#along with everyone else because i suck

[weekdaysend]

My SentOpLita 1AM relationship chart I did not think I'd be psycho-analyzing this dynamic as much as I thought I would..

[millionsofbooks]

something about the tiktok ban that i haven't really seen people here talking about is the experience of tiktok users not from the usa, which was, as far as i can tell, on the whole, very positive. it was actually really nice to, for a short period of time, be on a major social media network and able to interact with people across the world without usamericans constantly inserting themselves into every conversation.

usamericans kind of take over people's fyp regardless of where you're from. this is partly to do with the fact that the creators fund is only available to usamericans so most of the shitty content farms are from the us. then there's also the cultural aspect of the fact that being a citizen of the most powerful empire in the world is a significant privilege, and also a privilege that 99% of usamericans are seemingly unable to acknowledge, plus the us centrism and exceptionalism, plus the constant need to cast themselves as the underdog, and, well. it's annoying.

so, like. everything of what i've seen (which is not to say that other opinions don't exist, just that i haven't seen them) is that it was really nice when the usamericans were gone, and it kind of sucks that they're back.

[kameyyy]

why does this lowkey feel like a talking stage

[pergaminaa]

Modern au

One major point of difference between Aelin and Manon is how how they deal with success.

Aelin loves it and loves the sense of accomplishment that she gets every time she does something that gets her a lot of praise. She’s cocky and loves for that kind of joy. She picks these things because she knows the end result and she just loves being the center of attention because she’s Aelin.

Manon is also very successful but she doesn’t deal with it the same way. She doesn’t feel any sense of accomplishment, it’s just one thing that’s causing her a lot of anxiety off of her shoulders and she’s relieved that it’s over more than anything else. She certainly doesn’t await anyone’s praise. She’s also lowkey competitive so anything less than perfect results is a fluke in her eyes. (For example in school or in any competition she’s either at the number one spot or she’s has brought shame and disgrace to both herself and her name). So to Manon, there is no joy in these things; there is only stress and pressure and nothing else matters.

[neverendingford]

.

[tariah23]

I forgot to mention but one of the mods for the jjk zine said that I could draw all of the other Sukuna’s as well 😭… not just as merch tho. I could also draw some sketches for the sketch page section too…

[theabigailthorn]

What are we supposed to do now? By ‘we’ I mean UK based trans women and transfems. How are we meant to continue? Knowing the country hates us. The law refuses to accept our existence. Everyone wishes we would just shut up and disappear. How are we supposed to live like this? I know I can’t.

Let me tell you a very funny story that might make you feel better.

Not long ago I called the suicide hotline feeling exactly the way you describe. The volunteer on the other end was an older cis lady, and I was like, "Hey, I'm trans - all this stuff is happening, the government says blah blah blah, the court says XYZ, and I feel like I'm living in this really hostile country that hates me, and it sucks!" I told her how angry I was, how much all this makes me hate by fellow human beings, how much I wouldn't care if Britain sank into the sea or was burned away to ashes along with all its inhabitants, and how ashamed I am of feeling such venom and cynicism.

And there was a bit of a pause.

And the volunteer lady says, "What's trans?"

I - Joker makeup bursting from the pores of my face - explain to her what being transgender is. She has questions like, "So, what was the legal process like, what do you have to do?" and I'm like "Oh HO HO HO! Let me tell you the hoops I had to jump through!" and she's like "Wow, that sounds so difficult?" and I'm like, "HEE HEE HEE I haven't even gotten to the difficult bit yet!" I'm ranting, I'm pacing my living room like a tiger, quoting Merchant of Venice and Coriolanus down the phone to this woman on the suicide hotline, like "If you prick us do we not bleed?! If you tickle us do we not laugh?!" "I banish you, and here remain with your uncertainty!" (She's like "I remember this Shakespeare from school!") It feels like I'm vomiting up this black sludge of hate that I've built up, like people spit on me and I've absorbed all that spit and now I'm burning with it.

So at the end of all this the volunteer lady's like well yeah of course you feel angry, that makes perfect sense! Anybody with a heart would feel the way you do! Of course you feel cynical and bitter and despairing! And she tells me that she hasn't seen any of this, but it's shocked her. She thinks this court case sounds like a really backwards step; she thought Britain was progressive. And I'm like, "I used to think that too, and the loss of that illusion hurts."

But then she goes well look - these judges and politicians, they live in a bubble. They don't really know what life is like for ordinary people like me and you. There are plenty of people in Britain like her, who just don't really pay attention to this stuff. There might be some who throw things at me in the street and treat me poorly, but there are also a lot of people who are just... normal? And fine? And who are just doing their own thing, and who are appalled to discover this kind of thing is happening? And I'm like oh yeah - I guess if the country was destroyed all those people would go too... It's not true that everyone wants us to disappear.

And she says she's going to go home and look all of this up because it sounds like trans people are really being mistreated, and she's like "Thank you for telling me all this. I hope you feel better."

And I'm like yeah you know what, I kinda do. It helped to have someone else go, "I understand how you feel." So, y'know, we've got one more ally at least.

[teaboot]

Things you can do as a security guard instead of acting like a dickhead: a vent post disguised as advice

Offer alternatives: IE, “Sorry, nobody’s allowed to hang out over there, but we have seats over here you’re welcome to use”. I recommend getting familiar with local parks, public seating, free food programs, outreach, mobile aid, etc., just in case those are needed.

Be polite: IE, “Excuse me, sir”, “I beg your pardon, miss”. This should go without saying but everyone deserves dignity.

Avoid phrasing requests as orders: IE, “Don’t stand in front of that” VS “Excuse me, could you move a bit to the side?”. This works best with an explanation, like, “There’s a sign behind you”, or, “you might get clipped by someone”. This helps communicate that you are asking for a reason, not just throwing your weight around. If you don’t have a reason, rethink whether or not you need to be doing anything.

Avoid directing blame or fault. Don’t say, “The owner says you gotta go” when you could say, “I’m not supposed to let people be here for X period” or “do X thing”. Again, try to have alternatives ready so people can use other resources or do something else instead of just abruptly changing plans.

Come from a place of compassion whenever you can. People are gonna tell you to get rid of the crazy screaming guy. They say that because they’re frightened and don’t know what to do. Your best approach is, “Hello sir”, followed by, “How are you today?”, “how’s it going?”, “are you doing alright?”, etc., depending on what the person is ACTUALLY doing / saying when you get there. You can offer help from there if needed, or leave them alone if they’re not in danger or a risk to anyone.

Remember you’re not a cop. This can mean whatever you need it to mean. For me personally, that means that with incredibly rare exception (like trying to sell to kids, contaminating other’s food or drink) I won’t report you for drugs. If I find you doing drugs on my site I’ll tell you a different place where you can do them instead and ask you to do them there. I have interrupted drug deals to ask the client and the salesman to both kindly move 15 feet to the left, I’m not kidding, I do not care.

