#and now I think that line hits a lot harder

[lastofthe20thcenturygirls]

tho mohabbatein isn't even that great but it always gets me that raj aryan didn't come back to gurukul to get revenge on the man who hated love sm he ruined raj's future just because he was in love with that man's daughter but came back for the lonely father of the girl he will always love and considered him as his own father

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

because im less breakable than you

[koushirouizumi]

(Because I'm still really happy about this discussion and I need to rewatch Fiddler on the Roof while cross-checking the full Yiddish script---)

For reference, there's Yiddish version of "Do You Love Me?" at that link (if slightly off sync), the English version of same song is here, and the full Yiddish script can be found here! (If the links die down the road, please check the script!)

The fundamental difference between Fiddler on the Roof and Fidler Afn Dakh:

English Tevye: Tradition!

Yiddish Tevye: Got iz a foter un heylik iz zayn toyre!

[producedbysohyun]

A Not So Secret Secret pt.2

Kang Dae-ho x pregnant! Reader

Summary: Still trapped in the games, you depend on Dae-ho for comfort and protection as you face the games, sickness, and constant fear.

Warnings: Reader is replacing number 222 but has no correlation with 333, Reader is pregnant, mentions of killing and stuff like that, might be slightly inaccurate, Not proofread.

wc: 3.2k

a/n: This took along time please enjoy!!

Pt.1 masterlist

You wake up. Now your third day of being in the squid games.

As the speaker goes off telling everyone that its morning time you sit up, groaning softly as your neck is aching from using Dae-ho's arm as a pillow the whole night. Your group around you wakes up as well, everyone looking dazed as they still find it hard to process the situation they are in.

Everyone in the game lines up and gets their breakfast, a piece of bread and some milk.

"what kind of breakfast is this" you think to yourself, your hunger really getting to you.

Despite the disappointment of bread for breakfast, you go and sit where your group would usually sit, waiting for everyone in the group to join as well.

You sit there, mindlessly eating your bread until Dae-ho comes and sits next to you.

"Hi baby how are you feeling?' he asks, giving you a small smile.

You just pout. "hungry.."

He frowns before giving you his bread.

"Nooo its fine..." You try to protest, knowing its not gonna get you anywhere.

He smiles "We've been through this already, I'm fine" He reassures you.

You frown and take the bread. You feel so useless, just eating peoples food even though it was offered to you.

"ahh.. actually it's fine really.. you need to eat..." you say as you hand the food back to him, your thoughts getting the best of you.

He looks at you softly before trying to negotiate. "How about we split it? You know what you have right now is not enough for you at all.."

You give in, to hungry to say no, "ok.." You smile as he gives you half his bread, though your piece is much bigger than his.

By now the rest of the group has joined you guys and all of you are just talking about whatever comes to mind, The next game, escaping, the fight that might take place tonight, and stuff like that.

Suddenly, the room starts spinning, and a wave of nausea hits you. You feel your head spin, and before you can react, you quickly push yourself up and speed-walk to the bathroom, trying to keep your balance. Dae-ho calls your name, but you don’t respond, too focused on getting to the bathroom. Once inside, you rush into a stall and throw up everything you just ate. Afterward, you sit on the cold bathroom floor, your back against the stall, too weak to move. The nausea lingers, and you just close your eyes, wishing for it to pass.

"it must just be morning sickness.." you thought to yourself.

Even though you've only experienced it a few times, the games seem to be making it lot worse, most likely due to the amount of stress you're under.

You must've been in there for awhile as the voice on the speaker sounds once again. "please follow the guards to your next game."

You quickly get up, flushing the toilet and running out of the bathroom back over to your group.

Dae-ho looks panicked before he spots you. "Are you ok???" he asks worriedly.

You nod, panting from running so fast. "I just felt a little sick that's all."

The group exchanges worried glances, their faces filled with concern, though there isn't much they can do.

You step into the colorful room with stairs and begin to climb, but each step feels heavier. You struggle a bit, the stairs feeling like a mountain to your exhausted and sick body, and they only get harder as you go. Halfway up, you lose your footing and stumble, nearly falling backward.

