @danihwang882

Masterlist

Taglist and inbox rules

Ko-fi