Know who you can throw under the bus. Sometimes you gotta enforce rules and be the bad guy and if that’s the fault of some dipshit in a suit 200 miles away, you can say that. Sorry man, I can’t let you park your car on the lawn. I know you’re not hurting anyone and frankly I think lawn culture is stupid but there’s other parking stalls and if my boss sees you I’ll get a write-up for not doing my job. Shit sucks sometimes but if it wasn’t me telling you it’d be the new guy, and between you and me he’s an idiot and he’ll probably just report you to bylaw.

Don’t just act like you’re their friend, genuinely try to be a good friend. If you know that someone is doing something that will only result in a bystander phoning police, don’t let them go down like that. Let them know, “hey man, you seem like you’re having a shit time and I get it, I’ll do what I can, but we gotta have this conversation somewhere else ‘cause we’re freaking out the old ladies.”

Swallow your tongue. You can’t fix the world. People are gonna bitch at you about communists and 5G and gangster rap ruining the neighbourhood, that’s just part of the deal. Nod along, remain neutral, shut down any hate speech, redirect if you can, and keep a limit in mind where you’ll have to shut things down.

Accept that sometimes there are no solutions. Yes, that angry guy who blasts music will be back tomorrow. That homeless woman who asks you to help her find her dog that she hasn’t had in 30 years will ask again, and yes, you’re still going to take a description and promise to keep an eye out. That kid who smokes crack behind the building has been clean for a few weeks and still stops by to say hi, and you hope he’ll get his life together and be happy, but he also might relapse and OD before he hits 25. Sometimes you just have to do the best you can, even if nothing is guaranteed.

Be kind to teenagers. Being a kid is hard, and everyone’s on their ass all the damn time for everything.

Remember that the vast majority of bad people aren’t bad, just unhappy. The guy who keeps showing up drunk and puking on the carpet is unhappy. The lady who bitches about the service every single time and keeps coming back anyway is unhappy. The guy who leaves trash everywhere is probably unhappy. If they were happy, maybe they’d do better, but they’re not, and that’s kinda sad. You don’t have to let them get away with their shit, but they probably aren’t actually a worthless human being either.

It doesn’t matter if 12 is true or not. You need to believe it or you will become a harsh and bitter person. Look for evidence that people are not terrible and invent it if you have to

Don’t let yourself become a bastard

[prlssprfctn]

Jason, being a semi-canonic common hallucination in the family after his death, could lead to the stupidest AU ever.

Imagine everyone seeing him — Bruce, half of the time, Dick non-stop, Tim more often than not, and eventually even Alfred starts seeing little boy's silhouette in the corner of his eye, but he never admits it, because someone needs to stay sane in this family.

It is a lot like real-life cases when cult families start to see collective hallucination, and it somehow syncronises in their minds, so they hear and see the same things, you know?

So, yeah, everyone sees Jaybin around.

Everyone but Damian. Damian is a normal one. He also knows his Akhi is alive and well, so whatever. And it takes him some time to figure out that his family is bat-shit insane, but when he does, he decides to use it on his advantage.

Damian, calling Jason: Akhi, you should visit me. It is getting awfully boring here.

Jason, frowning: You know I can't. They think I am dead, and I can't risk my plan, especially now, when Red Hood is gaining-

Damian: We will pretend you are a hallucination.

Jason: ...What?

Damian: So, there is a plan...

So, a few days after this call, Jason arrives at the Wayne Manor. He still thinks his brother's plan sucks, but gaslighting is one of his many talents, so surely, they will figure something out. He can lie his way through this meeting.

Expect, he doesn't even need to lie. His family is actually insane.

Bruce, bumping in Jason:

Jason, staring back: Uh-

Bruce: Wow. You look so grown-up. And we look so alike. Nice one, brain.

Jason: ?..

Tim, leaving his room: Hi, B, hi- Oh, damn. Hi, Jaybin. Nice leather jacket.

Bruce: Right? I guess his ghost just grows up with us now.

Jason: ????

Alfred, nodding along, out of nowhere: Master Dick will hate it. He looks taller now.

All of them: (peacefully leave the room)

Jason: What. The. Fuck.

Jason waits for the moment of clarity to happen as he chats with Damian in the kitchen, but... nothing changes. They really, really think he is a hallucination. So... he starts hanging out around more. Both because Damian is getting angsty, and because it is kinda... amusing.

Tim, stuck on the same case for a few nights, non-stop: Oh, it is really just me and you in this, Jason.

Jason, playing Mario Cart on the table by his side: Maybe take a nap, dude.

Tim: No, I need to figure out this case with-

Jason, rolling his eyes: Red Hood had already dealt with it. Go to sleep.

Tim: ...You are such a good self-care kind of hallucination.

Jason: ...

Damian: Your bets, when will they realise that you are a real person?

Jason: At this point, I am not sure that they will, even if I start screaming that I am real.

Damian: Fair. I bet a year would do.

Jason: ...A year and a half.

Dick visits the Manor. He cooes at Jason, muttering something about "of course, he would have grown up in a punk," and Jason almost breaks his role to hit him on the head.

Jason, arms folded on his chest: You know, you need serious help, dad.

Bruce, blinking at him slowly: Probably. You know what else I need?

Jason: Sleep? Retirement? To stop adopting strays? The list is endless, man.

Bruce: ...Coffee. I need more coffee.

Jason, groaning: What the fuck!!!

Alfred figures out that Jason is real, eventually. Solely because he catches him sneaking a few extra cookies, and hallucinations are not supposed to eat. He plays along with him and Damian until the very end, anyway.

(Damian ends up winning the bet because Jason loses it once and pushes Bruce down the stairs, when he starts reciting some precautionary tale about him. Everyone is flabbergasted.)

[inbabylontheywept]

Alright. So. I have a confession to share with you. In middle school, I strongly identified as a libertarian. In my defense, I was 13 and I had autism. Against my defense, I was literate, and capable of using common sense. I confessed this to you willingly, so go easy on me.

One thing about this that I can share with you is that I, as a 13 year old boy, read Atlas Shrugged. I read it as someone very committed to the ideology, who wanted to believe it, who wanted to like it, and there are two things I can share with you about that book from that time period.

The writing is terrible. It has the slowest, most boring, most pretentious prose you could possibly imagine. Calling it glacial would be a compliment. It makes glaciers look like Formula 1. There is no description for the pacing outside of hellish torments. It is like being condemned to watch a dog with an itchy ass wear the Himmalayas away only by scooching. It is like counting the grains of sand on a beach while Alexa reads off random phone numbers. It is like dipping saltines into lukewarm tapwater while listening to white noise in a beige room with no doors. It is like wearing a blindfold and being told to guess what a man is painting by sound alone, but there is no man, there is only a dog licking cold vaseline off a window. Forever. It is all of those things and more.