Luckily for you Dae-ho was right behind you and quickly put his hands on your waist, steadying you.

"are you ok??" he asks, worry in this voice. "Do you need me to carry you?"

"N-no I got it.. I'm alright.." You regain your balance and continue walking up the stairs.

Dae-ho stays close behind you on high alert just incase you stumble again.

As you guys get to the next game you take in your surroundings. The room has a red circle platform with horses in the middle. A multitude of colorful doors are placed on the walls of the room and the ceiling is almost like one of a carnival tent with white and red stripes on it.

"this game is called mingle." The speaker says.

"Ohh.. we used to play something like this when I was younger, but you would have to get in groups by hugging" Jung-bae says to the group.

You feel a bit more relieved as he says that. At least someone knows what they are doing.

The speaker goes off a again. "all players will stand on the platform and as it spins. When the music stops a random number will be called out. You will have to form groups of that number and go into one of the rooms before the timer is up or you will be eliminated."

After the announcement your group immediately starts talking about what to do.

Dae-ho turns to you. "No matter what just stay with me.. ok?"

You nod, not even wanting to think about the two of you getting separated in a place like this.

Your group manages to get somewhat of a plan before the game starts, the platform starting to spin as some children's song plays.

You tightly grip onto Dae-ho's hand, wanting to insure you guys won't be separated and as you do so the platform abruptly stops.

"ten" the speaker says as a 30 second timer shows up.

Your group of five desperately searches for another group of five but only finds one of four. Suddenly, number 120, a member of the group of four runs off and grabs a random girl.

"we have ten now! Go to room 44! The green door!" she calls out.

All ten of you quickly run into the room, the doors locking soon behind you. Your hand never leaving Dae-ho's.

The ten of you all breathe heavily as the sound of gun shots and people begging for their lives are heard outside of the room.

You lean back against the wall, exhausted and scared. Your hands are shaking like crazy and it catches Dae-ho's attention. His thumb gently caresses the back of your hand, trying to comfort you the best he can in the moment. Then, the random lady starts yelling.

“You’re alive because of me!” She exclaims before turning to Gi-hun, giving him a creepy look. “It seems there’s a reason you’ve survived longer than you were supposed to.” She says as she smirks.

The lady then turns to you and just stares at you creepily for a bit, Dae-ho keeping a close eye on her to make sure she doesn’t try anything.

Then, to your luck, doors unlock and all of you walk out. You cringe as you step in a pile of blood on the floor, but at this point you're pretty used to it.

Everyone gets back on the platform and then, it starts to spin, the song ringing loudly in your ears. Your heart feels like it's gonna beat out of your chest but you try to focus on the game as best as you can.

The platform stops once again. "four" the speaker says.

You all look at each other. There are five of you. You need four.

Gi-hun speaks up, not afraid to sacrifice himself. "you four go-"

"No, go ahead guys." Young-il cuts him off, already walking away, not giving any room for protest.

Gi-hun just stands there before getting dragged away by Jung-bae.

"we have no choice come on!" Jung-bae exclaims to all of you.

You all quickly run into a greyish purplish room. But Gi-hun hesitate to close the door as he's looking for Young-il.

The timer starts to get it it's last seconds before Gi-hun finally closes the door.

More gunshots are heard outside but you don't care at this point, You're just grateful you're alive.

The door soon unlock and everyone repeats the same process.

The platform starts to spin and you stumble a bit. Dae-ho quickly stables you, still holding onto your hand.

you squeeze his hand tighter as the platform stops.

"three" The speaker says.

"you three go- me and Young-il will find one more person!" Gi-hun says urgently.

You, Dae-ho, and Jung-bae waste no time running into one of the empty rooms.

Suddenly a random guy runs into your guys' room and you being the only girl and the weakest, he grabs you and try's to drag you out.

Dae-ho and Jung-bae both react at the same time. Dae-ho gently pushes you behind him as Him and Jung-bae shove the guy out of the room.

You breathe heavily, trying to figure out what just happened before Dae-ho turns around and bends down to your level.

"are you ok?" He asks, eyeing you everywhere for any sort of injury.

You just nod breathlessly and lean against him, putting your head against his chest as the door locks. He gently puts his arms around you, kissing your head softly.

