#Youth Time Magazine

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劉暢 - Liú Chàng Mufasa

Journey 漫遊 - April 2024 (2/3)

[officialsavantmagazine]

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[sunsoak]

Can’t be a writer if you don’t write. Bitch. There’s only one requirement to being a writer and it’s writing. God damn

[magpiepills]

Take It Easy

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+ MDNI

Pairing: Joel Miller x virgin f! Reader

Word count: 4k

Summary: you’re a virgin with a crush on your best friends dad and you’re determined to make him your first.

Warnings: SMUT! PWP, PIV, fingering, tiddy stuff, oral (f receiving) virginity loss, alcohol, dubious consent on a little of this, age gap, tiny bit of daddy, creampie, Joel is kind of a creep, fetishization of youth, big dick Joel. Dirty talk, sweat pants, Sarah lives, idk what else. Typos galore, not edited, hardly beta’d at all, straight up pornorgraphy. Don’t read smut for the morals.

A word from the author: well, here we go. Big dick Joel getting real nasty with his daughter’s virgin friend.

MASTERLIST

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At 9 AM a bead of sweat trickled down Joel’s temple. It was a cold day, highs only reaching into the 40s. Rain was expected and he had called Tommy to take over the job site for the day, blaming a terrible migraine triggered by the weather, probably.

With no one else home and no place to be, Joel could devote himself to the task that had been hanging over him for two weeks.

You had the day off too. Classes didn’t start up again until after the new year, despite everyone heading back to campus with their clean laundry and gifts from their parents and grandparents. Sarah included. You and your best friend since 11th grade had arrived home on the same day and spent days together at your parent’s house making cookies and wrapping gifts and watching movies and drinking too-sweet amaretto sours in her and her father’s kitchen. Now she’s gone and you’re left behind, one more thing to finish up before you could get back to college life.

Joel was focused and diligent, careful and patient, but determined. His tongue slid across his bottom lip. “Just relax,” he reminded you. How could you, at a time like this?

You hadn’t been relaxed since the first night back at Sarah’s dad’s house, since you first saw the width of his shoulders, the size of his biceps, or his big dark eyes. There was no relaxing when you saw him size you up as he grabbed himself a beer from the fridge, when he spoke to you and Sarah, but only looked at you when he said to be good. All you wanted was to be good for him.

You campaigned hard. Arching your back, ass out, bright pink fabric of your thong showing above the waistband of your sweatpants while you leaned over the counter eating pizza and flipping through Sarah’s stack of magazines in the Miller family’s cozy kitchen.

“Save me any?” Joel asked, sidling up behind you, reaching for the greasy pizza box and letting his hand drag over your exposed skin, the side of his pinky finger just barely reaching under the waistband of your panties. Your cheeks heated as he smiled at you, chomping his pizza and, unbeknownst to you, semi hard in his jeans.

Of course Joel didn’t mind Sarah bringing friends home, especially little things like you, with bodies like yours that played havoc on his self control. Ones that were eager to flirt with an older man, ones who didn’t know what they were asking for.

You thought you knew. Sure Sarah was your friend, but you were still human and her dad was hot. You might not be experienced, but you had a whole treasure trove of dirty stories you read between classes and studying about how an older man could treat a younger woman. Those stories occupied your mind. You masturbated, imagining a handsome man who took charge of you like the imaginary ones, you whispered “daddy” as you came, just like the women in the stories, thrilled with the naughtiness of it all.

Now, here you are with this handsome older man, already going gray, and you wondered if he would like it if you called him daddy. You imagined how the word would sound if he said it.

You’d harbored a little crush on Joel since you first saw him at Sarah’s high school graduation party. You’d watched him from across the yard all night, wanting him to see you, but not wanting him to all at once. You never imagined he might look at you with the same carnivorous hunger in his eyes.

Of course he’d seen you, how could he not? You’d shown up looking way too beautiful for your own good then made eyes at him all night. He’d spent the entire party avoiding you so he wouldn’t be tempted to drag you up to his bedroom and wipe that fucking temptress look off your face. He knew he couldn’t.

When Sarah called to tell you about the date she had planned with some guy, you encouraged her. Told her to see a movie, dinner, anything. You helped her pick an outfit and did her eyeliner for her. When her date picked her up at seven, you were on her doorstep at seven thirty, playing dumb and looking for the jacket you’d left behind. Of course he invited you in to get it, and offered you a drink.

“You’re twenty one now, ain’t ya?” He winked at you as he poured two shots of whiskey and slid one over to you.

“Close enough,” you mumbled, low so he didn’t hear.

He watched as you swallowed the burning liquid, fixated on the way your throat moved as you obediently swallowed what he gave you. You grimaced, shaking your head and sputtering at the taste. Joel grinned and poured another and put it in front of you. “Second one goes down easier.” He was right. It went down easy, and it made you feel warm and relaxed.

You leaned close to talk, tilting your head, your eyelids heavy. “I didn’t really need my jacket,” you confessed. “Kinda just wanted to see you again.”

Joel held his liquor much better than you, but he played along, feigning ignorance. “Yeah? What do you want with an old man like me?

Of course, after that it wasn’t safe to let you leave, so you sat with Joel on his couch, a movie playing in the background. Joel pulled your bare feet onto his lap and spread a blanket over you both. Your eyelids were heavy, and you couldn’t help but stare at his profile, the curve of his nose, the fullness of his lips.

He turned to look at you, and smiled. “You gonna keep statin’ at me all night?” You licked your lips and nodded. “You can do more than look if you want to, pretty girl.”

Joel’s arm reached across the back of the couch, making the room feel smaller, the air warmer, and what happened next inevitable. He leaned over, taking more of your space, and tilted your chin up. The kiss started tender and soft, something sweet, not innocent but with no hint of how reckless he would be with you. He was so big and strong, and you felt so vulnerable and small with his arms around you, his hands roaming over your body and his tongue slipped into your mouth.

He took your hand in his and guided it to his lap, letting you feel the size of his hard cock, straining beneath the fabric. “Look what you did,” he panted, breaking away from your lips. “That’s all you. You keep comin’ over here teasing me and then I gotta go take care of it on my own.”

You gasped at the size of him, feeling the length, the thickness through his worn denim. You’d only seen pictures, and having a cock in your hands was thrilling and new. You went to unbutton his jeans, eager to take it out and see it for real when he stopped you. “Uh-uh. You ain’t ready for that yet.”

He knew you were a virgin. He’d heard you telling Sarah how frustrated you were, poor thing. The thought of being the first to have you had given him two weeks of fantasy material to jerk off with. He thought of you on your knees, mouth open obediently. He thought of you bent over the back on his couch, bare pussy showing under the hem of a short skirt. He thought of the way your cry his name when he filled you all the way up and came in your tight little snatch. He was ate up with his dirty ideas.

Sarah’s dad lifted your shirt instead, pulling it up over your tits and kissing the tops of each breast, silently reminding himself to not rush. You made soft sounds of pleasure as he worked slowly, kissing, licking, nibbling gently, pulling the cups of your bra down so he could circle your nipples with the wet point of his tongue, flicking them, sucking them, making you whimper. You’d never felt a mouth there before, and your panties were soaked already. Joel seemed to know they would be.

“You makin’ a mess for me? Let me have a look.”

“Mister Miller,” you warned him, giggling and nervous as he unbuttoned your jeans and tugged down your zipper. You held your breath as his hand slipped down the front of your damp panties. He felt the soft strip of hair you’d left over your mound, the rest of you bare and inviting.

Joel chuckled when he discovered how wet you were. His fingers were immediately covered in your slippery wetness.“Goddamn, sweetheart. All this just ‘cause I played with your tits?”

His teasing embarrassed you, until he put your hand over his erection again. “Think you can take him?” You nodded, wide eyed and he thrust against your palm. Joel laughed again. Even for an experienced woman he knew he was a lot to take. He never got tired of the whines and hiccuped breaths as he drove his cock into them for the first time. He twitched at the thought of you, eager and new, dripping wet but tight as a vice around him.

You kissed him again, pulling him down on top of you, but his hand never left your pussy. He rubbed over your slick vulva, and delved between your folds to draw out more of your arousal, spreading it around, circling your clit, teasing you into a panting mess. You closed your eyes and gripped his tshirt in your fists as you came. It was even better than when you do it yourself.

“That good, baby? You like coming like that for me?” Joel watched your dazed, loopy smile drop in surprise when he brought his wet fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean and hummed at the flavor of you on his tongue.

He had his middle finger poised to slip into your pussy, beginning the task of opening you up just enough to let his cock do the rest when a pair of headlights swept across the room. Sarah was home.

Suddenly feeling much more sober, you and Joel scrambled to right yourselves and you grabbed the jacket you’d accidentally-on-purpose left behind to help explain why you were here, alone with her father. He grabbed a beer and turned on the tv, feigning interest in a show about crab fishing.

Sarah was confused by your presence, as you’d expected.

“What are you doing here? Is everything ok?” She was so sweet and concerned, and what you really wanted to do was ask her what she was doing here, wasn’t she supposed to be on a date? You waved it off, holding your jacket up as explanation.

Sarah shrugged. The two of you went to her room, closing the door behind you for a post-date recap while Joel was left alone on the couch, cock still hard.

Two days passed before you saw him again. When you came over to help Sarah pack up for the drive back to school he was there, in the same place on the couch where he had pushed you further than anyone else ever had.

As your best friend of the last almost two years tried to decide what she needed to take back with her and what she should leave in her room, you excused yourself to the bathroom. Joel saw you go in and waited behind his bedroom door for you to come back out. When you passed, his hand reached out and grabbed you, pulling you into his room and held you against his warm body, letting you feel the bulk of his erection in his sweatpants as he kissed you.

“I’ve been waiting for you to come back,” he whispered low in your ear. “Me and you have some unfinished business.”

You instantly burnt with your need for him, nothing else was as important as feeling him, kissing him, touching him, finding out what else he might do to you.

Joel’s breath was warm and his mustache tickled your ear. “I want you here first thing in the mornin’ you understand? I’m not done with you,” he palmed your ass roughly, pulling you against him. He had a mind to just toss you onto his bed and sort you out right here and now. He was certainly hard enough, and he was sure if he checked you’d be dripping wet for him.

Down the hallway Sarah called for you, snapping you out of whatever was happening or could happen with just a little more time. You should feel guilty. You let your best friend’s dad finger you. You almost fucked him. He’s twice your age and she’s your best friend, but your traitorous pussy didn’t care. You wanted to find out what else he would do. You helped her finish packing, and went home to touch yourself under the covers in your own childhood bedroom.

You’d been nervous, barely sleeping all night, horny and excited and worried that you didn’t have any way to contact Joel to make sure he hadn’t changed his mind.

When you woke up you showered and put on the cutest panties you’d packed, a soft cotton bikini with a heart on the back that said “Lucky You” in bold letters. You hoped they wouldn’t be soaked by the time he got his hands on them. You misted yourself with vanilla body spray and practiced looking cool, which was the opposite of how you felt. You felt like a goofy, awkward teenager. You were acutely aware of your inexperience. You dressed in a snug pair of jeans that hugged your ass and a soft white sweater, and tamped down the guilt of driving to Sarah’s house with the intention of fucking her dad.

Sarah was already gone when you got back to her house the next morning. You arrived at eight thirty, just as Joel had instructed.

Any lingering nerves or doubt vaporized the instant he opened the door. It swung open, warmth and the smell of coffee rushing out. Joel was still in his sweatpants and a soft white tshirt, obviously slept in. He filled the doorway, looking you up and down, practically licking his chops like a hungry wolf. It was reassuring to see the way his pants were already beginning to tent. It made you feel bolder.

“Good morning, Mister Miller,” you batted your lashes at him, tilting your head flirtatiously.

“Get your ass in here,” he grumbled, checking the street for any boring eyes. Luckily most of his neighbors were at work. He shut the door and locked it before turning his attention back to you.

There was no formality or polite small talk before he was on you. His lips on your neck, sucking hard enough to mark. His hands pulling impatiently at your jeans, tracing his fingers down the back seam to cup your pussy.

“You smell good,” he said. “You get dressed up to come over here and fool around with an old man?”

“I came over for you.” You rubbed your nose against his shoulder, leaning into him, feeling his warmth and strong, sturdy body.

“I’m old enough to be your daddy.”

As if you needed the reminder.

“I don’t care, Mister Miller. I like it,” you said, emphasizing your point by grinding harder against the thick curve of his cock.

You reached for his waistband, eager to see and feel everything that was promised. You were ready to drop to your knees, but he stopped you again. “I told you you’re not ready for that.”

“Can you get me ready?” You asked so sweetly that Joel thought he thought he surely must be dreaming.

“Yeah baby. I’ll get ya ready. Come on.” Joel took you to his bedroom and sat you on his freshly washed sheets. He took off your sweater and tossed it onto a chair in the corner where his own laundry was already piled. He kissed you and unsnapped your bra. He took off his own shirt and threw it behind him. You covered your chest with your arms, but Joel pulled them away.

“Uh-uh. Don’t be shy now. You like teasing older men, walking around my house looking good enough to eat, looking at me like you do, I’m gonna take my time.”

Your body lit up when he climbed over you and pushed your tits together with his big, rough hands. He licked across your nipples, teasing them to firm points with his tongue, sucking each one, squeezing and kneading your breasts. When he had enough of that, when you began to roll your hips, he popped the button of your jeans with ease. He tugged them down your legs and held your thighs open wide. You knew you’d soaked your panties. The look on his face told you.