There is a multipage rant about how affairs are Good and Rational that is so insanely desparate that even middle-school-autist me thought she must have been having an affair while she wrote this. And then I googled it, and the answer was yes, she was. She called her philosophy Objectivism, because she believed, like everyone else in the world, that her ideas and motivations were Pure and Rational and Ojectively Correct, but I still find the name accurate, because it was really written with one Objective in mind, and that was finding a way to never admit that Ayn Rand had ever made a mistake in her life.

I was going to rant more about this but I kind of lost my train of thought. The book fucking sucks. It was propaganda of such remarkably low caliber that it actually helped me move out of those circles. Every time someone talked about liking the book, I'd reply with something along the lines of "Yeah, I especially loved the part where she destroyed the post modernists by unequivocally condemning affairs", and if they agreed with me, they would have lost my respect forever, and if they looked very embarrassed, I could at least acknowledge that they had a soul, albeit small and malformed. I had dozens of people claim that they read the book, and only three or four actually passed the test.

And now, goodnight.

[classyrbf]

boss!nanami who has this cold and off putting demeanor, seeming to intimidate everyone in the office. His voice is always stern and deep and he quite observes the rest of the employees without saying a word. No one has ever dared to disobey his orders or deadlines, feeling the need to impress their boss who sits in his locked office all day, having meetings and filing through tedious paperwork. But what everyone is so unaware of is that office assistant, you, are secretly on your knees every morning, waiting under the bosses desk like you should be. He simply greets by cupping you face, running the pad of his thumb along your cheek while you snuggle into his palm, undoing his belt simultaneously. He’s already hard, an obvious bulge in his pants.

A low grown emits from his throat the moment you take him in your mouth. You’re swirling your wet tongue around his swollen tip, licking up every last drop of pre cum while jerking him off. He leans back his chair, eyes shut as he sighs in bliss. “Good girl, just like that.” He places his hand on the back of your head and pushes you further down, his cock stretching your throat until your gagging on it. “Nnnghh, fuck!” He grunts. A knock on the door startles both you and Nanami and he’s quick to pull you off his cock so you can breathe.

“Sorry, sir, I don’t mean to interrupt. I just have the reports that you wanted. They’re completely filled out and the information from the sister company also did their part.” A woman spoke, her voice shaking. She was clearly nervous.

Nanami stroked your hair as you sucked on his balls, dragging your tongue all the wall from the base to the tip, placing a soft kiss on the head. His hips slightly jerked at the sensation. The hand that was petting your hair now tugging at it as a warning sign.

He cleared his throat, taking the file from the woman. “Thank you. I’ll look into it.” And with that the woman left. Nanami scooted his chair back, looking down at the sloppy mess your were creating. “You tryna get caught?” He glares at you only for you send him a smile in return. “Yeah, I bet you are. Bet it gets you all excited just thinking about it. You wouldn’t care if everyone in this office watched you take me down your throat, hm?”

“No, sir,” you batted your eyelashes at him. You took him back in your mouth, bobbing your head up and down his veiny shaft.

“Of course you wouldn’t,” he scoffed, trained eyes fixated on the way you sucked him off, loving how messy you get. “I’ve got a meeting in five, so be a good girl and make this quick.” He ordered, pushing your head down lower. His entire body shivered when your throat squeezed around him.

He knows you’ll be able to do it, you have every morning for the past three months since you began working here. And when everyone else goes home, he’ll see you again as well. You could say he enjoys coming to work a little more just because of you.

[botanicsoul]

Don’t Meet Your Heroes

Pro Hero | Izuku Midoriya x Fangirl (Fem) Reader

-> I will NEVER stop writing menace Izuku because there is absolutely NO WAY someone that nice, that polite, that sweet is not secretly a freak. You don’t save the world with a smile and then go home and knit. No—you choke your girl out while she wears your merch and thank her for letting you. —Anyway, enjoy🥳

ི༘𑁍࿔̥̊ ི༘𑁍࿔̥̊ ི༘𑁍࿔̥̊ ི༘𑁍࿔̥̊ ི༘𑁍࿔̥̊ ི༘𑁍࿔̥̊ ི༘𑁍࿔̥̊ ི༘𑁍࿔̥̊ ི༘𑁍࿔̥̊ ི༘𑁍࿔̥̊ ི༘𑁍࿔̥̊ ི༘𑁍࿔̥̊ ི༘𑁍࿔̥̊ ི༘𑁍

You didn’t expect much when you walked up to the table—just your hero crush smiling at you for five seconds before you moved on like everyone else.

But when his eyes lifted and locked onto yours, time stretched. You offered him the homemade fanart you’d printed on glossy paper. “It’s silly, but… I wanted you to sign it.”

His freckled cheeks went pink, and he gave you that smile. “It’s not silly at all. It’s cute.”

His fingers brushed yours when he took it. “Hey… mind if I ask something kinda bold?”

You blinked. “Yeah? What’s up?”

He scribbled something in the corner of the poster and slid it back. A phone number.

“Text me. If you want to talk more. Or… I don’t know. Grab a coffee?”

Your heart practically launched out of your chest.

Of course you texted him.

Coffee turned into dinner. Dinner turned into your back hitting his apartment mattress—staring up at him, wide-eyed, wondering how the sweet, bashful hero who wore a cardigan on your little date now had your legs pinned wide open… your wrists bound above your head with his utility belt.

At first, he kissed you like you were fragile. Hands shaky. Voice soft. Whispers of “you sure?” between every breath.

But the second you moaned his name and rocked your hips into his?

A switch flipped.

And suddenly the man above you wasn’t the one who smiled for cameras. He fucked you like he’d been starving. Like he’d been good for too long and now he needed to ruin something sweet.

He rutted into you slow and deep—possessive, gritting through every thrust like he hated how much he needed it.

“You thought I’d be gentle, didn’t you?” he muttered, slamming into you hard enough to make the headboard crack.

“Thought I’d blush and stutter while I fucked you?” He leaned down, lips dragging along your jaw. “No, baby. I earn my rewards.”

Your legs shook. He was everywhere—biting your neck, sucking marks onto your chest like he wanted the world to see, you were a moaning mess while he’s choking you just enough to make you dizzy.

“You moan like you want the whole city to hear you,” he growled. “You like this? Being fucked by your favorite hero like a filthy little fan girl?”

You gasped, nails digging into your palm.

He chuckled low, voice dark. “You’re soaked. Can feel it drip down my cock every time I pull out.”

“Please—” you barely got the word out before he was on you again, teeth gritted like he was holding back something brutal.

He paused, just to thrust harder. “I’ve saved lives, baby,” he snarled into your neck, “but I’d let the city burn if it meant I got to come back to this cunt.”

Your body snapped tight, your orgasm crashing into you with no warning—and he felt it.

He growled, rough and wrecked. “Good girl. Fuck—milk it. Soak me. Show me how much this pussy loves me.”

And when you finally went limp, body shaking, eyes glassy? He leaned down and kissed you like he hadn’t just destroyed you.