"thank you guys" you say to the two boys with as much gratefulness as possible.

"of course" Jung-bae nods as he breathes heavily.

The doors soon unlock and Dae-ho lets go of you, taking your hand again as the three of you walk out of the room and reunite with the rest of your group.

You all look at each other relieved everyone survived before getting on the platform for what felt like the tenth time.

The song began once again as the platform spun slowly.

"Six" the speaker called out as the spinning stopped.

Your group turns to the group of four that went with a few games ago. You can't exactly tell what they are saying as everyone is yelling. They agree on something and you feel Dae-ho start running somewhere with you and the group of four following behind. He opens a door but the room already has people in it. The people in the room slammed the door shut before the same player from a few games ago, 120, started yelling. "Over here! This room is empty! hurry!"

All five of you started running towards the door and you all got inside on time except number 095 had fallen. 120 tried to go and save her but was shoved back in by some guy and before she could do anything, the doors shut and locked.

You had no idea what was happening all you saw was the young girls eyes from the rectangle hole in the door.

"unnie..." She said, fear in her voice.

"young-mi!" Player 120 exclaimed as she ran to the door, trying her absolute hardest to open it, but there was nothing she could do, the young girl had been shot.

Player 120 immediately went over to player 333, the guy who had stopped her from saving Young-mi, and started yelling at him.

Player 333 snapped back. "If you would've saved her you would all be dead right now! I'm the reason all of you are alive! Am I wrong?!"

You hesitantly spoke up. "He's right..."

Dae-ho soon followed after you, also agreeing.

Player 120 just stayed quiet as the door unlocked and everyone sorrowfully walked out of the room.

You all got back on the platform and Jung-bae turned to Gi-hun.

"what do you think it will be this time?" Jung-bae asked.

"two" Young-il asnwered.

Everyone in the group looked at him with worry. "why?" Jung-bae questioned.

"There are 126 people left, and there are 50 rooms. The rest will be killed." Young-il answered as the platform abruptly stopped again.

"two" the speaker called out.

You had no time to think before Dae-ho grabbed your hand and started running with you to a room.

While you were running some guy without a teammate shoved you and you fell to the floor, your arm going right into your stomach.

Dae-ho reacted quickly, immediately grabbing the guy and punching him before shoving him to give himself some more time to grab you.

You feel yourself being quickly lifted up off the floor and being carried into a room.

Dae-ho sets you down on the floor, the door locking as he looks you over frantically. "baby?? are you ok???"

All you can do is whimper, you had hit your head pretty hard when you fell and your arm had also went right into your stomach.

"Can you talk to me??" He grabs your face softly and makes you look at him.

"my head hurts" you say quietly.

Dae-hos face lights up, happy you can atleast talk, but he still looks very concerned. "yeah? Did you hit it?" he asks with worry in his voice.

You nod as the doors unlock.

He looks at the door before look back at you "can you walk?'

You nod, knowing its probably a lie but you get up nonetheless, slightly stumbling.

Dae-ho puts an arm around your waist. "lean on me baby.." He orders sofly.

You do just that, depending on him to hold you up as the both of you walk out of the door and reunite with your group.

Gi-hun sees the state you're in and looks visibly worried. "are you ok y/n?"

You nod, too out of it to speak.

Gi-hun, not believing you looks at Dae-ho, hoping he'll provide an answer.

Dae-ho just gives him an unsure look and shrugs as they walk out of the game room.

Dae-ho carefully helps you navigate your way down the stairs. "are you sure you don't want me to carry you?"

You nod, not wanting to be a burden on him. "I'm alright Dae.."

He sighs and nods as the two of you make your way down the stairs into the main area.

Your group sat in their usual area while you got some rest. They discussed the vote that would be taking place soon and how they only need seven players to change from O to X to be able to go home.

As the voice form the speaker calls out that the vote is starting, Dae-ho goes over to the sleeping area and softly wakes you up.

You groan softly "Do I have to..."

Dae-ho looks at you softly "yes.. we are voting now.."

You whine and sit up, on the verge of tears as you just want to sleep and go home.