“Are you nervous?” he asked. You shook your head no. “Has this pussy ever been licked?” Another shake of your head. “No? Well I’m gonna fix that right now. Hold your knees up for me, baby.

You bit your lower lip and held the back of your knees. You could feel your pussy blooming with need. Joel hooked his fingers under your panties and pulled them off. He read the words aloud. “‘Lucky You,’ he laughed. “Yeah. Lucky me.”

On his tired knees, he licked your puffy cunt. He sucked and slurped and hummed happily as you panted. His tongue pushed into your entrance, a hint of what was to come. He flicked his tongue quickly over your asshole, then through your slick, sticky folds to suck your clit. You moaned and thrashed, you dug your heels into the edge of the mattress until he shoved your knees back up and looked at you pointedly from between your legs.

You could have come from this alone, his lips and his tongue, but he pushed one finger into you, then another. Even when you fingered yourself it wasn’t this intense. Your orgasm came quickly, radiating over your body, seizing your muscles.

Joel stood, wiping his face with the back of his hand and smiling proudly down at you.

“Did good, baby. Pussy’s so sweet I could eat it all day.”

You laughed. Feeling almost as buzzed as you did from the whiskey. “Will you?”

“Is that what you want?” Joel stroked his cock through his sweatpants, a wet spot had darkened the gray fabric near the tip, and he seemed even bigger than you remembered.

“No,” you sat up on the bed and looked up at him. When you tried this time, he let you reach into his pants. His cock was hot and firm, with smooth, soft skin, you pulled it from his sweatpants and stared. Your fingertips didn’t touch when you held his cock in your fist. You slid your hand up and down in a gentle, timid stroke, quickly gaining confidence and Joel watched you explore him with glassy, half lidded eyes and a bead of precum leaking from the thick, blush pink head. In a daring moment of impulse, you licked it up, savoring the forbidden taste of him on your tongue.

Joel had to stop himself from holding your hair and shoving his cock into your throat. Patience, he reminded himself. He had to give you time. He knew you’d be taking him in every hole soon enough. An eager girl like you. A bad girl. A cock hungry little slut in the making and you were his to mold.

“That’s good, baby. That’s real good, but if you keep that up I’m gonna come and we don’t want that, do we?” Joel stepped back and kicked off his sweatpants.

You were both naked now, fully bared to each other, his body graying now, with scars and years of wear and tear, yours, young and new and untouched by anyone but him.

He got into the bed beside you, pulling you up to kiss him, the smell and taste of your pussy clinging to his mustache. He deepened the kiss and rolled on top of you once more, the time positioning himself between your legs. You felt his cock, heavy and long against your folds. He slid against you, rocking your hips, and you mirrored his movements, coating his turgid member in your wetness.

His deep, husky voice was so sexy, low and rumbling against your lips. “You feel so good. Can you feel me? Feel how bad I need you?

“I feel you Joel,” your voice strained. “You’re so big.”

“You can take him, baby. You’re ready. You did so good for me. You want it? You want daddy’s cock? You gonna be a good girl and take it for me?”

“Yes. I want it. I want it, please,” you begged in a haze.

Joel dragged his cock head through your folds again, gathering your slick, and nudging against your tight, virgin hole.

“Relax for me baby. Let me in,” Joel urged impatiently and you tried, but he was so big. That word floated in your head. Big. Everything about him was just so big. You closed your eyes and breathed deeply until he managed t fit the first inch and a half inside.

“Come on, you’re doin’ so good. Focus right here.” He sucked his thumb into his mouth, wetting it with his saliva and pressing it against your clit. It helped a little, but you couldn’t ignore the stinging, overwhelming stretch of him in your impossibly tight little cunt.

It took several beats of your heart pounding in your ears to work him all the way in, inch after throbbing inch filling you completely. You didn’t dare move. You let Joel take control. He had to focus too. You weren’t the first virgin he’d ruined but he wasn’t as young as he used to be. He inched out, and pushed back in. Out, then in, keeping a steady pace as you got acclimated to his size.

You did, slowly relaxing, relishing in the warmth of his body, the pain washed away into pleasure. Each stroke of his length into you stoked your growing orgasm. It was nothing like you’d ever felt. You began to feel crazy over it. You slipped your hand between your bodies and rubbed your clit the way you did when you were alone.

“Fuck yeah. Make yourself come. Let me feel you,” Joel encouraged, his temples glistening with sweat. He needed to come. He wanted to do the right thing. He wanted to make this good and keep you coming back but you felt so damn good. He wanted to mark you with his cum like no one else ever could.

You whined, his words, his voice were what did you in. You came hard on his cock. It was a smooth, rolling, heavy feeling, instant addiction. The feeling was soon followed by Joel’s orgasm. He didn’t stop to ask where, he just pushed deep and released inside, cum held in place with his softening cock and the weight of his body collapsing on top of yours.

What now, you wondered. You’ve fucked him, what now?

He rolled off of you and kissed you, then for a few moments you lay side by side in silence. His cum dripped out, adding to the mess between your legs.

“You ok,” he asked. “I didn’t hurt you did I? I know it’s a lot. You’re not bleeding are ya?”

“I’m fine, Joel.” You wondered if you should leave now. You went to the bathroom and cleaned yourself up. You didn’t look any different in the mirror now that you weren’t a virgin. You didn’t look like someone who would have sex with their friend’s dad, either.

You went to find your clothes and purse so you could leave, but Joel was still in bed, holding his arm up for you to get back in with him. He had no intention of letting you leave soon.

“I thought I could make us some lunch before we try again.”

[yieldtotemptation]

RITUAL ft. Yujin

yujin x male reader smut

7k words

Let’s be clear: you’re well aware of what a monumentally stupid idea this is.

For you, it’s just a job. You’ve been fired from plenty before, and there will be plenty more after.

But for her, for Yujin, it’s her career. Her life. Her everything.

And yet, here, in the cramped confines of a bathroom stall, your hand on her ass and hers diving down your jeans; you can’t let go of the nagging suspicion that maybe that’s the fucking point.

“How much time do we have?” Yujin’s lips are on your neck, tiny, hot breaths tickling your skin, nimble fingers at your waist, negotiating with your zipper.

“We had fifteen minutes, an hour ago,” you remind her. “We’re gonna miss soundcheck.”

“It’ll be fine.” Yujin’s unbothered, dismissive of anything that isn’t freeing your cock from its denim prison. “They’ll wait for me. They always do.”

There’s that hint of arrogance, that unshakeable confidence of youth, the invincibility that comes with being that absurdly hot. You can’t blame her at all for it.

What Yujin wants, she gets. You've seen it first hand.

It’s one of the many things you’ve learned about her over the past few weeks.

Well one of the few that don’t concern how good her cunt feels when she rides you, or how her eyes roll to the back of her head when you hit that spot just right, or the way her voice goes hoarse when she screams your name.

“Oh, it’s so perfect.”  Yujin’s seen your cock before, tasted it, taken it, had it in every way possible (in every place available), yet that still doesn’t stop her eyes from lighting up the second she sees it springing out from the waistband of your briefs, standing tall and throbbing painfully. “I’d say this is worth being late for.”

You’ve got a groan for her when she takes you into her hand, her grip firm and familiar. A half-hearted protest, too: “Yeah, but if we’re late, Princess Yujin gets a slap on the wrist, whereas I get fired.”

Yujin scoffs at that. “Well, I am your boss, so I think I get the last say if it comes down to it.”

Part of you wants to correct her, wants to explain that technically you’re not her employee but an independent contractor hired by the touring company. However, that part of you needs to shut the hell up, because the intricacies of employment contracts for musicians-for-hire really don’t seem pertinent at this moment.

Regardless, it all becomes trivial in the face of Yujin. So annoyingly, unfairly pretty, not even the unflattering harshness of the bathroom lights are capable of marring her in the slightest.

You’d probably give her the world if she asked.

She’d happily settle for your dick.

Her hand’s moving now, her fingers dancing around your shaft, exploring the contours of your cock from base to tip, and she's forcing you to resign, “Your logic, as always, is flawless.”

“See?” Yujin smiles up at you, that wide, confident grin that’s graced a million posters, been on every magazine cover and TV channel, and is now laser focused on you. “I’m always right, aren’t I?”

Her point's made with a squeeze around your length, stroking you in earnest, building to a rhythm that’s become so familiar over the past week—quick and precise, dangerously efficient. Like she was made for this. Made to tease your cock. As natural for her as breathing, really.

Yujin’s had plenty of practice, after all—on the morning of every concert, in the evening back at her hotel, on tour buses and in dressing rooms. On a plane once, even. It's the same torrid routine that’s now become a required pre-show ritual. A quiet spot, a secluded room, and she steals you away, bringing you to the brink and back.

And to think it all started because she asked you to help her ‘calm her nerves’.  

Or more correctly, fuck all the worries and concerns out of her pretty little head.

Still, she's never pushed it this far, never cut it this close.

You lean back against the stall door, your breath catching in your throat, the cheap plastic giving slightly under the pressure. Outside you can hear it, hear the bustling sounds of the venue coming to life—staff moving about, the distant roar of fans, the occasional clang of sound equipment. But in here, it’s overpowered by the noisiness of her palm sliding along your shaft, slick with her saliva, and it fills the small space, echoing across the cold tiles beneath your feet.

She’s undeniable—you know you’ve spoilt her. You’ve let her get her way with you far too many times, let her push this arrangement past any semblance of professionalism. Let her poison your mind with whispered sweet nothings that have you pounding her into the nearest available surface whenever she gets a twitch of stage fright.

But you’re also acutely aware of the fact that without these moments, without the promise of her tight, wet cunt wrapped around your cock, you’d be out there on that stage sleepwalking through just another concert with nothing but a drum kit and a bunch of songs you could play with your eyes closed.

“Fucking hell, Yujin, you look too good doing that,” you manage to get out, doing your best to endure her fingers gliding along your length, to last under the microscope of Yujin's dark, hungry eyes.

Another thing about Yujin: there's a special thrill she gets just from watching you, eyes glued to your face, taking in every single nuance of agony she’s wringing out.

“So fucking—” you settle on the most obvious word in your lexicon, “pretty.”

Yujin keens at the praise, her cheeks flush a deeper shade of pink, her teeth grazes the soft skin of her bottom lip. It's hardly new for her to hear this, to have people rave about how she's the hottest piece of ass this side of the equator. Yet there's something about hearing it from you that has her eating up your words every time. "Am I, now?"

You nod, voice momentarily failing you as she pumps your cock, her grip never wavering, never faltering, like she’s milking you, milking words of adulation from your lips.

You still haven't pinned down exactly what it is about you that unwinds Yujin, that makes her chase you so hard. Maybe it's because you're slightly older, a touch more mature than the usual plastic smiles that try to charm her out of her pants.

Or maybe it's because you said 'no' the first time she sniffed in your direction, and then made her scream 'yes' every time after.

Whatever it is, it has Yujin’s other hand reaching up to fiddle with the choker at her neck, flooding your mind with memories of your hand around her throat, her gagging on your length, her eyes watering while you fuck her face.

“And what about this outfit?” She asks, oh-so-innocently. “You think the fans will like it?”

“Yujin,” you say, like she doesn’t already know the very obvious answer. You’ve seen her in it all—tiny hot pants, tight little bralettes, that fucking leather catsuit. Yujin’s a fucking goddess in anything she wears, even a blind man would burn from the sheer heat radiating from her body. “You look fucking incredible, as always.”

“But?”

“No buts.”

“I heard a ‘but’,” Yujin ponders, her hand still working your cock like it’s her favourite toy. “Like: ‘but the shorts are too short, and everyone’s gonna see my cheeks when I bend over’.”

A blatant invitation to take a glance, to look down, down at those denim shorts so tight against her curves, the fabric stretched so taut that it might split open at any moment. Look down at her thick thighs, the way they flex and release as she jerks you off, every movement making the material cling tighter to her skin, moulding themselves around the outline of her perfect, round ass, those juicy cheeks that you’ve had the honour of spanking and biting and bruising.

“Or is it: ‘but your top is cut too low, your tits are gonna spill right out’?”

She’s drawing your gaze upwards, over that smooth, creamy expanse of skin, her stomach flat and toned, up the thin fabric of her flimsy excuse for a shirt, that dips just enough to tease the tops of her breasts, squeezed together and pushed up by her bra. It's so thin, wrapped so tight around her, highlighting the faint outline of her nipples poking through, already stiffened and calling for your tongue.

“Or maybe it’s: ‘the outfit looks good, looks nice and slutty, but you’d much rather rip it off me and just fucking ruin me like I deserve?'"

Yeah, that’s more like it.

You take that as permission, and reach for the hem of her top, eager to finally see those tits, to feel their warm weight in your palms, to have her stripped and laid bare like she knows you’d love to. But Yujin’s too quick, slapping your hand away with a laugh.

“But unfortunately, there’ll be none of that, drummer boy.” Yujin stops, her grip on your cock tightening for a brief, painful second. “Can’t have you ruining my outfit before I go on stage, can I?”

There’s a challenge there, a test to see if you’ll argue, maybe grab her, throw her against the wall and show her just how little of a fuck you give about anything that takes place outside of this toilet stall. But you know she’s right. You're the adult here, remember? Besides there’ll be plenty of time for that later.

You settle for her lips, leaning down, pressing the pad of your thumb against her chin. You tilt her head up towards yours, only for Yujin to pull back, leaving you kissing air. “Seriously?”

Yujin grins, clearly delighting in denying you again, in making your blood boil and cock throb. “Can’t ruin the make-up either,” she explains, making sure to bat her long, fake lashes for extra effect.