Then he pulled out, slowly, watching his cum leak from your pussy onto the sheets.

He groaned. “Next time I fuck you, wear my merch.”

You blinked up at him, fucked-out and blinking.

He grinned, all teeth. “The one that says Property of Pro Hero Deku. I wanna see it when I make you cum on your knees.”

[quarterlifekitty]

So I saw this lovely post and was like hey. I am a non confrontational bitch. What if reader was really looking forward to a Valentine’s Day with Simon, and was gutted that he forgot, but tried to suck it up?

Like, I imagine he would notice that you seemed a little bit blue for a bit, but again, he’s new to relationships— he doesn’t want to press on something you’re not ready to share. That’s how he would want to be treated, he hates being prodded, so he keeps his distance, because he doesn’t know what kind of love you need yet. You’re speaking different languages.

It’s not till weeks later— Gaz mentions using a couples spa voucher over his next leave that he got for his girl for valentines. Hey, Ghost, you met yours in December, right? What did you get her for Valentine’s Day?

The stunned silence speaks volumes.

He connects the dots to your low mood at that time. He tries really desperately to think of something to make up for it. Something he can get. But they’re all quick and dirty solutions. He doesn’t want to lie— and it’d be obvious he was only getting something because he felt bad. So he decides to just talk, loathe as he is to do so.

“I missed Valentine’s Day.”

“Yes, you did. But it’s just another day, I guess.” Spoken like someone convincing themselves, not their conversation partner.

“And that’s why you seemed… down.”

“I won’t lie. It made me a little sad… But really, it’s fine. It’s not a big deal.”

“It is if it upset you. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well, if it wasn’t a day that mattered to you… I didn’t want to seem childish. I didn’t want to force you to play along with all of the cards and hearts and things. I was silly to get upset, I know—“

Feeling provoked by the prospect of being high maintenance, you shove down your feelings and needs until they barely take up any space at all. That’s how it goes.

“S’not silly. If it’s important to you, s’important to me. Don’t want you to change jus’ cause you think it’ll make my life easier. When I told you I wanted you, I meant I wanted the whole lot.”

He knows he can’t buy back the 14th. But what’s the thing a girl who loves you wants most in the world? As a child, he found out from discarded magazines that it was something everyone claimed to have the answer to, but didn’t.

She wants a piece of you that no one else in the world has.

He gives you that in the form of his first set of dog tags. The pieces of tin on ball chain that changed his life and how he saw the world forever. His full legal name punched clear, before he’d learned to hide it along with his face. One of the last relics of a Simon that stopped existing before he turned 20.

You keep them wrapped in your fist like a rosary while you sleep every time he goes on leave.

[crowsofdarkness]

Bucky makes for a great teacher: pt. 1

18+ CW's below the cut(Bucky's dirty mouth, touching his cock over his jeans, inexperienced reader)

teach me masterlist

Bucky radiated body heat, it wrapping around me and causing a slick sweat to gather at the back of my neck. I tried to keep my hair down all night while we hung out in the Avengers common room watching a movie. Everyone had left awhile ago, leaving me alone with Bucky. With the way he had been watching me with sheer intensity, I quickly gathered my hair to throw it up into a ponytail. That simple action made him swallow thickly while shifting in his seat. 

“What?” I asked. “Did I do something?” 

With the way he was smirking, I could tell he was far from uncomfortable. The relationship between us was an odd one. I was still new on the team, only becoming a member a few weeks ago. But ever since my first day here, I felt this undeniable pull from Bucky. He would never come out right and say how he felt but he showed it with the way he flirted with me. 

“You threw your hair up in a ponytail after looking at my dick,” he said with a blunt tone. 

I blinked at Bucky with my mouth agape, not expecting him to say that. I’d never been around someone who spoke so straightforward like that so I expected myself to be disgusted. Instead, I found myself aroused because I definitely had been staring at his dick ever since he sat down next to me. 

“I wasn’t,” I shook my head. “Wait, what does me throwing my hair up in a ponytail have anything to do with your-.” 

I couldn’t say the word out loud. Thinking the word wasn’t an issue but actually spitting out the word gave me pause. 

Bucky’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, a movement I tracked with careful precision. 

“Dick,” he said the word slowly at first, hoping I’d repeat it. 

Instead I looked down at my lap to avoid eye contact with him which made him drag his vibranium fingers along the exposed skin of the back of my neck. 

“Do you really not know what it means when a woman throws up her hair after staring at a guy’s dick?” He wondered with a slight chuckle. 

I swallowed thickly, shivering under his touch and kept my voice quiet as I spoke. “There’s a lot I don’t know.”

There was this untenable pull from Bucky from the moment I bumped into him in the hallway my first day here. Something about the darkness in his eyes told me that he’d show me the dark parts of myself that were fighting to break through. The part of me that came alive while reading those dark romance books. 

“Do you want to know what it means?” Bucky questioned. 

Slowly lifting my gaze from my lap to meet his burning one, I gave him a slight nod after thinking it over. It was just an answer to a question I had, surely it wouldn’t hurt knowing. 

Bucky sat closer to me, gathering the ends of my hair between his fingers. “Typically, when someone throws up their hair in a ponytail, it means they’re getting ready to suck someone's dick.” 

I let out a shocked breath while glancing down at his lap, directly where his dick was. My hand was so close to his thigh as it was perched in my own lap and I nearly reached for him. 

“That’s-uh-,” my words fell away again when I felt his fingers graze down the side of my neck, over my collar bone. 

When I swallowed, Bucky tracked the movement with his thumb. 

“Are you saying you’ve never done that when you suck a guy's dick?” There was an oddly comforting and playful tone to his question. 

If it were anyone else being so upfront and vulgar I would have smacked them however the voice in my mind told me to continue on with him. 

“I’ve never actually done that before,” I motioned with my eyes towards his lap. 

Bucky choked on a laugh as his hand dropped away from me only for his face to go stone when he realized I wasn't joking. 

“You’ve never given head before?”

I shook my head, feeling even smaller than I was. Embarrassment filled me as he continued to stare at me with a bewildered look. Any chance I had to possibly have something with Bucky went down the drain. 

Why do you think he’d even go for someone like you? Have you seen him? 

Ignoring not only the stabbing in my heart but the voice in my head that often chastised me, I gave a somber shrug. 

“I’ve already embarrassed myself enough tonight. I think I’m going to head to bed,” I said while rising to my feet only to yanked back down onto the couch in my previous spot. 

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” Bucky asked with a tender tone. 

Immediately I shook my head. “No! You’re fine. It's just-I’m not used to talking about sex. I’ve been called a prude basically my entire life so to hear you be so open talking about it makes me feel embarrassed that I don't understand the reason why someone putting their hair up was a sexual act. Now I’m rambling and making more of an idiot myself and I wish someone would just shut me up.” 

“Do you want to?” 

My eyes snapped over to him after I pinched them shut. “Wh-what?” 