Dae-ho sees this and frowns. "I know baby I'm sorry.." He says as he helps you up.

*time skip to vote*

You all have finished voting and it was 49 X and O 50. There was one person left to vote. Young-il. But he looked very suspicious. You crossed your fingers as Dae-ho put his head in your shoulder, not being able to watch.

*beep*

The buzzer went off and Young-il had voted for X. It was a tie. Everyone from your group sighed in relief. The guard's announced that since it was a tie there would be another vote tomorrow.

A bit after the vote everyone lined up for dinner. Your group sat back in their spot and you just sat in bed and ate. Dae-ho decided to give you some space as your mood wasn't good and he didn't wanna bother you.

As you ate in your bed you could here people yelling and you see Dae-ho in the middle of it. Confused you stand up and try to go over to him but the old lady grabs your wrist, stopping you.

"Please don't get involved..." She says softly.

You sigh and just sit next to her. "what are they fighting over.."

"We were trying to get some of the people that voted for O to vote for X but they just got offended.." She explains.

You just sigh and realize you've eaten all your kimbap.

"Did you eat enough?" The old lady asks softly.

You smile at her. "ya.. this was probably one of the most filling meals since we've got here.."

You and her have a small conversation before Dae-ho comes back over, looking pretty pissed.

"what happened?" you ask him.

He looks at you, his expression softening. "It's nothing baby don't worry about it." he said, not wanting to stress you out anymore.

As your group sat there and talked you ended up falling asleep, using Dae-ho's shoulder as a pillow while he had his arm around your waist, his hand resting on your lap.

You woke up to the sound of the speaker saying players had been eliminated. Confused, you looked at the group. "what happened?"

Gi-hun looked at you and replied. "there must've been a fight."

And he was right. The people on O team soon started saying that X tried to fight them first and the people on the X team saying that O tried to fight them first.

You cuddle closer to Dae-ho, not liking the situation you're in currently. He rubs your side softly as he watches the commotion that is currently going on. While everything is happening, Gi-hun takes the opportunity to tell everyone there is gonna be a fight tonight as how they are all gonna hide until its over and stuff.

You, on the other hand are freaking out, scared for your life, and your baby's. You cuddle into Dae-ho more as he listens to Gi-hun talk and you silently cry. When Dae-ho pulls away to go to the sleeping area, he sees your face.

"hey baby whats wrong are you ok??" He asks worriedly.

"I'm scared..." you admit.

"hey.. look at me.." He makes you look at him. "You know I would never let anything happen to you.. I would protect you with my life..."

You continue crying softly. "But the baby- what if- earlier when I fell my arm hit my stomach really hard so I don't even know if it's ok.."

Dae-ho looks concerned and puts his hand on your bump gently. "Does it hurt at all?" He asks.

"N-not right now but it hurt a lot before-" you stutter.

"Hey.. breathe.. You and the baby will be ok..And I will do everything I possibly can too ensure that.. I promise.." He says softly, now holding your face again.

Your nerves calm down a lot.. You trust him with your life.. you always have so why would he lie now? he would'nt.

He smiles at you and wipes your tears before softly kissing you. You kiss back and it just feels like everything you were scared of before doesn't matter anymore.

Your kiss was suddenly interrupted by the sound of a voice over the speaker, announcing that it was time for bed, followed by the lights flicking off. The abruptness of it snapped you both back to reality, and for a moment, you just sat there, a little dazed. The atmosphere shifted as the intimate moment faded into something more serious. You exchanged a glance with Dae-ho, and without a word, you both made your way toward the sleeping area, the mood now quiet as the both of you sat with the rest of the group and waited for the fight to start like Gi-hun said.

As you all settled in, you felt Dae-ho's arm slip around you, pulling you close. Seeking comfort, you cuddled into him, letting the warmth and safety of his embrace ease your worries. You grew so comfortable, the tension fading, and for a moment, you forgot that danger could be just around the corner. With Dae-ho by your side, you felt secure enough to drift off to sleep, knowing he would protect you. And soon the world outside fading into the background.

a/n: And once again I suck at making endings. but I hope you guys enjoyed! I don't know if ill make a part three unless you guys really want it. But if I did make one I would have to wait till Season 3 comes out or just make up my own ending. what ever you guys prefer!