“So, I take it that means the pigtails are off limits too?” You ask, idly toying with the ludicrously slutty hairstyle that’s framing her face, bobbing slightly with every stroke she gives you.

“Now you’re learning.”

So, with a frustrated grunt, you keep your hands at your sides, resigning yourself to Yujin’s sweet torture. It’s maddening, just standing there, panting and so horny, at the mercy of Yujin’s slow strokes. “And no concern for my outfit, whatsoever.”

Yujin’s eyes wander over your choice of clothing, and laughs, rather insultingly, if you're honest. “I’m sure all the fans will be very focused on the drummer’s fashion choices,” she says, trusting you to pick up on the sarcasm.

You feign injury. “Ouch, I put a lot of thought into my clothing.”

“Sure you do. Thoughts like: how easy will it be for your little fuck buddy to tear them off?” Yujin’s thumb finds that sensitive spot just beneath the head of your cock, swiping over it with a smugness that’s both infuriating and incredibly hot.

“You’re going to get it later for that one,” you warn, your hand curling into a fist.

“Oh, I know.”

Yujin picks up the pace, her hand a blur, running up and down your shaft, fingers sliding across your slit, smearing the pre-cum that’s beaded there over your cockhead. And there’s a glint in her eye, that needy look that tells you she’s getting off on this, getting off on having you, having someone she shouldn’t be left alone with, squirm and beg and be so desperate for her.

“Look how big you are for me, daddy.”

There’s that word, that sweet, sweet ‘daddy’.

The first time she called you it was an accident, a slip of the tongue during a particularly intense moment when you had her against the window of her hotel, tits squashed against the glass, cunt dripping with your cum. But every time since, it’s been deliberate, calculated, a button she knows she can push to make you give it to her as rough as she wants; as rough as she craves.

“Look how big you are in my tiny hand.” She’s got you moaning now, melting between her fingers, bucking your hips for that extra bit of friction. “You love it when I jerk you like this, don’t you, daddy?”

‘Daddy’ again, rolling off her tongue like a fucking love letter, a song to send your head spinning and your cock pulsing in her hand.

There’s another challenge, can you last a little bit longer? Can you resist the urge to cum all over her fingers? Paint her pretty nails a fresh shade of white? Or would you rather wrap your hand around her lovely neck and force her to admit that she loves all this just as much as you do.

You swallow down the groan that’s building in your throat, your teeth grinding together to maintain some semblance of control. Yujin catches it, sees the effort it’s taking you, and she shakes her head, her lips pursed in a perfect little pout.

“Don’t hold back, daddy,” Yujin's chiding you, disappointed with your restraint. “I want to hear it. I need to hear how good it feels, how desperate you are. Need you to show me just how much you want to see me filled with your cum.”

She twists her hand down on your cock, squeezing when she reaches the base, her other hand coming down to cup your balls, tickling them with her fingers. That has a moan escaping your lips, a low, desperate sound that makes Yujin preen.

“That’s it,” she’s overjoyed, getting what she came for, basking in your pleasure, “tell me how much you want it, tell me how much you want to cum for me.”

And so you do. You tell her, your voice strained with the effort of keeping your orgasm at bay. Not yet, not until you’re deep inside her, not until you're sure that not a single drop will go wasted. “You're too fucking much, Yujin, too fucking hot,” you manage, the words a choked noise that you hope she can hear over the blood pounding in your ears. “You’re driving me fucking mad.”

Yujin’s strokes keep building, one on top of the other, and she’s pressing herself against you, the warmth of her, soft breasts pushing into your chest, her lips sucking at your neck, kissing into you hard. After all, who will notice? Who gives a fuck if the drummer shows up on stage with a few extra bruises on his skin?  

You fall into the crook of her neck, your forehead on her shoulder, as her lips make their way up your throat, across your jaw, until she’s nipping at your lobe, whispering in your ear, “You’re desperate for my cunt, aren’t you, daddy? You want to fill me up right before I go on stage?”

“Yujin,” you grit out, and you’re holding her, hands on those perfectly round cheeks, holding on for dear life, pulling her close to you so that she can feel just how right she is. The words spill out of you like a confession, “I need to fuck you now, Yujin. I need to feel your cunt, make you cum so hard you won’t be able to fucking move, let alone dance.”

And Yujin leaves one last, lingering kiss on your pulse. “So do it, daddy.”

Her words are a fucking gunshot, and you’re off to the races.

You spin her around so fast she yelps, your chest to her back, your cock trapped between her ass cheeks. Her shorts are barely an inconvenience, yank them down, denim catching on her hips, sliding down to her ankles, leaving her in just her panties.

Yujin gasps, the cool air meeting her bare skin, and she braces herself against the wall of the stall, needing something to keep her on her feet. She’s all soft curves and sweet smells, so insanely proportioned, like she's built for this, curvy and thick in all the right places.

While she’s distracted you sneak a kiss onto the creamy-white skin of her shoulder, hard enough to give her a mark to match yours, a badge of honour that brands her in the same way she’s done to you.

Her panties never stood a chance, completely drenched to the point of ruin, sticky with anticipation, snug against her lips. You pull them aside, thumb brushing against her swollen clit, making her hips jerk forward. She’s on your time now, you’ve got the green light to turn the tables and drag her through the same torment she’s put you through.

“Look at this,” you’re in her ear now, taunting, “you’re already so fucking wet for me.”

Yujin’s cheeks burn red, and she’s pushing back against you, grinding her ass into your cock. “Of course I am. I can’t help it,” she’s a little breathless, a little shaky, “I need it.”

“You’re so beautiful,” your hands like magnets on her bare ass, squeezing, marking her in places only you'll ever know. “So fucking beautiful.”

“Please,” Yujin whimpers, as you slide your finger down, between her legs, tracing her wet slit, testing her tightness, feeling her warmth, feeling how ready she is. “Please, fuck me now.”

You can’t resist her, you never can, not with so little time left and so much of her to ruin. Your cock dips, lining up with her pussy, the tip nudging at her entrance, and all it takes is one strong thrust, and you’re pushing into her, burying yourself to the hilt in a swift, brutal motion.

There’s a scream from her, a grunt from you, blending and echoing through the bathroom, bouncing off the tiles and the stall walls. Someone’s going to hear it, someone’s going to come in and see you fucking the star of the show and that’ll be it for the both of you.

But really, fuck all of that.

Fuck the concert, the venue staff, the fans, the tour managers, the PR nightmare that will follow.

Fuck everything that isn’t inside this stall, that isn’t Yujin’s tight cunt squeezing around your cock, that isn’t the way she’s shuddering in your arms, gasping your name, needing her daddy to fuck her harder, faster.

There's no easing her into it, not like you know you should. You fuck her hard, just like she’s begged. Your hips snap against her ass, the sound of skin slapping skin drowning out the noise outside, again and again, in and out, over and over.

Yujin’s never needed much to get started, always so easily soaked, so easily ready. She'd told you as much one late night (or one early morning): "I can take it, take anything, as long as it's coming from you. "

Her walls clamp down around you, she’s already pulsing, her cunt desperate to wring you dry. You’re gliding in and out of her, using her, letting her mold herself so perfectly around you, her juices coating your cock, making it slicker with every thrust.

“Yes—that’s what I fucking need.” Yujin cries out, her voice high-pitched, her head thrown back, and the flimsy plastic isn’t enough anymore, she needs you to hold her steady, to dig your fingers into her hips and nail her into the wall.

Each stroke, each thrust into her cunt, each time you fill her, stretch her—each one could be the last one, the one that has you exploding inside her. Could be the one that overwhelms you, the one that makes you forget where you are, that there’s anything that exists besides fucking this needy, little brat.

It’s the way Yujin clenches around you, tight and perfect, like she’s made just for you, like she’s never been fucked this way before, will never be again.

(Even though you have. Even though you will.)

Each time is like the first, you’re discovering her all over again, peeling back layers of this beautiful, untouchable idol, and finding something new, something beneath the sheen of purity and perfection. Something that makes you want to ruin her, bring her down to your level, to roll around the filth with the rest of you mere mortals.

And Yujin knows it.

There’s a need to make her feel it, and there’s her fucking pigtails, dangling in front of you like a carrot, flicking up and down in front of your face with every thrust. You need to grab them, to yank her back onto your cock, to force her to take it as hard as you want to give it. It’s almost too much to resist.

But even in your haze you know better. Instead, you settle for that choker on her neck, your thumb sliding under the black leather band, feeling the pulse of her blood racing beneath her skin. You grip it, tight, but not too tight. Just enough to make her gasp, to make her cunt tighten, to make her cry out—

“Gah—God—fuck—”

Strangled cries have her screaming, have her needing you to go deeper.

“Fuh—fuck—yes—right there—right—fucking—there—”

She’s chanting, almost sobbing, doing her best to take everything you’re giving her, everything she’s needs, everything she deserves. You’re tapping into that deep, dark desire within her. The one that gets off on being treated rough, the one that loves having a daddy, the one that needs to be nailed to a wall and reduced to nothing but a shaking, mewling mess of climaxes.

You dare to snake a hand under her top, you’re not going to mess her outfit, but that doesn’t mean you can’t get a taste of what’s underneath. Your fingers stretch under her bra, testing the elasticity of the cotton, before finally finding the swell of her breasts, cupping it, filling your hand with it.

Yujin’s moan is all the encouragement you need, a wordless permit to squeeze, to pinch her nipple, roll it between your thumb and forefinger until it’s a hard little nub.

“Oh fuck yes—touch me. You love touching me, don’t you?” She's feeling it, really feeling you, the stimulation of your palm on her breast, the sting on her nipples. “You fucking love my body.”

It’s the damn truth—these past weeks have been a crash course in Yujin, and you haven’t found an inch you didn’t immediately fall in love with. Every curve and dip and line, every soft place and every sharp edge; the weight of her in your arms, the way she fits against you, how she responds to your touch like she’s been waiting for it, for you, for fucking ever.

“Fuck, yes, just like that, daddy, just like that.”

“You’re so fucking perfect, Yujin. So tight, so wet, so fucking mine.”

You slur words into her, words that make her shiver, make her tremble against you, make her so fucking happy to hear them. It’s the words that she loves, hearing you talk like that, like she’s the only one who can make you feel this way. And maybe she is.

So you keep talking, keep whispering those loving, filthy soliloquies into her ear, keep telling her how good her cunt is, how desperate you are for her body, how much cum you have to give her. And her body has an answer for you each time, each syllable a caress that sends shivers down her spine.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful, Yujin. So beautiful when you’re like this, when you’re all mine.” You can feel it boiling up inside you, that pressure building with every smack of your hips against her ass. “I’m going to cum so hard for you, princess.”

There’s the guitar, the bass, the keys, the band tuning up outside, noise filtering into the stall, faint but unmistakeable, the only thing missing is the beat of the drums, the only thing missing is you.

Yujin’s grinning, knowing she’s the one keeping you occupied, knowing it’s her cunt that you’re buried in, that’s not letting you go.

“If only they knew,” she’s giggling like a schoolgirl (she might as well be with those pigtails), “if only they know how good you’re fucking me right now. They won’t have a fucking clue, will they?”

“Such a fucking tease, Yujin.”

She looks over her shoulder at you, and sends a coy, “Who, me?”

“Yes, you, you little slut,” you answer, not bothering to mince your words. Your hand tightens around her choker, not enough to cut off her air, just enough to keep her right there, panting and needy and yours. “You know exactly what you’re doing out there. I see how you dance, how you move. Like you’re forcing them to picture you fucking, making them all want a taste of what they’ll never have.”

The truth makes her shiver against you. “They all wish they could do this to me, all wish they could fuck me and fill me like you are.”

There’s a tension building inside her too, the blend of your words and the reality of the performance she’s going to have to put on afterwards. It has her body tightening like a bow string, ready to snap at any moment.

And you’re going to be the one to release it.

You venture a hand downwards, gracing over her stomach, her belly button, until you reach the wetness of her pussy. There's her clit, ripe for teasing.

You fuck your cock in deeper still, matching the swirl of your finger with the pounding of her cunt, timing it just right to make her leak all over you.

“That feels so—fuck,” Yujin purrs, so, so blissful. “Only you—only you, daddy. No one else will get to have me—fuck—fuck me like this.”

“Whenever I want, any time I want,” you’re telling her, promising her, even though it’s more likely to be the opposite. That it’s Yujin that will seek you out on those lonely nights and those quiet mornings, or just whenever she’s bored and needs someone to fuck all the nerves and stress out of her system.

“They’d be so—gah—so jealous if they knew. I see it when they look at me—how much they want me,” she’s straining to say it, but needs you to hear it, needs you to know it. “I see it—read it in places they think I don’t look.”

She’s lost, lost in a sea of her own musings, thoughts of how everyone with a working pair of eyeballs wants to fuck her. Relishing in the knowledge that she's found the only person that can fuck her right, and that their cock is buried in her cunt, their fingers working her clit.

“They call me a slut, a whore, but that’s not true, is it, daddy? I only fuck you,” Yujin repeats, “I’m only a slut for you.”

There’s an edge to her voice, a raw, animalistic need that makes you want to prove her right. Want to erupt inside her so badly that she’s forced to carry a part of you inside her when she’s on stage.

“Yours to use,” Yujin taunts. “To fuck, to fill...”

Jesus.

“To break.”

Fucking.

“Maybe I should let you rip off my clothes, fuck up my hair—fuck—my makeup. Go out on stage with all the marks you’ve left on me, with all your cum—gah—all over me.”

Christ.