Bucky eased back into the couch, showing more of his lap at me; an open invitation. “Do you want to suck my cock?” 

The way he asked the question made my cheeks inflame with heat and I squeezed my thighs together when that heat spread straight to my core. With a quick flick down towards his lap, I could see the faintest outline of his cock against his jeans and didn’t stop myself from licking my lips. 

“I want to do something else,” I rushed out.

A low hum vibrated from the back of his throat. “What’s that?” 

I didn’t speak, simply kept my eyes on him, hoping he caught on so I didn’t have to say it outloud. 

“Doll, you have to use your words,” Bucky spoke while brushing his own hand over his cock causing both of us to share a moan. “Oh, is that what you want? You want to touch my cock?” 

I nodded feverishly, not knowing where this part of me came from. I’d never been this up front with anyone so I was surprised at myself. 

“Then take it,” he demanded while palming himself. 

I didn’t. 

I began shrinking into myself, becoming the form of me I was familiar with. The one that was called prude her entire life. 

“Doll,” Bucky moaned while bucking his hips into his own hand. “Take it.” 

I felt frozen in front of him, unable to push through the wall that suddenly built itself inside of my mind. All the teasing I’d gone through all throughout high school and the mental abuse from my ex were pestering inside of me, telling me I would do something wrong with Bucky and he would simply laugh in my face for how inexperienced I was. 

The loud voices seized when Bucky grabbed my hand and forced it on his cock, replacing his own hand. A gasp fell from my lips when I finally could feel what I couldn’t stop staring at it all night. 

“Oh god, it’s so-.” Like before, I couldn't finish my sentence, truly taken aback by the size I felt beneath my palm. 

My hand remained frozen, unsure what to do with it, so Bucky began guiding it. Up and down. 

“Just like that, doll. Press your palm against it,” he was breathless. 

Following his guidance, I began pressing my palm harder against his cock and he let his head fall back to the arm of the couch.

“Fuck,” Bucky hissed when I pressed to hard against his cock and I wretched my hand back. 

“I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” 

His head lifted from the couch and the haze look in his eyes made me whimper. 

“No, Doll. Quite the opposite,” Bucky reached for my hand again but I hesitated. 

“Maybe we should stop this. I don’t know what I’m doing and I’m sure you can find someone with more experience,” I rambled on. 

Once again he grabbed my hand and brought it back to his cock, my actions picking up almost instantly with his next words. 

“I just want you.” 

Those four words fueled the confidence in me as I began playing with his cock over his jeans again. Rubbing it as best as I could even though I wanted to slip my hand in his pants. 

“You’re doing so good, Doll,” Bucky praised. 

I whimpered again at the praise as I found myself kneeling between his legs so I could get a better angle with my hand. I dragged my finger down the length of it as his cock pressed hard against the zipper and when I could vaguely feel the head of it, I tested the waters by rubbing it between my thumb and finger. 

His hips bucked up into my hand causing him to curse before gently removing my hand and bringing it to his chest, halting my movements. I couldn’t stop the tears that began to well in my eyes for being stopped yet again. 

“No tears on that pretty face. The first time I cum, I want it to be down your throat,” Bucky explained while sitting up with a groan, adjusting himself in his jeans. 

My heart rate picked up as my hand continued to be pressed against the broadness of his chest. 

“I told you. I’ve never done that before,” I reminded him. 

With one thumb brushing against the back of my hand, the other dragged over my bottom lip causing me to suck in a breath. 

“It’s alright, doll. I’ll work you up to it.” 

[mischivousvoid]

You will never be her

SYNOPSIS : You've been in love with your coworker forever, you sadly discover he's in love with someone else. Except, she's shattered his heart to pieces.

PAIRING : Zayne x Non-MC!Gender-Neutral Reader

TAGS : Hurt/comfort, Oneshot/Drabble, kinda-sorta-slice-of-life

❄️🍧☃️🍧❄️❄️🍧☃️🍧❄️🍧☃️🍧❄️🍧☃️🍧❄️

The first time you saw how he looks at her, it stung. I mean, it hurts, watching the man you've been pining for for the last few years be so desperately in love with someone who isn't you.

Yet somehow, what hurts even more, is that you can see from a mile away that she doesn't look at him the same way. How could she not?

Your coworker, Zayne, is perhaps the kindest, most thoughtful and caring person on Earth. He speaks in a cold and professional demeanor most of the time, and does not seem to emotionally attach to the patients, but his actions speak so much louder than his words. He stays late just to make sure things go smoothly, he checks up on patients in his free time, he stops stops by to help out people he doesn't know when he can. On the rare occasions he brings snacks for everyone, he remembers exactly what everyone is allergic to and what their favourite is.

It really is outrageous that the woman he lights up when seeing and keeps a picture of on his desk doesn't like him back. You almost think to yourself that how dare she hurt him like that. But I guess when you just don't feel the chemistry, you just don't feel the chemistry. Life is cruel sometimes...

Your heart feels like it's being squeezed and compressed into a black hole every time you look at him talk to her. One time it was so bad you almost scheduled an appointment with him to see if there's an underlying physical issue. But, no, sadly your heartbreak is emotional and has quite the obvious source... You doubt you had a chance before, you know. Zayne tends to keep his personal life out of the hospital and the hospital out of his personal life, he'd probably never go out with a coworker. And fat chance you were his taste. But seeing him so... enamoured with her. Right in front of your salad. Well, it really crushed your ribs from the inside. She didn't show up often, only some evenings to meet him after work and head off together, or occasionally as a hunter assigned to clean up when there was an incident at your hospital. But you still couldn't bear seeing them.

You sat with the feeling many evenings after work, suppressing it in the moment and putting away for crying into your pillow late at night. It sucked. It really sucked. Many sleepless nights of chest pain and close calls of being late to work because your meltdowns made you oversleep. But thanks to you processing your feelings and not ignoring them, over time, it got easier. At least, the pain didn't feel so suffocating and you made peace with the fact that you'll never have him. You felt... mildly content just seeing him happy.

Except, that didn't last. The more time passed, the more apparent it became that the woman he loved only saw him as a friend and would never "warm up and like him back" the way you thought. You don't know if he noticed that too, or if she outright rejected him, but you watched him slowly wilt. It was subtle, many people wouldn't even notice, but it was the little things. He'd eat his lunch just a little too long staring off into space, end conversations just a little too soon, stay so late at work that it wasn't just to check up on the patients anymore but quite clearly to distract himself. One day, she showed up with a man and cheerfully introduced him as her boyfriend, and said he'd be tagging along to their outing and that she hoped they'd all get along. The next week, her picture was gone from his desk. And the whole following month Zayne stayed late at work on every day and had bigger eyebags on him than you've ever seen.

This had to stop. You can't... You can't watch him destroy himself anymore. It was one thing to have your heart broken, but seeing him fall apart into pieces was so much worse.