[moonlightwritingf1]

Straight to you | LN4

✨summary ━━━━━━━ Y/N, captivated by photos of her friend Lando Norris at a gala, sends a bold, flirtatious text that shifts their dynamic. Days later, Lando surprises her at her apartment, confessing his feelings and revealing he can't hold back anymore. 

✨pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

✨word count ━━━━━━━ 1.2k

Y/N stretched out on her couch, a glass of wine in hand as her phone screen illuminated her face. She had spent the past hour scrolling through social media, and her feed was flooded with pictures and videos from the FIA Gala in Rwanda.  And as much as she hated to admit it, she couldn’t stop scrolling through them.

Lando Norris was everywhere: standing proudly with his team, laughing with his peers, and posing for the cameras. But it was one photo in particular that had her captivated—Lando in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, grinning like he knew he owned the room.

She sighed, smiling softly to herself. Over the past year, Lando had gone from a casual acquaintance to someone she truly valued. They’d met through mutual friends at a gathering in London, and their banter had been immediate and effortless. They weren’t best friends by any means, but their connection had grown naturally over time.

He had even invited her to a few races over the past year. At first, she’d assumed it was just because she was someone fun to have around. But there were moments—small, fleeting moments—when she caught him looking at her in a way that made her wonder if there was more to it.

The truth was, she found him attractive. Too attractive, in fact. But it was a line she’d refused to cross, afraid of ruining the friendship they’d built.

As the picture of Lando lingered on her screen, she opened their chat.

Y/N: Congrats again, Lan! You were incredible this season. So proud of you.

She reread the text twice, debating if it sounded too sentimental. After all, they didn’t exchange heartfelt messages often. Usually, it was teasing, inside jokes, and the occasional check-in. But tonight, pride for him outweighed her hesitation, and she hit send.

The reply came quicker than she expected.

Lando: Thanks, Y/N. Means a lot coming from you.

She smiled, staring at the screen. She could stop there, but the wine in her system and the tuxedo picture still sitting in her camera roll gave her an unexpected burst of boldness.

Y/N: Also… you looked insanely hot at the gala. Just saying.

The moment she hit send, her eyes widened in horror. “Oh no,” she muttered, setting her wine down and pressing her hands to her cheeks, which were now burning.

Her phone buzzed almost immediately.

Lando: Hot, huh? Didn’t know you thought of me like that.

She groaned, biting her lip as she typed back.

Y/N: Ignore that. I didn’t mean to send it.

Lando: Yeah, right. Totally accidental.

Y/N: Lando.

Lando: What? I’m just saying, I don’t mind. In fact, I think we should talk more about how hot you think I am.

She couldn’t help but laugh, even as she shook her head.

Y/N: You’re impossible.

Lando: And you’re blushing. Don’t lie.

She threw her phone onto the couch, but when it buzzed again, curiosity got the better of her.

Lando: For the record, I thought you looked pretty hot at Silverstone this year. Just saying.

Her heart skipped a beat. Was he flirting? No, he had to be joking—right?

Y/N: Are you flirting with me, Norris?

Lando: Maybe. Is it working?

Her stomach flipped, but she decided to match his energy.

Y/N: I don’t know. Maybe try harder next time.

Their playful exchange continued for another half hour, and while neither of them outright said what they were really thinking, the subtext was undeniable. By the time she went to bed, she couldn’t stop smiling, even if part of her wondered if they’d crossed a line.

Two days later, Y/N was in her tiny London apartment, halfway through cooking dinner, when a knock on the door startled her. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Wiping her hands on a towel, she walked to the door, pulling it open cautiously.

“Lando?” she asked, her voice filled with disbelief.

He stood there, suitcase in one hand and a small smile on his face. He was dressed casually in a hoodie and joggers, his hair slightly messy from what she assumed was a long flight.

“Surprise,” he said, his tone light.

Her mouth opened, then closed as she tried to process what she was seeing. “What are you doing here? Weren’t you supposed to go to Monaco after the gala?”