It hits you like a sledgehammer, adding another layer of taboo to this already fucked up situation. The thought of it is fucking wild, ridiculous to contemplate, you’re sure it’s all just part of the game, another button Yujin’s pressing for her own thrill… right?

“Then everyone would know—everyone would know that it’s you—that you’re the one that’s fucking my brains out when no one else is watching.”

You’re all over her and deep inside her, lips on her throat, her jaw, hands at her tits, her cunt. Devouring her, all of her, from those tightly binded pigtails all the way down to her carefully manicured toes.

And then she stops dancing around the subject and demands it.

“Ruin me. Fuck me, please, daddy. Just—kiss me, now.”

“You said—”

But Yujin’s already twisting around at her waist, angling her body so she can seize your lips, smear her lipstick across your teeth, flood your mouth with her tongue. She’s got fistfuls of your shirt, pulling you closer, as if she’s trying to claim you, claim every inch of you as property of An Yujin.

Now that you’ve got permission, you thread your fingers into her hair, gripping tight, pulling her by the pigtails like you’ve been dying to, kissing her like your life depends on it.

You’re getting rougher with her now, tugging her head back, peeling her lips away from yours, sliding your cock out of her. You ignore the whine, ignore the tears. It’s game over for her makeup, for her hair, her outfit. She’s a beautiful, chaotic mess—so shamelessly yours, so perfect in every way.

The separation barely lasts a second, you’re lifting her up, turning her and depositing her atop the toilet seat, spreading her legs wide, putting her on display.

This is the real show—Yujin looking up at you, eyes dark with need, tits out and heaving with every breath; thick, toned thighs glistening with her juices, your precum; and her pussy, all puffy and so ready to be filled again.

“Daddy—” Yujin starts, and ends, as you’re inside her again. Inside her tight, welcoming cunt, her back arching off the cold porcelain, her legs wrapping around you, ankles crossing and locking in place.

Just one hard thrust and you see it—it's in the watering of her eyes, the wobble of her lips.

She’s close, and you’re not far behind.

“Please.”

It’s barely a whisper, nearly lost somewhere between your haggard breaths and the sloppy wet sounds of your bodies colliding.

But you hear it, and it’s all you need.

It’s her pigtails in your hands again, strands wrapped around your fist, and you’re taking a front row seat in the spectacle that is Yujin falling apart.

“Please, fuck me.” There it is again, louder now. “Fuck my tiny little pussy, daddy. Make me yours.”

It’s every single sound out of her mouth, every folding and crumpling of her perfect features, every single drop of sweat sliding down her neck, every time she says fuck me, or break me, or over and over again—make me yours.

You want to savour this, burn this image into your mind, live off the memory of Yujin’s cunt pulsing around you, but there’s no time, no time to do anything but kiss her again; clumsy, hungry, wet, open-mouthed kisses.

“Please,” she’s biting into your lip, licking into your mouth, clawing at your shoulders, “say my name.”

“Yujin,” you give it to her, offer her name like a sacrifice. “Yujin, I’m so fucking close.”

The porcelain is doing its best to bear your weight, to survive the punishment you’re hammering into Yujin’s tight, perfect body, to outlast your relentless fucking. “Cum for me daddy, cum for me.”

But it’s her, it’s Yujin that crosses that threshold first, coming apart until she’s nothing but a mess of whimpers, moans, and cries of your name. Of pleases and thank yous, until she’s just a hot, tight cunt getting used for your pleasure.

“Fuck—fuck—I’m cumming—daddy, I can’t—it’s so—”

It’s all there across her face, all in the way she’s shaking, the way her cunt is gripping you, her walls fluttering around your cock like a fucking heartbeat, tightening and releasing in endless waves that crash down on her.

“So good—you’re so good—you’re so—fuck—fuck—cum—cumming—"

Her entire body seizes, tenses all at once, and you’d be worried if you hadn’t seen it countless times before, if you didn’t know to expect her to lose all control of her limbs, to not be able to do anything but stare at you, all teary eyed and feeling so, so good.

But you keep going, hips pumping, cock driving into her, keeping her steady, helping her climb to her peak, filling her tender, creaming cunt over and over again. You want to make this last, want to keep her like this, unable to think about anything but you, unable to think about anything that isn’t your cock.  

“So fucking good for me, Yujin, so good, princess.”

“God, fuck—daddy!”

It’s the praise that pushes her over, unravels her, has her mouth frozen in the shape of your name, like the idea of you is the only thing keeping her tethered to this world. That, and her nails digging into your skin, adding to the tapestry she’s already engraved on your back.

And then the silence comes, and that’s the real killer.

Yujin’s always loud when she gets fucked, always desperate to tell you how good it feels, needy for you to know how good you are to her. But when she cums—when she loses herself on your cock—it’s like she relinquishes all ability to articulate, to make any sound other than a whine or a gasp.

You know what she wants to say—don’t stop, please, don’t stop—know what she wants to tell you—thank you, daddy, thank you, thank you, thank you—and it’s your responsibility to see her through it, to plunge your cock deep into the smooth, velvety muscles of her cunt, to have her rocking and creaming all over you, again and again and again.

And then she falls apart.

So beautifully, so perfectly.

But you’re not done yet.

Your thrusts come in thick and fast, making the whole stall shudder, making your vision swim. Yujin’s still reeling, snapped back into the land of the living by the force of your fucking.

She’s leaning forward, pressing her forehead to yours, able to form whole words again, whispering something that you can’t quite catch, something sweet and needy and demanding.

“I’m all yours, daddy.”

It’s a trigger she’s been waiting to pull—the moment she says it, you let go.

There’s no holding back anymore, you’ve been fighting it for what feels like hours, trying to keep your shit together, but it’s no use. You’re going to cum, the only question is, where.

You can’t shake the image of her covered with you, painted all over her face, her chin, her neck, her chest, her perfect, perfect tits. You want it, want to see it realised, want to parade her out on that stage looking like a fuck doll—your fuck doll.

But not now, not today.

So instead, you bury yourself inside her, so, so deep. Yujin’s nodding, teasing “deeper, deeper, please,” begging you with her whole body, watching you with those eyes, half-lidded and glazed over, licking at her lips, bracing for you to fill her.

It’s your turn to shake, your turn to let go of that knot in your gut that’s been twisting ever since she dragged you into the bathroom, pushed you into the toilet stall and told you she needed this.

You throb, tighten, the base of your spine tingles, and that’s all the warning you get before you’re cumming, rushing Yujin’s greedy cunt with your hot, sticky load.

“Daddy, daddy—daddy—yes!”

It’s an addiction now, she needs your cum like she needs oxygen, and you need to fill her as if you’ll die if you go another day without pounding her cunt.

“So good, so fucking good inside me—all yours, all yours—"

It’s a thousand blissful little moments stacked on top of each other, her clenching, you throbbing, her grinning, you grimacing, but it all comes together in this heated space that leaves you both boneless, breathless catastrophes.

Yujin’s the first to come down, slumping against you, drooling down your chest, staining your shirt with a sheen of her saliva. Her legs go slack around you, finally letting go of your waist, still shaking in the aftershocks of her orgasm. You can feel your cum leaking from the corners of her cunt, oozing down the inside of her thighs, sliding past her knee, down to her ankles.

A finger under your chin to tilt your head to her, to kiss you. One of those quiet, intimate kisses that will have you spending the night trying to decode its meaning. But, for now, there’s just the salt of her sweat and the sweetness of her lip gloss.

“Thank you, daddy,” Yujin says, so sweetly, so sincerely, and it’s like a knife twisting in your chest.

“Always.”

And slowly, carefully, you’re pulling out of her, even though she’s still clenching, still trying to keep you in. Your cock exits her with an audible slosh, and you need to brace yourself against the stall door, lean into it hard as you take in the sight of Yujin, sprawled on the toilet seat, well fucked and utterly ruined in all the best ways.

She reads your mind, “You really made a fucking mess of me.”

“I only claim fifty percent of that responsibility.”

Yujin pouts, makes sure you’re watching her, and dips her fingers into her defiled cunt. “This is all you, daddy.”

She drags out her digits, holding them up for you, your cum glistening on them like a prize. And then she’s slipping them between her lips, flicking out her tongue to catch a drop that dribbles down her wrist. She licks it all up, slow, savouring it, making sure you’re watching, making sure your eyes are glued to her as she devours the last traces of you from her hand.

That sound she makes, that little “Mmm” of satisfaction has you feeling heady, makes your cock twitch, eager to be back inside her, to fill her right back up so you can watch her do it all over again.

“Cumslut,” is the only word you have her for her, as she slides her fingers in deeper, tickling the back of her own throat like it's the most natural thing to do. Her cheeks hollow out, and after a long, dramatic suck, she pulls her fingers from her lips with a wet pop, all shiny and clean.

She corrects you. “Your cumslut.”

And then a switch is flipped, and she’s putting herself back together.

Yujin’s graceful, at odds with the confines of the cramped bathroom stall she’s just been fucked in. It amazes you every time, the way that she moves. All liquid and soft, as if she’s not really touching anything, as if she’s floating.

She licks droplets of cum off her lips, scoops the remainder up her legs, her thighs, and you’re just staring, gawking at her with something akin to awe, because she’s just so fucking beautiful, so utterly composed, so untouchable.

You help her, you try, help her tug down her shirt, pull up her panties, her shorts, help her slip back into the role of Yujin, the perfect idol, the star that can’t be tarnished by something as dirty as a quickie on top of a toilet seat.

She nods towards the stall door, and you let her past you, help hold her steady as you lead her to the bathroom mirror, give her a chance to assess the damage you've wrought on her. The smudged lipstick, the kiss bruises, the hair sticking to her neck—all evidence of you.

And yet, she smiles, looking back at you over her shoulder. Like she’s got it all under control, like you haven’t ruined her, not really. Not yet.

“Well, that’s something,” she says, her voice a little too breathless for the breeziness she’s aiming for.

But then she’s got her compact out, the tiny bag she's had hidden in her back pocket specifically for occasions like this. You stand back, giving her space to work her magic. Cheeks are patted for colour, lips glossed for plumpness, eyes relined with that dangerously smoky look that makes them pop.

“How do I look?” She turns, looking at you through the mirror, hand on her hip, posing.

“Like you’ve just been fucked in a toilet stall, honestly.”

That makes her laugh. “Good.”

She’s heading to the door, smoothing out her skirt, fixing her top, stopping along the way to give your forearm a quick squeeze.

There’s that look in her eyes again.

One you’ll be revisiting once the show’s over and the doors are closed.

“I’ll take off first,” she says, tying her pigtails back in place. “Wouldn’t want to make it too obvious.”

You catch her hand before she can get away, pulling her face close to you, wiping away a stray bit of cum still shining on her chin. “Good luck out there.”

And there’s that smile. That smile that’s going to make an audience of thousands fall in love with her. That’s going to make you fall in love with her, if you’re not careful. “Don’t need it,” she says, pressing her lips to yours, ruining her lip gloss all over again. “I got you, daddy.”

[uvmagazine]

News From Asbury Park High School: Awesome Projects!

This past year at Asbury Park High School, Mr. Wronko’s students had produced very artistic and professionally created projects.

This past year at Asbury Park High School, Mr. Wronko’s students had produced very artistic and professionally created projects. News from Asbury Park High School One of the projects they had worked on was the Ironclad project. The Ironclad project was a multi-level assignment which called for the students to make many connections throughout history including events going on in the world…

[lokischocolatefountain]

Warning || Men Like Me

Masterlist

Fandom: The Last of Us Pairing: Joel Miller x Virgin!Reader Rating: 18+ Warnings: girth age gap, virgin!reader, eventual loss of virginity (not in this chapter), gratuitous descriptions of Joel Miller's body, somewhat creepy!Joel, fetishization of youth, dom!Joel, breaking and entering, playboy magazine, objectification, fingering, sexual discoveries. Word count: 6.2k Summary: Joel's warnings about what men like him would do to girls like you only makes you want him more. A/N: Back in the depths of hell again, you guys. Now this isn't the most depraved thing I've written by any means but it's up there. Come say hi in my chat or inbox, I'd love to talk. Keep a look out for follow up parts and pleeeeease give me comments. I am very very desperate.

Joel Miller was a bad man. That much he knew. 

Even as he fixed taps and renovated houses that were falling apart, he could see the blood on his hands. The very hands that packed lunches for Ellie snapped necks, pistol whipped men, stole from a starving child so he could feed his grown brother. But there were lows even he didn’t stoop down to. 

Not that he didn’t have the opportunity. Men always did. And in this world, opportunities had only tripled. Even the Boston QZ, as strict as it was, had an underground brothel. He knew Tess to frequent it and never asked questions. Sometimes she needed to bury her face between a good pair of thighs and wrap her lips around a pretty pussy, and this wasn’t something he could give her. There was a lot he couldn’t give her.

Being in Jackson should’ve civilized him. It did in many ways. He’d reverted to the southern gentleman with table manners. ‘Yes, Ma’am’ spilled out of his lips effortlessly when he spoke to women. He held the door for anyone walking in after him. He even went to Church– sorry, the multifaith house of worship–to help renovate. 

That was where his troubles began. 

There was no point in him going where people prayed. Being back in civilization did not erase his decades of disbelief in a cruel God who would take his baby and keep him on this accursed Earth. But he did because he was back to being a contractor and Tommy asked him to go fix up the pews instead of him. He didn’t have much time, being a new dad and all.

He was on his knees checking out the rotting wood and evaluating how much wood he’d need for building new ones when he was confronted by a pair of legs and a sweet voice. Yours. 

“Lemonade, Mister Miller?” 