You gathered up whatever courage you had, and invited him for coffee and pastries right after your shift ends on the day your schedule alligned. Made an excuse as to why it cannot be any later, apparently the cafe won't serve any cake after a certain hour because the owner believes sugar before bed will kill you. No, it can't be another cafe, it has to be that one, it has that special edition dessert you wanted to try forever but had no one to go with. Your treat, of course.

Somehow, he agreed. He wasn't very talkative, but you still had a good time. Doctor Zayne when he isn't a Doctor is a sight to behold... You had fun seeing all his reactions. His scrunched-up nose when he tried his drink before adding 5 spoons of sugar, his satisfied expression when finishing his 3rd slice of cake. You feel a little bad, enjoying this so much while inviting him to make sure that *he* feels better. But hey, he seems happier and he didn't overwork himself again, so maybe you deserve to enjoy this a little bit. At the end of the evening, you nod and go your separate ways.

You do this again the first time you have an opportunity, make some other outrageous excuse why it has to be right after work. And then again. And again. And every time, by some miracle, Zayne says yes. You talk more and more each time. By the third time, Zayne asks you if you'd like him to accompany you to your house. It is late, after all. In twice the time, you don't even have to ask, and he's ready to head off with you when your work is done. It becomes routine, you finish work, you go get some sweets and coffee, Zayne walks you home.

It feels like a privilege peering into his private life, to hear him talk of things other than patients and surgeries and scheduling. You learn of his terrible sweet tooth, his favourite foods, his interests out of work. You learn of his sarcastic and playful-jabs kind of sense of humour, his smile engraved to your memory. His outward cold demeanor seems like almost a facade with how warm being around him makes you feel.

You're so happy to see him better and to know these new sides to him that you don't even notice when he starts to linger around you, when it looks like he doesn't quite want to leave after walking you home, how he stands just a little closer when you walk next to each other. You're just glad to give him some company that you can tell he needed.

One fateful evening he does something you've never thought possible. He kisses you. Your mind melts while you try to process what's happening, but you instinctively kiss him back before you can even tell. You've wanted this for so long. You're not sure what you expected him to feel like, but his lips are soft and a little chilly before they warm up to yours. When the kiss turns open-mouthed, he feels much more like warm cocoa, even tastes a little like it, sugary flavour lingering after you two had your desserts earlier in the evening.

You pull away and try to hold yourself together. Emotions circle through your head, and you only manage to force out the dumbest thing you could possibly say right now.

"You know I'll never be her, right?"

You're afraid you ruined this for yourself when his face falls and he stares to the side into blank space. But he looks back at you and smiles.

"I know."

He looks a little melancholic, but he kisses you again and your worries melt away with the rest of your thoughts.

——————————————————————————

Sometimes, he still looks at her like he did before, but with an additional layer of sadness and melancholy to his expression. It doesn't hurt though. Because he looks at you with the same warmth and shine, and at least, you make him smile as well.

[sleepyhoon]

BAJA BLAST - S.JY

pairing. religious stepbro!jake x fem reader genre. drabble, porn w plot warnings. virgin perv jake, stepcest, religious themes, brief mention of alcoholism & death word count. 3.5k smut tags. degradation, dry humping (i guess…), handjob, jake sucks reader’s tits thru her shirt, p in v for like 30 seconds.

a/n. hmm trying to get into darker themes to expand my genres a bit more … not too sure how i feel abt it yet but it was interesting to explore a new trope! i understand darker tropes aren’t for everyone sooo feel free to skip over if this isn’t for you!! <3

———

“You’re disgusting, and you’re not gonna find a God-fearing husband if you keep parading yourself like a slut.”

Jake pries your legs open a little wider, further situating himself between your thighs as he smears his precum on the core of your panties. He glances up at you when you scoff, knees digging into the mattress as he drags the tip of his cock along your clothed cunt. “What?” he sneers, raising a brow at you.

“You have a girlfriend and you’re getting yourself off between someone else’s legs; you’re the slut,” Jake’s cock twitches in the palm of his hand at your insult, you take a mental note of this, “and, I don’t even want a God-fearing husband, whatever that is.”

“It means a religious husband, genius. None of them probably want you anyway, so the feeling is mutual.”

Degrading as it may be, this is the shit that gets Jake off; certainly not his prude, preacher’s daughter girlfriend who only allows him to kiss her for a few seconds at a time, because anything longer than that could be “too tempting”.

He didn’t hate Chaeyoung in the slightest, but he likely wouldn’t have made all that effort to court her had he known she was saving herself for marriage in every aspect. No lingering touches, no suggestive comments, and certainly no racy photos; the poor boy would’ve been fine with her sitting on his lap every now and then if it meant he’d get to jerk off from the weight of someone on top of him.

Much like Chaeyoung, Jake was on the treacherous path of saving himself for marriage, but even he allowed himself a bit of wiggle room. Saving himself entirely for marriage was beyond unrealistic, but he was willing to at least avoid shoving his dick in someone before there was a ring on his finger if it meant he could get off in other ways.

Jake didn’t have the heart to break up with Chaeyoung just because she wanted to stay pure until marriage, but he wasn’t planning on waiting that long to finally get his dick wet. Besides, breaking up with the preacher’s daughter for seemingly no reason was a bad look, especially considering that Jake was the youth pastor at the same exact church.

Aside from the pastor and his wife, Jake and Chaeyoung were the only couple treated as royalty in their church community. They were seen as devoted followers of Christ whilst showcasing what an appropriate, God-fearing, young, Christian couple should look like. From the outside looking in (or even just looking from his girlfriend’s perspective), they truly did resemble a perfect couple.

How Jake got into jerking off between his step-sister’s thighs was a long story.

His original plan was to keep his distance when he first met you a little over a year ago, a few months before his father was preparing to marry your mother. Jake didn’t take kindly to you at first, bewildered on how such a respectful, faith-driven woman such as your mother could produce a daughter the exact opposite of her. Your outfits were entirely too skimpy, you had a horrible attitude, and you had tattoos. In Jake’s eyes, you were the definition of sin.

And that’s exactly why he felt disgusted with himself when he realized he was desperately attracted to you.

It was horrible, the countless nights he’d spent jerking himself off to the thought of you sinking down on his cock and riding him until he passed out. He’s certain his stamina is low and would probably finish in under five minutes, but it doesn’t hurt to dream; and that he does.

Until you showed up to his apartment one Monday morning with a large Baja Blast from Taco Bell and a proposition.

“Taco Bell at ten in the morning, seriously?”

You hadn’t greeted him with a “Good morning!” or “Hey, how are you?” and instead jumped the gun and went straight into, “Hey, you know how my dad died?”

Jake held his front door open, running a hand through his messy, morning hair in confusion as he responded, “Wasn’t it from, like, alcoholism?”

You rolled your eyes at him, “Yeah, but I meant like… you know that he’s dead, right? Also, Taco Bell serves breakfast, genius.”