“I was,” he admitted, stepping inside as she moved to let him in. “But I decided London sounded better.”

She closed the door behind him, her heart racing. “Why?”

His suitcase hit the floor with a thud as he turned to face her. The playful glint in his eyes softened, replaced by something more serious.

“Because you’re here,” he said simply.

Her heart stopped for a moment, and she struggled to find the right words. “Lando, I—”

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he interrupted, taking a step closer. “That night, the things we said… it made me realize I’ve been holding back. And I don’t want to do that anymore.”

She blinked, her throat dry. “Holding back from what?”

“From this,” he said, his voice quieter now. “From telling you how I feel. I thought I could keep it casual, keep pretending we were just friends. But I can’t. Not when I know you feel something too.”

Her breath caught. “What makes you so sure I feel something?”

He grinned, leaning in just slightly. “You called me hot. Twice.”

She let out a breathless laugh, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he admitted. “But I’m also here. For you. So tell me, Y/N… do you feel it too?”

She hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “Yes. I’ve felt it for a long time. I just didn’t want to lose you.”

His smile softened, and he reached out to brush a strand of hair from her face. “You’re not going to lose me. If anything, you’re stuck with me now.”

Before she could overthink it, he closed the distance between them, cupping her face and pressing his lips to hers. The kiss was everything she’d dreamed of—soft yet urgent, full of all the feelings they’d both been holding back.

Her hands found their way to his chest, gripping the fabric of his hoodie. The kiss deepened as they moved toward the couch, their hands exploring, their whispered confessions tumbling out between kisses.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted this?” he murmured, his lips trailing down her neck.

“Probably not as long as I have,” she shot back, pulling him closer.

“Wait,” she murmured again against his mouth, pulling back slightly.

“What?” he asked, his voice husky.

“You came all the way to London for me?”

He smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I’d fly to the ends of the earth for you.”

Her heart swelled at his words, and she pulled him back into another kiss, this one even more passionate than the last.

That night, months of tension and longing melted away as they finally let themselves feel everything they’d been suppressing.

Hours later, they lay tangled together on the couch, her head resting on his chest as his fingers lazily traced circles on her arm. She looked up at him and smiled, their embrace a quiet testament to their closeness.

“I’m glad you came,” she said softly.

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

[gutsby]

Halftime

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: A chance meeting a week before Thanksgiving leaves you and your dad’s best friend to handle your feelings the only way you know how: fucking on the couch when your dad falls asleep during the game.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected piv. Age gap. Soft dom!Joel. Daddy kink. Praise kink (!) Makeup sex. Pussy pronouns.

Note: ‘Or maybe on a fifty yard line watchin’ Bama beat the hell out of Tennessee’ is a line from Riley Green’s ‘Hell of a Way to Go.’ I was in Knoxville when we played this year, but in my fic, Alabama wins. If you’re a Vols fan, I’m sorry. And RMFT.

Word count: 10.5k

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Guilt brought you home, and liquor helped you stay.

These were two of the shittiest things a daughter could admit, but the fact was that you simply wouldn’t be here if your dad hadn’t broken his leg at work last week. That you wanted to help, but your patience was thin, and the only way you knew how to reconcile the two was to drink. A lot. Friday you came home, and by midday Saturday, sometime around eleven or twelve, you were plastered.

Staggering up the front steps of your childhood home with Theresa Servopoulos—newfound friend from camp and the heaviest drinker you’d met in a long, long time—hot on your heels. You’d just had brunch, and the meal was mostly liquid. Bottomless mimosas had been Frank’s idea, and when his husband Bill had offered to be the DD after the fact, you’d had no choice but to accept, really. You drank your weight in citrus and champagne and spent the whole morning getting to know Tess’s friends. As your state of intoxication progressed, you’d told them your troubles and all that had been plaguing you lately.

Now, hours later, you didn’t want to think at all.

You wanted to sit your ass down on the couch, turn the TV on to Disney+, and spend the next three to thirteen more binging Star Wars spin-offs and discussing with Tess at length whether Katee Sackhoff or Timothy Olyphant was the more fuckable supporting actor.

“Honestly…I’d let Jabba the Hutt hit,” you confessed, slurring your words a little as you fumbled for your key.