He looked up, his eyes traveling up your legs, bare until he got to your knees where the hem of your flowery skirt sat. Pure, unblemished knees, never taken a fall, didn’t fucking creak, and never knelt before anyone but God. You looked down sweetly, eyes wide and innocent like a newborn cow. Everyone had a kind of darkness about them in this world. Everyone except the kids who didn’t know a world outside the insular walls of Jackson. And you, it turned out, even though you weren’t a kid.

He wiped his sweat off with the greasy rag he carried and looked up at you once again. You had a pitcher and an empty glass in your hands. A sweet smile on your lips and hair falling down your shoulders and reaching your breasts. A yellow ribbon sat in a bow where your neckline dipped between your breasts, adding to the innocence of your look.

“Yes please, Ma’am. Thank you,” he said, giving you a nod. Your pretty plush lips curled up, a giggle escaping them as you poured him a glass of lemonade. 

His hand brushed against yours as he accepted the glass, his hand too large to curl around it without making contact with you. You giggled again before retracting your hand and occupying it with adjusting your hair. 

“I’m younger than you, you know? Don’t have to call me Ma’am.” 

“Just being polite. Ma’am.” He took the glass to his lips, mindful to take only a small sip instead of downing it in desperation. Another adjustment to make when food was no longer a scarcity. Sweet, sour, and salty danced on his tongue before it glided down his throat. Just a sip refreshed him. And the sight of a nice girl didn’t hurt the cause either. 

It’d been so long since he had a nice refreshing glass of lemonade. Summers meant worse infestations of infected, not the barbecues, lemonades, and swimming of past. When surviving each hour was under threat, small luxuries like this became out of reach of even one’s dreams.

“Well, guess I should call you Sir then,” you said, leaning against the wall. You held the pitcher up to your chest and the tails of the ribbon on your chest dipped into it, the soft shiny yellow turning dark, tainted.

His mouth watered and fucking hell, it wasn’t the lemonade you just gave him. He took a sip of the drink and licked his lips, imagining how you’d taste if he wrapped his large hand around your neck and pressed his chapped lips to your plush ones. Better yet, if he held your legs apart and devoured you other pair of lips until you were leaking down his mouth. Would you call him Sir then? His cock twitched in his jeans as he pictured you bent over one of these pews, your skirt pushed up and his hand in your hair as he slid his cock in your hole. 

Jesus fucking Christ! What the fuck was wrong with him? 

“Made the lemonade yourself?” He asked,  groaning as he managed to get himself back up on his feet. His knees creaked like the floorboards of the houses he renovated, but ultimately supported him as he stood. He towered over you, making you appear smaller, more fragile. 

“Depends. Do you like it?” 

“It’s wonderful, of course. Hot summer day like this…I really needed it,” he said, raising the glass up a little before taking another sip. 

“Well then yes, I did make it.”

He chuckled, feeling himself pulled in by your easy charisma. It was nice to have normal conversations like this once again. No agenda, no need for establishing himself as someone who wouldn’t hesitate to beat someone up if even mildly threatened. It was just…normal. 

“It’s very sweet, Ma’am. Like you I assume,” he added, mentally dusting off the part of his brain where he stored skills for conversing with pretty girls.

You laughed, holding your free hand up to your mouth to cover your lips that widened and revealed your teeth. 

“Is that the southern charm that I hear our townspeople talk about?” 

“They talk about my charm? I didn’t hear.” 

“Oh yes, they do… Joel Miller, charming pants off of everyone in town.”

“Pants? Well that’s disappointing. I was hoping I’d charmed some pretty skirts off.” 

“Lots of experience with that, Mister Miller?” you asked, sliding your hand over the soft fabric of the skirt of your dress. Such delicate fabric. He could fist the hem and give it one tug and it’d rip right off.

“More ‘n what you got for sure,” he said, loath to hint at how infrequent his encounters had become in the recent past. Tess died, he did a cross country hike with an annoying kid, he needed to maintain a good reputation in his new town. One buried after the other. Enough to leave a man with nothing but his fist and his imagination. He would kill for a fucking Playboy magazine. Literally. He’d killed for less.

“What do you know about how experienced I am?” 

“Been experiencing longer than you’ve been alive, Ma’am.” 

“Oh well. Nothing I can’t learn.” 

He laughed nervously and stuck his hand in his jeans pocket. Surely you couldn’t be flirting… Why would a young thing like this flirt with him? He was in his late fifties looking like mid sixties and you were… He didn’t know. Young.

“If you could teach me, Mister Miller. Give a girl some experience?”

“I’m sure you can find someone else.” 

“Oh. Not your type, am I?” you asked, and he deluded himself thinking you sounded disappointed. No chance. 

He didn’t have a type. Long time since he thought of frivolous shit like that. But you shouldn’t be his type. 

“There’s much more eligible men in town is what I’m saying,” he said, suddenly hesitant to lie. Lying had never been an issue for him. The right thing was to lie, say you weren’t his type so he wouldn’t cross lines. It’d been a long time since he did the right thing.

“I’ll be the decider of that,” you said with a shrug of your shoulder before taking the empty glass from him. “Have a good rest of the work day, Mister Miller.”

Later that night, he wrapped his fist around his cock in the privacy of his room. His mind flooded with images of you spread out for him, sweet lips and a sweeter pussy milking him. He couldn’t even recall the last time he was with a woman. It was Tess, of course. Sometime before she got thrown in FEDRA jail for the last time. Too fucking long ago.

Surely it was only because it’d been a long time since he got his dick wet. He’d never, in his entire life, pictured a woman so much younger spreading her legs for him. Sucking his cock. Crying out his name. How old was she even? Not past mid twenties for sure.

It was wrong, he knew, as white hot spend spurted out of his cock and covered his hand. A sour tang took over his mouth as the fog of unadulterated lust cleared up to reveal the ugliness in his head. He shuddered, feeling like something had crawled under his flesh. He hadn’t felt guilt like this in so long. 

Wrong, wrong, wrong. 

You weren’t even as old as his kid would be had she been alive. 

He’d known men like that back in the day. Grays in their hair and skin like old leather, but pretty young things old enough to be their daughter hanging off their arm. It was obvious that none of them kept these girls around for love or for their personality. It was always sex and the feeling of self-importance when a sweet young thing paid attention to balding heads, beer bellies and limp dicks that needed a blue pill to get up. 

Fucking disgusting. 

He began avoiding you whenever you happened to be in the same space. At the house of worship, the town clinic where you interned, trading days when people exchanged what they had for what they wanted. His eyes never met yours and he always quickly looked away when they stared too long at your uh…feminine features– pretty legs, cute ass, round tits. Where the fuck did you get sundresses anyway? Who kept that shit around in this world? 

He didn’t know that when he avoided you, you took note of him. When he took glances of your features, you memorized his for later in the night when you buried your head in your pillow and pushed your fingers inside your pussy to simulate what it must be like to be with a man. 

He was older. That much you knew from his grey hair, sun-damaged skin, and gait that exuded bone-deep weariness. You knew Tommy had just turned fifty. Hard to miss occasions that meant a free slice of cake from the canteen. Joel had to be in his mid-fifties at the very least. At first glance, he wasn’t what you’d consider handsome. There were younger men in town. Fit and muscular. Didn’t groan and scrunch up their faces when they got up. Didn’t have lines on their foreheads. No bags under their eyes. 

Yet there was something about Joel that was more entrancing. 

After your first meeting when you offered him lemonade, you made sure to visit under the guise of worship. You didn’t know much about religion and were conflicted about embracing a god. The only faith you had rested in your medical instruments and the medicines the town’s chemist concocted. But it was a nice place to meet people, to check on healing patients.

The visits were worth it for a glimpse of Joel’s large hands wrapped around his carpentry tools. When the sun was the hottest, he sometimes stripped down to his tank top, giving you a show better than any film played in the community theater. His broad back looked masculine enough in his flannel shirts. But you didn’t know desire like the first time you saw him in a white tank, showing off his muscular arms as sweat dripped down his tan skin.

When you pleasured yourself in your room, it took time, imagination, your fingers, and a lot of effort to make slick pool in your pussy. That day, all it took was the sight of Joel Miller working. You sat with your thighs pressed together, rubbing them against each other in the most inconspicuous little movements. 

Could it be blasphemy if the God who was supposedly orchestrating everything made this man take his shirt off in front of you?

It made no fucking sense. Joel was old. He looked like he woke up on the wrong side of the bed every goddamn day. He had been chewed up and spat out by whatever the fuck was outside Jackson these days. Hardened expressions, graying patchy beard, hands calloused from carpentry and decades of using weaponry. Features that only indicated a long life lived, not attractiveness.

You were supposed to be attracted to the soft, sweet ones like the guys in the worn out copies of romance stories that the previous inhabitant of your house stashed in the basement. Even his little brother would be a more reasonable target for your lust. Younger, taller, softer, head full of dark, silky hair with few grays. But you wanted Joel Miller with his rough graying beard that would prick your skin were you to cup his cheek like the women on the novel covers. 

Something about him just screamed Man. Something that none of the other guys in town had. There was nothing wrong with any of the other Jackson men, but none of them made you want to take the plunge and lose your virginity. It wasn’t the lack of offers, per se. You’d gotten looks from many eligible Jackson bachelors. You had drinks with a few of them. Dinner with fewer and shared a kiss with more than one. Alright, two. But anything beyond that had you trembling in anxiety. 

It wasn’t anything precious to you, virginity. But you’d waited so long. Focused so long only on survival and then helping to build this town and now training to become a doctor. Whatever passed for doctor these days. With all your life dedicated to everything but your love life, you simply had no experience. What if you messed up and they laughed? You knew anatomy, but that didn’t translate to practical stuff. What if you couldn’t make them feel good? You’d have to see the guy all the damn time in the small town. There would be no escaping the awkwardness.

Sure it was counterintuitive to keep pushing away sexual encounters because you had no experience. But you didn’t know what else to do. You were too old already to not have done anything. But each day that passed with you rejecting perfectly nice men meant you were getting even older for your first time. 

You didn’t know where Joel fit into your need for exploring your sexuality, but it didn’t hurt to stare. God knew everyone else in Jackson did. 

So you stared. Work with his carpentry tools. Riding on horseback into Jackson after patrol. Helping with the fucking sheep. Walking around with Tommy. Carrying his nephew around town. It should be inappropriate to be fantasizing about a man when he was doing something as innocent as carrying a baby. But seeing his large hand cradling the baby’s little head made you want to scream into your pillow and kick your legs. 

“You alright, sweetheart?” 

Your heart fluttered and you let out a nervous laugh at being caught. You smoothed out the wrinkles on your clothes just to make it look like you were alright. Unfortunately you were wearing a pair of fucking jeans. You didn’t even want to know how awkward you looked. 

“‘m alright, Mister Miller.” 

“Joel’s fine,” he said, rocking his nephew in his arms.

Oh fuck, his fucking arms!

“Oh I don’t know,” you said, fidgeting with a belt loop on your jeans. “Wouldn’t want to be impolite addressing you by your first name like that.”

He smiled, recalling your conversation from the house of worship when you called him Sir and had him fucking himself in the shower to the memory. “Ah. ‘cause I’m an old man,” he said, more as a reminder to himself to fucking behave. 

“You’re not that old…” you trailed, looking him over in a way that set fire to every inch of skin that you laid eyes on.

Behave, Miller. You’re out with your nephew. 

“That so?” he asked, eyebrow raised. 

“Mhmm. You don’t look a day over seventy.” 

He snorted, making Miles stir in his arms just a little. That stung a little. It shouldn’t. Your estimation of his age, whether you were serious or not, was reminder enough that he was too old to be lusting after you.

“Thanks. I’m actually eighty-two.” 

You giggled your pretty little giggle, lowering your gaze to the ground and looking back up only when it had turned into a wide grin. “How old are you actually?”

“Old. Fifty six.” 

“Fifty-six isn’t that old…” you trailed as you brought a hand up to his bicep. Joel gulped, praying to the non-existent God that you would stop before praying to the same God that you would keep your hand right there. God answered his second prayer. You squeezed, licked your lips and looked up at him with your doe eyes.

“Checking if the hardware is still working, Doctor?” 

“I’m not a doctor yet.” 

“When do you become one then? Ain’t no Harvard handing out medical degrees in this town.”

“Howard?” you asked, squinting at him. Ah, of course you didn’t know. Harvard didn’t mean the same thing to you. Now it was just like every other building in Boston. Run over by infected. These ones were just the nerdy kind with glasses on.

“That was a thing, too. But I said Harvard. They were big universities back then.”

“Ah. Did you go there?” You asked, with no malice or bite. Oh, bless your heart. No one expected a dummy like him to have gone to university at all, much less Harvard. No one in his family had gone. Sarah was meant to be the first.

“Yeah. Traded some oxy and threw molotovs at clickers in the campus.” 

You rewarded him with a giggle and that was incentive enough for him to keep going. “Guys like me didn’t get into Harvard. Or Howard. Didn’t even go to community college. I finished high school and got a job in construction.” 

“You didn’t go to uh…construction college?” You asked, cocking your head and raising an eyebrow as though testing out the term.

“No such thing. Well, there were civil engineering programs, but I just learned on the job.” 

“Like me.” 

“Guess so. I see you reading from all those fat medical books. But there’s no need to study any books in construction. ‘cept if you wanna be an engineer or architect or something, which I’m not.” 

“Maybe you should write one. We could all do with some knowledge from before. It’s important to document it, pass it on to Ellie and little Miles over there.” 