“YN, it’s too early for this.” Jake says with a frustrated sigh, prepared to close the door in your face because it’s way too early to deal with your bullshit.

“I’m getting his inheritance from my grandmother, a huge one.”

Jake tried his best at attempting to hide the look of shock on his face. From his knowledge, your grandparents were loaded; practically rolling in money since the moment they were born. Having your father’s inheritance transferred to you was a blessing, Jake didn’t even want to imagine the useless crap you’d waste that money on.

“Congrats, did you come here to rub it in my face?”

You sighed, slightly embarrassed and a little defeated knowing you’d need Jake’s help. You felt entirely guilty for even coming to him in the first place, the two of you weren’t close and hardly spoke outside of gatherings, the only reason you showed up to his apartment was because you didn’t have his phone number; only his address you had to scroll in your GPS to find from the one time you drove him home.

“No, I’m not here to brag. I need your help.”

Jake hesitantly opened his door wider, allowing you into his home that you nervously pace around in. “Help with what?” he asked, locking the door behind him.

“I don’t get the inheritance until after my grandma dies.”

“YN, are you crazy?! I am not helping you kill your grandmother!”

“What?! Jake, no! God, just let me finish.” An awkward beat of silence passed before you continued, “She says I’m not getting the inheritance unless I get into religion and be involved in church.”

“Yeah, can’t help with that.” Jake took a moment to look you up and down, eyes focusing on the fresh tattoo right under your knee, “You’re gonna need a miracle.”

You followed behind Jake like a helpless puppy as he entered his kitchen, nervously toying with your fingers as you set your drink down on the kitchen counter, “I know we aren’t really close, and that’s partially my fault, but I’d really appreciate it if you could help me out with this.”

“With what, YN? You haven’t said what you’d need me to do.”

“Just, every so often, tell my family that I’m involved in church and help out. Shit like that.”

Jake chuckled, powering on his Nespresso, “As if that’s gonna work. You know your family goes to church, right? What are they gonna think if they don’t see you there but I’m telling them you showed up? They’d see right through it.”

“They don’t go every Sunday! I’ll just check ahead of time and go with them whenever they do go, and on the days they don’t go you’d be able to cover for me.”

Jake sighed with a shake of his head, reaching into his cabinet to retrieve a coffee mug, “It’s not just Sunday service, YN. They also go to bible study and help plan church events. Your family is very involved in the community.”

“Again, they don’t attend every event, right? I’ll go when they go and you cover when I can’t! And, besides, it’s not like they’re expecting me to go to every single event; as long as they think I’m putting in effort I’ll be fine.”

You seemed proud of yourself and your plan, which only annoyed your step-brother even further, because you clearly hadn’t thought this through.

“What’s in it for me?”

You paused, quirking a brow at Jake, “What do you mean?”

“We barely even know each other and you expect me to do this big favor for you for free? Be realistic.”

“Well, what do you want?”

“I want…half of the inheritance.”

“Jake, even you know that’s too much.”

Yeah, maybe he was being a little petty, but it was your own fault for asking for a favor like this and not offering him anything in return. He may not know the exact amount of your inheritance, but based on your reaction, it had to be a life changing amount of money; enough to give him a portion of.

“I’d rather not say what the exact amount is,” you start, looking down at your sneakers, “but it’s a lot, and I’m definitely willing to give you a fraction of it if you help me out. Just not half.”

“How much?”

“For you? Fifty-thousand.”

Jake dropped the ceramic mug to the ground, eyes widening as the cup broke and scattered across the kitchen floor. You flinched, jumping back on instinct while he remained frozen in place. “Fifty-thousand dollars?”

You wanted to tell him it’s truly nothing compared to the amount you’d have leftover, and that you’d offer him more if he insisted on it, but fifty-thousand seems to be enough for him. Instead, you nodded, carefully backing into the living room to avoid accidentally stepping on the ceramic shards.

“Does that work?”

It was too late to pretend your offer wasn’t more than he’d been expecting, but still, Jake had no reason to believe you’d hold up to your end of the deal; even if giving him fifty-thousand dollars would hardly make a dent in what you’d be receiving.

Jake shook his head, “I don’t know you, how can I trust you’ll actually give it to me?”

“You can’t just take my word?”

“The only word I take is the word of God.”

You should’ve seen that one coming.

Jake continued, “I want a down payment that I can receive now; something so that if you don’t pay me, I still got something out of our agreement.”

Intrigued, and a little frightened, you tilted your head at him, “Money?”

Jake shrugged in response, carefully stepping over the shards of ceramic, “Doesn’t have to be, your mom says you don’t have much of it.”

“I have money!”

Jake rolled his eyes, retrieving a broom and dustpan from the hallway closet, “Right, because your part-time barista job pays so much.”

You let out an exasperated sigh, “I really don’t know what else to offer you.”

“Better think of something or you’re on your own.”

The sound of ceramic clicking together as Jake cleans filled the silence, leaving you to brainstorm on what he would accept as a down payment offer. Money wasn’t an option, and you didn’t know enough about Jake’s interests to offer him some sort of bribe.

However, Jake is a man. Yes, a religious one, but still a man. If you’re lucky enough, there’s one thing you could offer that no man, not even Jake, would pass up.

“Chaeyoung is saving herself for marriage, right?”

Jake paused, suspiciously glancing at you over his shoulder, “I don’t see how that’s any of your business, but yes.”

You nodded, “Are you?”

“Again, not your business, but yes.”

“What about loopholes?”

Jake fully turned around this time, narrowing his eyes at you, “YN, where are you going with this?”

You shrugged, defensively raising your hands, “What if I was your loophole? Like, I help you get off however you want without actually having sex, so it won’t count as sinning. And, trust me, I won’t tell anyone.”

Jesus Christ, you seriously wanted the inheritance that bad?

Jake immediately wanted to accept the offer and drag you straight into his room, but he couldn’t; he had to be nonchalant about this or risk you revoking your suggestion.

He faked a look of disgust, a confused, twisted snarl on his face as he responded, “But, you’re my step-sister; isn’t that wrong?”

You shrugged, “I don’t care if you don’t. Plus, we’re adults and we barely even know each other, it’s not like our parents married years ago and we grew up as siblings.”

Fair point, not that Jake needed any further convincing.

“I’m not offering you this again, by the way. You either accept it now or you’ll never get the chance again,” you warn Jake, taking a seat down on the edge of his couch.

After a few long moments of pretending to weigh his options, Jake extended the end of the broomstick in your direction, slowly using the handle of it to lift your skirt. You didn’t react, your eyes following the edge of the broomstick as Jake continued his actions. He lowered his head slightly, confused as to why he couldn’t see your panties, until he realized.

You weren’t wearing any.

He cleared his throat, quickly pulling the broom away before leaning it up against the wall. “Sure, whatever, I guess. As long as you don’t tell anyone.”

Easiest deal of his life.

Jake made sure you kept to your end of the deal, and maybe took some advantage of it.