“You’re fucking lying,” Tess half-groaned, half-laughed.

She watched you try and jam metal into metal and fail twice before steeling herself against a rocking chair and reaching out her hand. You waved it away. At a distance, you heard the hum of an engine and another voice, loud:

“You ladies need a little help over there or wha-at?”

That was Frank. He was arguably the most drunk out of the three of you and hanging his handsome, greying head out of the passenger side of Bill’s Chevy S-10. He’d seen you try and fail with the key, too, and seemed more eager than ever to lend a hand, while his husband was likely kicking himself for ever offering to drive you back.

Tess gripped the porch chair harder and gestured, dazed.

“Give her a minute, she’s—” She hiccuped once. “—intelligent and entirely capable. She’s got this, OK?”

You didn’t. You really didn’t. And by the way you were finessing this key you didn’t feel too fucking smart either. You crammed your key against the tight, rigid slot in the front door of your home, missed it completely, and then wondered, dimly, how men were able to aim their dicks.

How Joel ever managed to fit that massive, throbbing—

“Fuck!” you cursed, kicking the doorframe with a huff.

The periphery of your vision was spinning and swimming a little now, and before you knew it, Tess had snatched your keychain from out of your hand. She got to work.

And while she did, you turned back to Bill and Frank, whose truck was still idling quietly in your driveway.

Frank had an eyebrow raised. His chin was in his palm, and his elbow was planted in the car’s open window. With that look alone, you knew what he wanted to say.

“Fine…fine,” you capitulated in a loud, droning shout. Head spinning, “You can give him my fucking number.”

Frank grinned at that.

“No shit?” he yelled back.

“Yeah. I really am that horny.”

From somewhere in the car, Bill groaned his disapproval. Frank’s smile only widened. It’d been his idea to set you up with one of their neighbors after you’d divulged all of your dating life turmoils over eggs benedict and grits that morning—how fucking your dad’s best friend had, in fact, not been the wisest decision and you needed something new to get your mind off the man for a little while. Frank had been all too happy to offer supplying your number to the so-called ‘dreamboat’ next door to them. Initially, you’d brushed it off, but the longer you stood on this porch contemplating the hellish few days you’d be spending at home for Thanksgiving, the more you drunkenly reasoned a dick might do you some good.

And if it wasn’t from Joel Miller, even better. You leaned against the nearest porch column and pointed at Frank.

Then at Bill, squinting dumbly and faux-accusingly.

“I’m desperate, but I’m trusting y’all, too, alright?”

You wanted to get fucked, not fucked over, again. Frank seemed to understand right away and nodded his head.

“I’ll give him your number, tell him you’re hot—which you are—and you two can work something out. It’ll be fine.”

He pointed back at you, still smiling, and you hoped it would be. Behind you, Tess had solved the puzzle of the chrome-plated house key, and had thrust the door open. She stumbled inside, and your feet started to follow hers.

“Tell Tess to text us your number!” Frank had to cup his hands saying it, as Bill was already starting to pull away.

You nodded and waved. Watched the world veer sideways and your kind, considerate, hammered new friend-of-a-friend repeat how great this was going to be—this guy’ll do you so good you’ll forget Joel exists—while you backed into the house. A gust of warm air from inside pricked at your skin, and along with that touch came the tiniest trace of hope. A sanguine sort of warmth that twisted low in your gut and made you smile.

And cup your hands, as Frank had, while calling to him:

“How old is Mr. Dreamboat, anyway?!”

The truck was crunching its ways down the gravel drive. Its path was slow, though, and Frank’s voice was clear.

“FORTY-ONE!”

It was as though you were hearing those words in a dream. You almost couldn’t help what you said next.

Fanning yourself, you yelled back, “I lo-o-o-ve that!”

“What?!”

Frank hadn’t heard you. They were farther away now.

You had to practically scream it now, but you were drunk enough that you didn’t really care. Tess was entertained, half-hunched on the floor and trying to work off her shoes while she laughed at this stupid exchange.