“I ain’t writing books, sweetheart. Don’t think I even remember how to write much. I’ll just keep to fixing things up in this town. So, if you need some help with your place…I’m happy to help.” It was the least he could do. Maybe as some kind of penance for having impure thoughts about you. Or as a fucked up trade for starring in the mental images he conjured to jack off in the shower.

“There is something, actually. But I don’t have anything to trade for, so I’ll wait until I do,” you said, clasping your hands behind your back and swaying in place in an endearing manner.

“Nonsense. You patched me up just last week. You’ve done enough for the town’s health to not have to trade for anything ever again.” 

“Well, no. That’s not how it should be… It’s people’s health. Can’t put a price on that.”

“Believe it or not, health had a steep price back in the day. Cost four thousand something just to give birth. Double that if they had to cut you open.” And that was just how much it cost when Sarah was born. He was sure it had only gone up by 2003. If he hadn’t worked his ass off, there was no way he could’ve escaped debt. It helped that his Ma and his then wife’s parents helped with childcare. Would’ve been even more expensive without that.

“Damn. I don’t know how much that is, since…y’know we don’t have money now. But that sounds like a big number. It shouldn’t cost anything just to be born.” 

“Tell me about it,” he said, shaking his head. “But listen. Anything you want fixed, I’ll help out. You can give me something later if you’re worried. I know Ellie’s always on the look for new books to read and you seem to have a lot of them.” 

“Nothing Ellie would like. Not like the special limited edition of Savage Starlight or anything. Just medical textbooks and romance novels.” 

“We could trade for the lemonade from that afternoon,” he insisted, desperate to do something for you. Take care of you as you took care of everyone who walked into the clinic be it papercuts or a fucking knife in their abdomen. 

“Alright. Trade for the lemonade it is then,” you said, giving in to his pressure.

“Now tell me. What d’ya need fixed?” 

⌘⌘⌘

It had been a few days since Joel promised to fix your shower for you. Each time he came by and rang your doorbell, you hid somewhere away from your windows. When he caught sight of you in public, you quickly walked away or engaged in conversation with someone else. You didn’t need shit fixed. Everything in your house was perfectly alright. Tommy and his guys had given the place a complete makeover just a couple months before Joel and Ellie arrived. 

You were no paragon of honesty, but you didn’t make lying a habit. There were a few white lies here and there and this was meant to be one of them. It just didn’t fucking hit you that if you lied to a contractor that your shower was broken, he would eventually come over to fucking fix it. All your desperate sex starved brain wanted that day was for Joel Miller to come use his tools in your room and flex those muscles while at it.

So invested were you in that particular fantasy that as you unwound after a long shift at the clinic, it was with Joel’s beefy arms in mind. You stood in front of your mirror, taking in your reflection. One of the magazines you’d found in a box under your bed laid open on the dressing table. Playboy. Entertainment for Men. Each had a scantily clad woman on the cover. And many more inside. 

You made comparisons to yourself and the woman in the center page of the issue.

She stood in front of a dressing table too, but much different from how you stood. Her legs were on either side of her dressing table chair and her hands on the top of it. Between her arms were breasts, big and round and with smooth skin. They didn’t have any marks on them like yours. No moles, no stretch marks. Just plain. And she just stood there, soft brown hair down, tickling the top of her breasts and her lips parted as she gazed at you. No, at the men she was meant to entertain in this men’s entertainment magazine. All she had on was panties that went high up to her flat belly that connected to high transparent socks.

You reached behind your back and unclasped your bra, wishing that you had something nicer like the woman on the cover of another one of the magazines. Bright red and showing off her breasts wonderfully, but pulled down to reveal almost everything. What was the point of a bra then if it didn’t cover or support anything? Entertainment, you decided. Men seemed to be very entertained by breasts. 

Many a man had stared at yours even though you had them behind layers of fabric unlike the naked women of the magazines. Many had conversations with them instead of your face. Some brushed up against them ‘accidentally’. Joel thought he was being covert, but you felt his brown eyes rove all over them. You thought maybe that he too would brush up against it sometime, but he never did. Maybe entertainment stopped at just looking, as in the magazines. 

You wondered if Joel sought out men’s entertainment magazines like this. He was from before everything went to shit, so it was very possible that he did. Did he like the women in these pages, sticking their asses out and looking through the pages at him? Would he be entertained if he saw you like this? 

You didn’t know that if you turned your head to your bedroom door, you would have your answer. Joel’s cock strained against his already tight jeans as he stood awestruck by your figure. He swallowed as you held on to the top of the chair and lifted your knees, one after the other and placed them on the plush seat. You arched your back, a little too much at first before reducing the curve. Your ass stuck out enticingly and he didn’t know whether to grab, squeeze, slap, or spread your cheeks apart and fuck your ass. 

He should leave. 

It was stupid of him to walk into your house with a box of plumbing tools to fix your shower when you hadn’t yet given him a date or time for it. Plus you were avoiding him. Running away with your little friends and picking up stuff to hide your face from his view. He was plenty sure that when he’d rung your doorbell, you weren’t always away from home. 

He should leave. 

Fixing the shower could wait. He could confront you some other day. 

But you were putting on such a pretty little show in nothing but your panties and he was only a man. A bad one. 

His boots stayed put on your hardwood floors as you enjoyed yourself in front of the mirror. You spread your knees and let your fingers between your thighs, eyes closed, lips parted and low whines escaping your lips in just a few minutes. He palmed his growing erection over his jeans, consequences of being caught be damned. He was a foul beast already. What bad was another sin on the list? Besides, you were the one who’d left the fucking door open. 

Your soft whimpers grew into moans as you brought yourself closer and he forced his feet to stay put despite their urge to walk up to you and give you something to really moan about. 

“Fuu– mmm Joel, pleeease.”

He let out a gasp, all his restraint flying out the window as soon as he heard his name from your lips. You couldn’t actually be doing this… There had to be another Joel in town. Younger, better looking, smarter.

Your voice grew needy and the pitch higher as you kept at it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Gimme it, Sir.” 

No, it couldn’t be anyone else. 

Joel toed his boots off and took quiet steps towards you, emboldened by the filth that spilled from your lips. If this old man was what you wanted, he wouldn’t stop himself from reaping the benefits. He wasn’t a goddamn saint. Never was. 

He stopped in front of you, surprised you still hadn’t sensed his presence. As though the universe heard his thoughts, it had you open your eyes. You gasped as soon as you saw him and buckled off the chair, but Joel caught you. You shuddered, unable to cope with the sudden touch. 

“J-Joel?” 

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he said, touching your cheek with the back of his hand. You whined, your body molding itself against his chest. You brought a hand to his arm, feeling the rock hard muscles underneath his sleeves and your other hand worked between your legs.  

Your fingers no longer felt adequate as you felt his large fingers on your cheek. “Want you, please,” you whined, desperate to return to the edge where you had been right before you saw him. 

“You don’t know what you’re asking of me…” he spoke dangerously, soft brown eyes clouded with a kind of desire you had longed to see in him for weeks. 

“Want you…want you to be with me,” you repeated stupidly, your desperation clouding your senses too much for you to say anything else. While in the past you only wanted to get rid of your virginity, your goals had become more specific with his arrival. You wanted him. You wanted his big hands and broad shoulders, to hold on to them as you rode him. To watch his grumpy expressions turn to ecstasy under you. 

“Tell me not to touch you,” he said, his tone low and almost threatening. Any other threat from him, you would’ve heeded. But not this one. 

“Touch me!” 

It was as though something in him snapped at your words. While darkness only loomed over him before, it now completely took over.The hand that previously only caressed your cheek now wrapped itself around your neck. Before you could completely process the move, his other hand slapped yours away. He replaced two of your puny fingers with his middle finger, eliciting a strained moan from you. 

“Touching yourself to a Playboy magazine, huh?” 

You only nodded, unable to form words now that a fantasy of yours had finally come to life.

“Dirty little thing…Thought you were a nice girl and all. Helpin’ out at the clinic, head buried in books all the time. Turns out you actually got your head in dirty magazines.” 

You whined, your pussy clenching and gushing around his finger at the way he was speaking to you. The same man who insisted on calling you Ma’am despite your protests was calling you a dirty girl now. The veil of respectability seemed to have floated away at the sight of you naked and pleasuring yourself. Had you known that this was all you needed to get Joel Miller to touch you, you would’ve done it much sooner.

He added another finger, the girth of him enough to stretch you more than you had done for yourself. You brought a hand up to his shoulder and fisted his shirt, needing something to anchor yourself to. 

“You ever been taken by a man, sweetheart?” He asked, his tone too cool and casual for what he was doing to you. You shuddered, partly from his phrasing– taken, he said. Taken. Like you were a thing. Like the women in the magazines positioned so uncomfortably just so their breasts could look a certain way for the picture. Printed on the cover page with the words Entertainment for Men written on top. You shook your head, feeling small as you confessed it for the first time. 

“Any man?” 

“N-no,” you managed to breathe out, whimpering at the way the bulge beneath his jeans twitched at your simple answer. He took a step to position himself behind you, letting you lean your back against his chest. The angle at which he touched your pussy changed, opening your world up to a wonderful new kind of pleasure. 

“A virgin. Pretty young things like you ain’t for men like me,” he whispered in your neck, making you shiver. His thumb roamed between your legs as far as they could reach, caressed you gently, his softness with you contradicting his warning about men like him. The hand around your neck slithered down your torso, cold air forcing you to face your new desire of having your breath kept hostage. 

He took your left breast in hand, squeezing the flesh like someone starved would hold on to a piece of bread. It felt more like a punctuation to the warning he issued than a part of sex. Just then, his thumb between your legs stopped its search, stopping a little above the fingers inside you.

A moan you didn’t recognize as yours at first filled the room and you buckled forward. Blunt nails sunk into the flesh of your breast as he saved you before you could fall. He hauled you back up, making you collide against his chest. 

You gasped and quickly grabbed the hand between your legs, the sensation too intense for you to know what to do with. His thumb kept on, rolling over something there that set your person on fire. 

“Fuuuck! Joel– I– I– hnnng–”

“I know, sweetheart,” he crooned, keeping at whatever the hell he was doing to make you feel this way. 

“Please… I don’t– what was that?” 

You felt his chest rumble before you heard his laughter. Heat rose to your face and your throat felt strained though there was no hand around it anymore. 

“Never touched your clit? Do you even know what that is?” He mocked, the cruelty somehow not repelling you from him. He forced you to look up at him. Your heart lurched at how close you were to his face. You could see every gray hair, every minute blemish and line.

“Don’t know your own fucking body but you want a man? You don’t know what you’re handing me on a silver platter. I ain’t like the other guys in town. I walked across the fucking country and lemme tell ya, there’s no pretty things like you out there. I’m starved.” 

“Take me, then,” you begged, using his own words from earlier. “Please. Whatever you– a-aaah!” 

He ramped up the pressure on that spot– your clit– and with it, took your ability to speak coherently. It was as though he’d done it on purpose. You hated it. To be so bereft of control. To be a puppet in someone’s hand. For someone to acquaint themselves with parts of you that you didn’t know of. But it was too much to fight, so you let go. Let him play with you. Take you. Like a thing.

You renounced control of your lips too, his name slipping out effortlessly like it did when he caught you. Then you renounced what was left of your dignity and began begging relentlessly. For what, you didn’t know. In his hand, you’d gone from woman to pupper, your strings pulled by a man, your voice now his. Sounds that would be indiscernible from that of a wounded animal emanated from somewhere deep within you. 

Perhaps none of this was real. Why else did your own voice grow so distant from you? Why did your vision become blurry? Your thighs shook uncontrollably and your heart felt like it was beating out of your chest. Your eyes clenched shut, depriving you of your blurred vision. Your toes curled. You wanted to shrink into yourself, shrink away from all this goodness. You went higher and higher, soaring like a bird. Every nerve ending in your body felt electrified, awoken like one switch turned on every light on last winter’s Christmas tree. 

You let out a loud cry, the soaring bird in you reaching its peak before beginning its fall to the ground. You could hear your breaths again, labored but doing everything to stabilize itself. Your thighs still shook. Your chest rose and fell. A hand caressed your hand. Behind you, something strong supported your back. Kept you from falling backward. 

“Joel…” 

“I know, I know…” he whispered into your head. You opened your eyes and looked up at him, surprised to see a softer visage. He picked you up off the chair like you’d seen him lift giant logs before. With ease. You didn’t protest as he carried you. Didn’t protest when he laid you out on your bed. 

He bent down and picked something up. No questions, no instructions. He simply spread your leg away from the other. Cold air touched the gushing mess dripping out of you and you shivered, feeling a sudden need to cover yourself but unable to defy him. His hand was on your pussy again. His hardened, calloused fingers behind a soft fabric this time. He wiped upwards, collecting the mess he made out of you. When he lifted the fabric up, you realized it was your panties. 

He tucked it into the pocket of his jeans and then looked back at your face, the intensity of his gaze making you want to run. Problem was your weak legs wouldn’t take you anywhere. You didn’t screw your eyes shut. You didn’t pull your blanket to conceal yourself. You looked back at him, defiant. Like you were trying to prove something. I can handle a man like you. 

“Be a good girl from now.” 

That and a condescending pat on your pussy and he was gone.

⌘

Part 2

[hanasnx]

MINORS DNI 18+ WARNINGS: f!reader | age gap, reader is nineteen | mild exhibitionism | size difference | choking | objectification (f receiving)

BRUCE WAYNE was in the hot seat. Well, more appropriately, Batman was in the hot seat. Which meant it was time for the billionaire playboy to make a public appearance so controversial, any press worth their tacks would cover his televised blunder rather than some depressing masked vigilante’s dealings. People prefer gossip over politics, and Bruce knows how to work an angle.