The first incident occurred a few weeks after the agreement, when Jake had to cover for you upon missing Sunday service due to you being hungover.

“She was up all night designing flyers for the coat drive next week,” Jake addressed your mother’s concerns, resting a comforting hand on her shoulder, “she really wanted to come to today’s service, but I told her she should get some rest.”

Your mother clutched her heart, staring up at Jake in complete awe, “YN? My YN?”

Jake nodded, a sheepish grin on his face as he responded, “The one and only.”

Your mother was skeptical, tilting her head at her stepson with her brows furrowed, “Just doesn’t sound like something she would do, unless there was something in it for her, of course. You’re not covering for her, are you?”

Jake faked a laugh, “The only thing YN is covered in is the blood of Jesus Christ.”

…And apparently Jake’s cum only a few hours later.

“…Now, guess who’s stuck designing flyers for the coat drive? Me!”

“I told you I would do it, you little brat,” your fist tightens around Jake’s clothed cock and he groans, squeezing his eyes shut at the new, uncomfortable, yet pleasant sensation.

You were slightly off-put and a little humored when Jake showed up to your apartment requesting, “A handjob but I, like, keep my boxers on. Like, just do it through my clothes.”

“Wouldn’t you rather…have your boxers off?”

“Are you nuts? I’m not letting you touch me,” he’d said, unbuttoning his dress pants as he lowered himself on your mattress.

You obliged his request, awkwardly rubbing him through his boxers, watching as his facial expressions changed so quickly and constantly. His brows would furrow then relax, lips would twitch before sinking his teeth in them, all while he tried his best not to finish embarrassingly quick.

Which didn’t work.

Jake was already on the edge of cumming when you lowered your head down to his groin, placing a small peck against the head of his clothed cock, the material sticky and wet from his precum.

His body jolts at the touch, arching off the mattress with swears spewing from his lips as his orgasm washed over him. He shoves his boxers down in record time, grinning to himself when you groan in agony when his cum lands on your cheek.

Had you been literally anyone else, maybe Jake would’ve felt bad that he came so quickly and didn’t have the energy nor interest to give you anything in return; but he didn’t. This was an agreement, and as long as the two of you held to both your ends of the deal, there was nothing to feel bad about. He didn’t owe you anything else.

Surprisingly enough, the arrangements weren’t happening as frequently as Jake hoped they would.

You immersed yourself into the church community, showing up to Sunday Worship and Bible Study as if it were a second nature. Jake should be proud, really, that you’re serious about being devoted; even if it was under the premise of obtaining your father’s inheritance, but he’s pissed.

He waited weeks for you to slip up, intentionally scheduling a Bible Study session or some church fundraiser at a time where he knows you’ll be busy and have no choice to skip, but you show up.

To every fucking event. Until you don’t.

Your younger cousin was getting baptized and you missed it, and if it weren’t for Jake making up some lame excuse and covering for your ass, your mother would’ve gone ballistic on you.

Jake’s happy to cover for you, though, knowing he’d be getting something in return not too long afterwards.

After weeks of feigning, that simple slip up was how Jake found him back between your thighs, pumping his cock along the outline of your cunt through your thin panties.

“Whatever,” you sneer, propping yourself up on your elbows, “marriage is the last thing on my mind right now.”

Jake rolls his eyes, pausing and grateful at the fact that he has a better of your tits. For some godforsaken reason, the air conditioner in your home is always on full blast, and despite assuring your guests that you don’t feel that cold, your body certainly says otherwise; if the way your hardened nippled poke through your shirt is anything to go by.

He licks his lips, pumping his dick a little faster as he leans down and traces his tongue along your clothed nipple. You’re saying something, maybe asking him what he’s doing or to keep going, but he can’t hear you; having you like this is new territory for him, nothing else in the world mattered at this moment.

His saliva stains your t-shirt as he continues, moaning against your chest as he flicks his tongue against your bud. Jake lightly traps your nipple between his teeth, tugging on it just enough to sting before releasing it once again, lapping his tongue against it as if to apologize.

Your hand moves to his hair, giving it a tight grip as Jake moans before shoving your arm away entirely. “Are you insane?! Don’t touch me!”

“But-”

“Wait.”

Fuck, that felt good. It wasn’t much but it felt so fucking good.

He needed more of you, fuck all this waiting for marriage bullshit. He tried his best for as long as he could, and he doesn’t want to fucking wait anymore.

“I wanna try something,” he mumbles, wasting no time in pushing your panties to the side. The sight of your glistening cunt is enough to make his mouth water, and Jake swears he can hear a choir of angels singing as he stares down at it in awe.

“Jake, I thought-”

“Fuck that,” Jake is quick to cut you off, already knowing what your next words were, “I don’t wanna wait anymore; show me how.”

“How to what?”

“The one thing you know how to do.”

“Oh, fuck you. You’re such an asshole.” You say, but it doesn’t stop you from maneuvering your right hand between your bodies and gripping the base of Jake’s cock, encouraging him to scoot forward as you guide him directly to your hole.

You don’t move him any further, making the choice of letting Jake decide whether he’s serious about this.

He is.

He presses the head of his cock further into you, squeezing his eyes shut as you wrap around him so snug and perfect. He stills his movements, head dropping to your shoulder with a groan.

It’s already too much and he’s not even halfway in. It feels too good, so wet and warm and tight, better than he could’ve ever imagined.

“Fuck…”, he mumbles into your shoulder, taking note of how none of this barely had an effect on you.

“It’s okay,” you assure him in an oddly sweet tone, “try moving.”

“I can’t, think I’m gonna come if I do.”

“You’ll be fine, just-”

Jake lets out a loud, frustrated groan as he raises his head away from your shoulder, “You wouldn’t fucking get it.”

Jake spent too many countless nights imagining this very scenario, and now that it’s finally happening he can barely even handle it. Everything feels too good and it’s all too much for him to bear.

He pulls his dick out of you entirely, giving himself a few hard pumps as his impending orgasm approaches. It looks almost painful, the way he’s gripping and pumping his cock, how red his tip is, you’re surprised a few tears don’t slip from his eyes when he finally does finish, painting your thighs with his cum as his body trembles.

He rests a shaky hand on your knee, grip on his cock softening as he makes a mess across your panties, thick, white ropes of cum staining your underwear.

“Fuck,” Jake mumbles to himself as he steadies his breathing. He’s never came this hard before, to the point where he feels exhausted and genuinely empty.

“Are you…okay?” You ask, cringing at the sticky feeling between your thighs.

Jake nods slowly, sitting himself up as he tucks his now-softened cock back into his boxers, “Let’s, uh, get cleaned up so we can go.”

His head his spinning as he rises from your bed, a dizzy feeling coming over him as he stands. Fuck, maybe this is why he should’ve waited for marriage.

“Go where?”

“Bible study is starting soon,” he explains, “if we leave now we can stop by Taco Bell beforehand, I need a Baja Blast.”