You’re a fresh adult, but the people already know you. A perfect Gotham sweetheart: a little darling on the front cover of lingerie magazines, starring as a bombshell in motion pictures, named the honor of the Ice Princess last month. You wore your little feathery outfit, next to nothing in the freezing cold, and turned on the city's giant Christmas tree lights just as the Ice Princess does every year. Known for your youth and beauty, Bruce knew you were the perfect candidate to take all the attention away from where it shouldn't be. Tabloids couldn't decide whether to praise the seasoned billionaire for landing a nineteen-year-old catch, or condemn him for having a mid-life crisis.

"Bruce Wayne seen with Gotham's Ice Princess." was everywhere anyone looked. It seemed the city had taken quite a protective role over you, which is exactly what Bruce needed.

Now that he's got you, he flaunts you. He lets you lug him around town, any local events that could be televised are his priorities. There, he makes a big show of touching you in ways only a lover is allowed to. Things that make you pat his huge bicep scoldingly. "Brucie!" you chide with a gasp, "You're so shameless." you say, but you fucking love it. How he openly mouths at your neck, lapping and sucking on your pulse point enough for lewd pretty sounds to slew from your parted lips. Little whimpers that any onlookers eat up.

He'll grope you unabashedly, big hand grabbing at your ass or giving it a swat. He needs those cameras to see how gross he is, how crazy he is about his nineteen-year-old situationship. If you get kissed, it's fucking sloppy. Mostly tongue, tongue outside the mouth as much as he can appropriately get away with. His "dirty sense of humor" will bleed into the public scene as well, hugging you from behind only to jokingly engulf your neck with his hand to fake a choke.

Every single one of these things he does for attention, leaves you hot and bothered. Frustrated from his treatment of you that's so warm when there are prying eyes, but so cold when you're finally alone together. You want Bruce Wayne to fuck the ever-loving shit out of you, but when doors are closed suddenly it's: "Something's come up." or "The sushi hit me wrong." Or the worst one of all: the polite, civilized, but uninterested act. You're all over him, begging for him to finally fuck you after stringing you along and teasing you so ardently all day, and he treats you as if you are an acquainted business associate who has overstayed her welcome. You don't get it. An hour ago he was pulling your neckline towards him for a peek down your dress, and now he's showing you the door with a smile on his face.

[ivhmavie]

think I need someone older

hwang in ho with a younger s/o

first of all, just a little advice that english its not my first language! be kind

-you would be so spoiled by him

-like to finance trips to the most famous tourist attractions, take you to shows, restaurants that are the hyped ones on internet, everything he didn't have the opportunity to try when he was younger

-he’s not really connected on the social medias, so he doesnt get all the jokes you do or the slangs you use

“mamma, a girl behind you.. S/o, what does it mean?”

-wouldnt care to the looks people give you two in the places, most probably he would be proud of be showing you off, his beautiful and young girl

-would call you his wife

-this man wouldn't be ashamed of anything, he would most likely make you feel ashamed. Always having one hand on your thigh, even if it's under your dress or skirt.

-would like to watch the games with you. You both comfortably sitting on the sofa, your legs on his laps, while he pours drinks for you two

-during the games he would caress your legs, at the end you would be on his lap, you two kissing, his hands on your hips and with one of your hands on his face, the other passing through his hair

-I mean, theres no way to resist him. He’s all fine with his drink in his hand, a serious expression on his face. Raww, next question.

-sex with him would be a experience every time. He’s obviously a dom. He’s used to be in the control in every aspect of his life, this wouldnt be different.

-he has experience, so even if you dont, it wouldnt be a problem. He would be happy to teach you, for him that’s exciting

-has a size kink. Your age gap is also something that excites him. He like to think about how naive you are compared to him

-not jealous, but possessive

-like to spend most part of his time with you, even being the frontman he would always give his way to be with you. You would be with him while he fulfills his obligations

-he’s not demanding of you, would like if you spend your time doing things that you like. Whether it was studying something or taking care of yourself.

-wouldn't mind if you were vain, would like it actually. He think its adorable see you doing your hair, putting on makeup, painting your nails or reading a magazine. Everything you do, even if its not one of his customs because they are typical of youth, would delight him. He absolutely adore you

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

Ritchie Valens - La Bamba 1958

"La Bamba" is a Mexican folk song, originally from the state of Veracruz, also known as "La Bomba". The song is best known from a 1958 adaptation by rock and roll pioneer and forefather of the Chicano rock movement Ritchie Valens, which became a Top 40 hit on the US charts. Valens's version is ranked number 345 on Rolling Stone magazine's list of the 500 Greatest Songs of All Time. "La Bamba" has been covered by numerous artists, notably by Los Lobos whose version was the title track of the 1987 film La Bamba, a bio-pic about Valens; their version reached number 1 on many charts in the same year. Their music video won the 1988 MTV Video Music Award for Best Video from a Film.

"La Bamba" is a classic example of the son jarocho musical style, which originated in the Mexican state of Veracruz, and combines Spanish, indigenous, and African musical elements. "La Bamba" likely originated in the last years of the 17th century. The oldest known historical references come from the town of Alvarado, Mexico, where it apparently was performed with an atypically lively rhythm. The oldest recorded version known is that of Alvaro Hernández Ortiz, who recorded the song with the name of "El Jarocho". His recording was released by Victor Records in Mexico in 1938 or 1939, and was reissued on a 1997 compilation by Yazoo Records, The Secret Museum of Mankind Vol. 4.

Ritchie Valens learned the song in his youth. In 1958 he recorded a rock and roll flavored version of "La Bamba", originally released as the B-side of his number-two hit "Donna". His recording of the song was inducted into the Latin Grammy Hall of Fame and the Grammy Hall of Fame. On February 3, 1959, on what has become known as "The Day the Music Died", Valens died in a plane crash in Iowa, an accident that also claimed the lives of fellow musicians Buddy Holly and J.P. "The Big Bopper" Richardson, as well as their pilot. Valens was 17 years old at the time of his death. He was posthumously inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, the Rockabilly Hall of Fame, the Native American Music Awards Hall of Fame, the California Hall of Fame, and has a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. In 2018, his version of "La Bamba" was selected by the Library of Congress for preservation in the National Recording Registry for being "culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant".

"La Bamba" received a total of 92,2% yes votes!

[laterreurofficial]

does…. does Gabriel hold some sort of sway over the Dolls Magazine? Or like, own it? Originally, I thought some of the more grim stuff on the covers were just normal satire of early 2000's dieting and misogyny culture but with Estelle's cover having things like 'don't hide from Akuma attacks', Lila getting an exclusive, and Alya as 'the Lady blogger' being shown in not her best light I'm starting to think that Gabriel is purposely running some kind of psyop on the youth of Paris to deliberately make them more vulnerable both mentally and physically to akuma's. you're less likely to have the higher functions to think about resisting an akuma if your brain doesn't have the calories, I suppose. and like, Adrien's on every cover, which I first shrugged off as just him being famous but with how it's in the same spot each time I'm now starting to suspect that's intentional.

Also! I absolutely love everything about this AU! y'all have created something really amazing, everything from the writing to the art to the character studies are just perfect!

Lastly, I adore how the magazine is called Dolls. Idk if that's a real magazine brand you're satirizing or not, but it feels very apt considering the Senti-kids are essentially treated as just dolls for their creators/parents.

You got it! He's a shareholder and creative consultant for DOLLS, courtesy of his """good friend""" Mr. Caquet. Gabriel has amassed a looot of "good friends" who owe him one in some way or another.

The name DOLLS is based on the Australian teen mag DOLLY. Take a look at some of the older covers the tone is so flippant I love it.

It's really convenient for Hawkmoth when news outlets act ambivalent about holders or state conflicting guidelines on what to do during akuma "events" (you have to say "event" and not "attack"), because then it sows mistrust, and when people are confused they get scared and start to make bad decisions!

Then they get hurt more often, one thing leads to another and next thing you know it's been almost a year in the exclusion zone and the country is in shambles.

Sure, Ladybug and Co. always beat the akuma, but at the end of the day they're still stuck within arm's reach in a city Hawkmoth has full control over. Eventually they'll get tired or lose their homes or just... die.

He's patient. He'll wait.

[officialsavantmagazine]

Sneak peek alert! Our second issue is brewing with stories that spark curiosity, inspire change, and capture the voices of our time. Here’s a taste of the themes we’re diving into—ready to challenge, uplift, and leave you wanting more. Stay tuned, dear readers!

[itgetsbetter]

A letter to Chappell Roan, written by LGBTQ+ youth:

Can we talk about how rad it is that LGBTQ+ youth have so much more representation in mainstream media nowadays?

In late October 2024, we brought ten LGBTQ+ young people from all across the country together in Los Angeles, many meeting in person for the first time.

They bonded, talked about issues facing queer youth, discussed activism and advocacy… and then they talked about queer joy. We told them the theme for our end of year campaign was called Joy Rebellion and we asked each of them, individually, what brings them joy.

Six of them, unaware of what anyone else had answered, said Chappell Roan. First words out of their mouth.

They looked up to her so much, they asked if they could write an article about Chappell and what she means to them. And in writing it, they had another question — can we make Chappell Roan our Joy Rebel of the Year? We said yes and yes.

Here's what Violet (15) and Kay (16) had to say, written for Out Magazine:

"Discovering Chappell Roan for the first time felt like discovering magic — like finally finding a home in a world that doesn't always make space for our stories. As Youth Voices with It Gets Better, we come from different backgrounds and places (two of us in this class are from the Midwest). Still, we share something powerful: the experience of seeing ourselves represented by someone who not only exudes queer joy but demands respect for it. "Chappell Roan is more than an artist who creates music we love to scream-sing; she's a force of nature who shows us what it looks like to take up space unapologetically. Chappell's music has opened up a space for conversations many of us have never had but honestly needed. Songs like "Good Luck Babe" or "HOT TO GO!" make it feel less awkward to talk about our crushes, love lives, and identities with straight friends because she broadcast the world of lesbian love into the mainstream. "When you feel alone in your sexual orientation and unable to find community..."

Keep reading here:

[giselleloversclub]

NCT SMAU REC PT.3

mark lee

dm for prices @susicheng

small lifestyle influencer yn, who also happens to be a stressed college student, runs into a life threatening dilemma: plug moved to a different state post grad. having developed a crippling dependency on her weekly smoke sesh, she needs someone new, FAST. luckily, chenle seems to know just the guy. enter: mark lee, an astoundingly reliable plug with an interesting texting style. 

plug! mark x fem! reader

personal fav !

⋆ you. @fairyoflia

in which a biology major and a basketball player lock eyes on the train after getting caught in the rain. unfortunately for them, they hate each other.

basketball player! mark lee x fem! reader

from the rooftops @peterm4rker

in which biochemistry major mark lee didn’t have time to be swinging around the city fighting crime when he had a chemistry report due in two days and a whole plan to make the girl of his dreams to fall in love with him before the new years party.

or

in which journalism major y/n l/n needed her ground breaking story of the year before fuckass yuna took her place in the college newspaper and decided her favorite superhero was the answer, all while trying to get that cute biochem student to notice her.

spiderman!mark x journalist!reader

_______________________________________________

huang renjun

starlight @suhnandmoon

after an unexpected night at the movies, you’re left turned into a vampire. with the help of park jisung and his friends, your new lifestyle adjustments are thankfully made a lot easier. that is until your friends start to call out your flaky behavior. quick, how are you going to cover up your secret? a fake boyfriend taking up your time? perfect! huang renjun is just the right guy!

huang renjun x fem!reader

vampire au

crush culture @suhnshinehaos

ln yn has always flirted with huang renjun. but they do that with literally everyone else too, they couldn’t possibly be serious about pursuing him, right? on their final year of university, yn is determined to show that they are. with all the walls that renjun has built around himself, will they be strong enough to succeed in tearing them down?

huang renjun x gn!reader

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐞 @sungbeam

you and renjun are pen-pals-turned-best-friends, except, no one knows that you know each other. at the same time, both you and renjun are also trying to survive being set up with people by your own separate friend groups. turns out, maybe you both just want each other and no one else.

huang renjun x fem!reader

_______________________________________________

lee jeno

LOVE ON THE (DANCE) FLOOR @v1si0n

jeno was not thrilled about you joining his dance team, especially because he starts messing up every time you’re around. is it really his fault that he gets distracted by how good you look when you dance?

enemies to lovers

dancer!jeno x bookworm!reader

ᝰ.ᐟ off the record @strrykais

someone had to write for the sports column in your schools paper, and unfortunately it falls onto you. only knowing very little about basketball - thanks to your friend chenle, this shouldn't be so bad!

well, that was until you meet the team’s captain and he rudely asks if you are deaf.... funny thing is, you are!

lee jeno x fem!reader

personal fav

good graces @106alibi

y/n knows she's petty. so when she found out her (secret) celebrity boyfriend of a year had been cheating on her, through a news article to make things worse, she decided to cook up an action plan to get back at him, and what better way to take revenge than to get together with his all-time favourite athlete?

or, in which y/n involves an unsuspecting lee jeno into her little revenge scheme on her now ex-boyfriend.

boxer!jeno x magazine-editor!reader

personal fav

secret admirer @diaphamin

in which ncit’s star basketball player lee jeno is your secret admirer

lee jeno x reader

my youth , your kitchen @cigsaftersuh

in which y/n, a pre-med student, who loves to cook & feed people, meets jeno, the quiet sports science major with a soft smile, and discovers that the way to someone’s heart really is through their gastrointestinal tract, their stomach.

non-idol! jeno x f! reader (.◜◡◝)

good boy @fullsunstrawberry

New year's resolution leads to you hitting the gym with your two muscle-head friends. But things get complicated when feelings and emotions are involved.

Jeno x Reader (some anton x reader)

underneath the tree @winwintea

you’ve heard enough of the word ‘christmas’ and it was only the beginning of december! sometimes you’d wish people would just throw their cheerfulness out the window and focus on reality. unfortunately for you lee jeno has just drawn your name for the company’s annual secret santa swinter swap and he’s going to make sure you get a gift you’ll never forget. (and maybe even get you to appreciate christmas along the way?)

co-worker!lee jeno x female!reader

oh , pretty please ? @nislost

After being scolded by a teacher y/n decides she’s sick of failing her classes. she knows if she doesn’t get her act together she might not even make it in life. she decides to seek help from the one student that that can potentially help her, jeno the valedictorian. jeno would only accept if y/n helped him in some way too.

valedictorian!jeno x bimbo!reader

_______________________________________________

lee haechan

on the same page @johnnysuhbmarine

Knowing a change of scenery was what your mental health needed, you transferred to where your brother, Mark, goes to college. The good news is, he’s not too cool for his younger sister, so he lets you join his friend group immediately. The bad news is, Haechan is in that friend group, and a brief encounter four years ago was enough for you to understand he does NOT like you. Even worse news, he’s a lot hotter than he was four years ago…

Haechan x reader

personal fav

lab rats ! @106alibi

graded internship season has finally rolled around for biology student y/n, and with a current gpa of 4.0 under her belt and an extremely high possibility of graduating valedictorian, she's fairly confident that acing her research internship will be just what she needs to secure that spot. of course, that was until a certain someone came into the equation.

or, y/n finds herself partnered with the last person she'd ever want to work with for her research internship, lee donghyuck.

biology-student!donghyuck x biology-student!reader

how not to be a virgin 101 @diaphamin

college is about gaining further education, to some, but to y/n it means she is finally free to explore the side of life she was never able to. parties, relationships, and sex. she was tired of being dull, tired of being the only one around her who hasn’t experienced anything romantic. she was ready to be the exact opposite of what she wasn’t. the only problem being… she doesn’t know how. that’s when she calls upon haechan, someone notoriously known for having a bit too much fun… and asks him for guidance.

where you are @luvmahae

what the absolute fuck is up baby! fall semester marks the peak of greek life at ncu. the campus quad is filled with tents representing various fraternities and sororities with their letters proudly presented in front of each booth, all eager to recruit new members. as students return to campus, they are met with a flood of fliers and invitations to parties, mixers, and rush events. while you were walking through the crowd of eager freshmen to join these organizations, you bumped into someone very unexpected...

what do you do when you bump into the guy you hooked up with after a music festival during summer break? instead of the royal blue basketball jersey you first met him in, it was replaced by a varsity jacket with the letters reading "ΝΧΘ".

"haechan?"

fratboy!haechan x fem!reader

personal fav

nerf this ! @injvns

in which overwatch streamer yn ln is on a winning streak one night, and sorta kinda ends up killing professional overwatch player lee haechan on stream…multiple times. she didn't even know who he was, let alone that he was super hot?! c'mon, she wouldn't have smoked him THAT hard if she knew!

or

yn starts overwatch beef with haechan accidentally. romance ensues.

progamer!haechan x streamer!femreader

cruise of love @mixxiew

yn, a scholarship student, finally gets the opportunity of her life to join her friends for the Semester at the Sea. every thing looks like a dream until the arrogant rich boy lee haechan crushes into her.

haechan x reader

just pretend ! @nislost

y/n gets hit up by her ex and in a desperate attempt to have him leave her alone she gets a random picture of a guy on pinterest and pretends he’s her bf. turns out the picture she used is of an up and coming youtuber lee haechan.

nonidol!haechan x f!reader

sunshine and starlight @lavndrystudios

haechan gets more than he bargained for when he meets chaeyoung’s new roommate. turns out he loves you, he really does. too bad you’re with ten.

haechan x f!reader

APT @sourrpatched

“Don’t you want me like I want you baby?”

After a uni party full of too many drinks and party games, y/n meets the love of her life. Only the next morning she can’t remember his name, his face, or anything besides his very attractive hands.

Lee Donghyuck lives a simple life, work, school, and sleep. He has no business in being dragged into parties every weekend. Which is why bumping into his complete opposite is enough to bring him out of that shell, albeit with force.

LEE DONGHYUCK X FEM!READER

you’re losing me. @najaemism

it’s been six weeks since you ended your six-year relationship with haechan, and it seems like he’s already moved on.

angst, ex!haechan, hurt/no comfort

it's the way you are @inurnctdreams

y/n suh is going into her second semester of her sophomore year at snu. as a self-proclaimed snu lions fangirl, she can’t believe there’s a new player on the team she hasn’t met yet, especially one as cute and funny as lee donghyuck, who nearly everyone she knows seems to already be friends with. how did she manage to avoid him (even if unintentionally) for almost an entire year and a half? he seems way too good to be true… and then she remembers; he’s in the frat.

haechan x fem!reader

_______________________________________________

na jaemin

builds @moonslie04 In which streamer! Jaemin joins a random player's world and starts to roast their build without knowing that the innocent player was another genshin content creator.

˙⋆✮ bed chem ✮⋆˙ @wonbin-truther

when jaemin saw the big red "16%" on his first organic chemistry test, he knew he needed a tutor, fast. enter l/n y/n, a chemical engineering student who is determined to raise his grade. but as study sessions turn into late-night library marathons, jaemin is starting to realize he’s got more than just organic chemistry to worry about.

college student yn x college student jaemin

movie nights @nana4nena

while you’re having weekly movie nights with the dreamies, you and jaemin are falling in love, but someone is falling for you

jaemin x fem! reader

✮⋆˙ .exposure. @susicheng

a member of the up-and coming pop-punk / emo band, reverie: yn finds herself falling in the deep end with the band's new (much needed) photographer, na jaemin.

na jaemin x fem!reader ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

_______________________________________________

zhong chenle

run your mouth @doughyk

chenle has a worm in his ear;not a good worm either, and it doesn’t seem to go away. But there you are, the worm in his ear. Yapping his ear off during work, absolutely smitten by him…chenle not so smitten by you.

nonidol!chenle x fem reader

personal fav

say it @sqh3e

you and Chenle are in the same music class at SMU, you write the songs, he sings them. for a few weeks you stopped showing up and no one realized you hadn’t been showing up until your friend mentions your name.

singer!chenle x fem!reader

_______________________________________________

park jisung

SCUM'S WISH 𓆩♡𓆪 @jungaji

struggling with unrequited feelings, you and park jisung agree to a fake relationship to ease your loneliness, filling the gaps left by others. with promises not to fall for each other and to part ways if your affections are reciprocated elsewhere, you jump into this arrangement. can you both stick to the rules, or will the lines between pretense and reality blur?

or, in which you and park jisung turn to each other for comfort in an attempt to soothe your unrequited loves.

park jisung x fem!reader feat. jeong jaehyun & cho miyeon

_______________________________________________

[the-rad1o-demon]

[Image ID (sorta, basically just the text from it):

GET KOSA TRENDING.

STOP SCROLLING NOW!

AS OF FEBRUARY 21ST, 2024, WE GOT FIVE DAYS UNTIL THE DAY OF DECISION OF THE KOSA BILL, WHICH WILL CAUSE MASS CENSORSHIP ROUND THE INTERNET IF PASSED. OR DOOMSDAY. WE NEED EVERYONE TO KNOW ABOUT THIS AND CONTRIBUTE. I'M NOT GIVING UP ON YOU ALL.

WE'RE DOWN TO THE WIRE BUT WE CAN'T GIVE UP YET. IF WE GIVE UP, EVERYTHING IS OVER. IF WE DON'T, AT LEAST WE HAVE A CHANCE.

I'M THE ONE WHO SOUNDED THE ALARM, AND I'M NOT GOING TO CURL UP AND DIE YET.

Reblog this post in every LEGAL way you can under the Tumblr guidelines with the appropriate tags. TELL AND TAG EVERYONE YOU KNOW, then add the tags to see below... and more if you can think of any complying.

Visit badinternetbills.com if you want to find a way to defeat KOSA. It WILL NOT take much of your time. Reblog with any other information or sources, too-- but make sure to reblog if you can.

Reblog if you support lgbtq+ content.

Reblog if you support questioning queer youth and/or abused youth getting the information they need.

Reblog if you support Ao3 and/or other sites that wholeheartedly preserve talentedly made media.

Reblog if you're going to repost this on other sites than Tumblr and spread the word across Twitter, Tik Tok, Pinterest, or elsewhere, alongside the link to badinternetbills.com.

END image ID]

Hey, everyone. So yeah, this is happening. We're still fighting this battle. And we can't give up now. We can't. We can't stand idly by while one of the most important resources that helped us all wake up, or at least start to question things, is being threatened by the government.

We can't stand idly by when kids, teens, and adults just like us still trapped inside might lose access to the resource that could help them wake up. We can't stand idly by when they might lose access to their non JW friends and family. We CAN'T stand idly by when we can do something to stop this bill from passing.

I am sick and tired of this same old song, where conservative fuckers higher up think they can oppress everyone. I am FUCKING SICK of it.

Please, reblog both this post and the original post linked above what I've written, and do what you can to stop KOSA, please. We are running out of time.

I suggest that if it is within your power to do so, that you do more than simply reblog and assume someone else will do something. DON'T assume that. Please do more than just reblogging if you are able to, because that's not really enough at this point.

Call/email representatives in the House and tell them to oppose KOSA (you may want to list different reasons depending on who you're calling, some House representatives are anti-LGBTQ+, so it may be best to tell them to oppose because it violates people's privacy, safety, and anonymity online). Print posters and put them up where legal if you can.

Sharing all this information to other social media sites (Instagram, Reddit, TikTok, the bird app) to reach more people can really help too. The wider the reach, the better.

Thank you. Now let's fucking rip that bill apart like we rip apart Watchtower magazines and eat it for fucking breakfast. (In a "we're eating it and the politicians who are sponsoring it are looking on in horror" kind of way)

[swappedman]

A Retirement Trip Part 1

David Miller, a 55-year-old accountant, had spent his entire adult life working long hours, saving diligently, and dreaming of the day he could finally take a vacation without worrying about deadlines or spreadsheets. When his coworkers surprised him with a retirement gift—a weeklong trip to Exchange Island—he was both excited and skeptical. The concept of swapping bodies with someone else for a week sounded bizarre, but his friends insisted it would be the adventure of a lifetime.

“Why not?” he thought as he packed his suitcase. “It’s time to try something new.”

The island was as beautiful as the brochures had promised, with golden sands, turquoise waters, and luxurious bungalows dotting the coastline. As he checked in, the staff explained the process.

“Once you step into the transition pod, you’ll wake up in the body of another guest. The swap is random, but don’t worry—your original body will be well cared for,” the receptionist said with a reassuring smile.

David chuckled nervously, imagining himself as a young, fit traveler or perhaps even an older, seasoned adventurer like himself.

When the moment came, David stepped into the sleek silver pod. A brief flash of light blinded him, and he felt a strange tingling sensation. When he opened his eyes, everything was… different.

He looked down and gasped. His body was lean, muscular, and bronzed. His chest and arms rippled with strength he hadn’t felt in decades. He ran his hands over his flat stomach, where defined abs replaced the slight paunch he’d grown used to.

“What the…?” His voice was deeper, smoother, filled with youthful energy.

Stepping out of the pod, he caught his reflection in a nearby mirror and nearly laughed out loud. His new body was that of a man in his 20s, with a confident smile, short brown hair, and a physique straight out of a fitness magazine. The realization hit him: for the first time in years, he felt powerful, free, and unstoppable.

David spent the first day marveling at his newfound physical abilities. Jogging along the beach, he didn’t feel the usual twinge in his knees. Instead, his strides were long and effortless. He waded into the ocean, swimming with a strength and speed he hadn’t experienced in decades.

On the second day, David decided to push his limits. He joined a volleyball game with a group of other guests, diving and spiking the ball with ease. “This is incredible!” he thought as the other players cheered him on. Later, he tried paddleboarding for the first time and was amazed at how easily his body balanced on the board.

For the first time in years, David wasn’t worried about what people thought of him. Walking along the beach in nothing but swim briefs, he felt confident and carefree. Younger guests smiled at him, and he found himself chatting easily with strangers.

By midweek, David was exploring parts of himself he hadn’t touched in years—his adventurous spirit, his curiosity, and even his flirtatious side. He struck up a conversation with a woman in her 40s who’d swapped bodies with a younger guest. Together, they laughed about the absurdity of their situations and danced under the stars at the resort’s beachside party.

As the final day approached, David found himself reflecting on the experience. The swap hadn’t just given him a younger body—it had reminded him of what it felt like to live without limits. He realized he’d spent so much of his life playing it safe, saving for the future, and forgetting to enjoy the present.

When the time came to return to his own body, David stepped back into the pod with mixed feelings. He was grateful for the chance to be young again, but he also felt ready to embrace his true self with a new perspective.

Emerging from the pod, David looked down at his hands—now older and familiar. He smiled, feeling a renewed sense of gratitude. The island had given him more than just a week of adventure; it had given him a second chance at living fully, no matter his age.

As he boarded the ferry back to the airport, David knew one thing for certain: he would be taking another trip to Exchange Island in the future.

Read the final part here!