In truth, it didn’t matter how loud you yelled, because you lived on several dozen acres of land, and your dad wasn’t home. He’d told you that he was hitching a ride with Tommy to their usual weekend haunt to watch the Alabama-Tennessee game, and it started an hour ago. The house was empty, and you were free to screech.

“I said, ‘I love that’!”

“Yeah? Love what?!”

Frank was hanging halfway out of the passenger window by now, and his face was flushed with moronic humor.

Bill was probably grinding his teeth together as he drove.

“O-O-O-OLD MEN!” you shrilled, as loud as you could.

Next thing you knew, Tess was on the floor. Wheezing.

It didn’t matter whether Frank could hear you now; evidently, he’d gotten the message. Their truck was crawling down your drive with a low, rumbling crackle, and the eyes that were still glued to yours were shining.

Before they turned out of sight, Frank waved again and blew you a kiss, as you and Tess had done to him at some point earlier that day. He slipped back into the car, and your sides were nearly aching from how hard you were giggling—nothing was even that particularly funny, but with a nice noontime buzz and Tess’s relentless cackling from across the foyer, you couldn’t help it. You shut the door, staggered over, and were about to drop.

Right when you were about to collapse, though, Tess wobbled up. You saw her raise two hands in front of her.

“I’m— I’m gonna pee…or puke…possibly,” she warned.

That wasn’t good.

You pointed up.

“First door on your left. Do you need any—”

But Tess was already staggering off. You might’ve laughed again, and trailed after her with a plea to try not to projectile vomit all over those nice festive towels your dad had bought, but the moment came and went quick. In fact, it wasn’t even brought to an end by your friend’s departure but rather the screech of her feet on the floor.

Nearly tripping over herself to leave, then crashing into something else before she could. You heard a thwack.

Then her huff, ‘Fuck. Sorry!’ And you turned.

You looked up and cursed.

Again, you felt like you might be in a dream. Only this time, the sight had more of a nightmarish hue, and you had only to grip the edge of a chair—no, a table, a side table—beside you in the hall to keep yourself upright.

Your sweet, sloppy-drunk friend had run straight into Joel. She was raising her hands again and saying sorry.

You could tell she meant it, too. She was just shaking her head, appearing to try and rid herself of the stunned, dumbfounded feelings, when she tilted her chin up.

Then, somehow even brighter, she smiled in recognition.

“Lucien Flores!”

Not missing a beat, like you knew she wouldn’t:

“You fucking prick.”

Of course she was sober enough to remember his face. The time she’d mistaken him for an uptight FEDRA counselor back at camp. How you’d fucked him on her bunk. All the shit-talking you’d been doing about him since, too. You knew she wasn’t a woman to mince words, so it didn’t surprise you in the slightest when next she placed a hand on his pec, patted it lightly and added:

“You’re an asshole. A spineless, slimy, sad sack of shit.”

Joel blinked as she walked past him, toward the stairs.

“Good to see you, too, Tess.”

“Eat shit and die.”

“Theresa.”

You hadn’t even meant to say the last aloud; it just came out. Tess was holding the rail, going slow but determined to get upstairs without losing her food all over the floor.

The next thing you heard was the slam of the bathroom door. You winced and thought of your dad’s decorative towels a moment. That thought was then supplanted by another, though you pretended not to feel it, at least outwardly. You brushed past Joel to go to the kitchen.

Why was he here? He surely wouldn’t have come unless your father was there, and your dad was supposed to be watching the Vols take the ass-beating of a lifetime from the Tide. Or maybe vice-versa. You weren’t sure how the latter was doing since Saban retired. You rubbed one temple as you opened a cabinet and looked for a glass.

Reconsidering, you opted for a plastic cup instead.

Your head was throbbing as you walked to the sink.

You sensed you likely weren’t of a mind to be holding anything fragile, and the second that followed only proved it. A footfall sounded by the kitchen island, and you flinched, dropping your cup like a fucking idiot.

“Where’s my dad?” you blurted out, not thinking.

You didn’t want his voice to be the first to fill the silence. You picked your cup off the floor and turned on the tap.

More silence followed. You couldn’t be sure if it was your own drunken paranoia or a genuine feeling of two eyes on your back, but your skin bristled. You were prepared to pose the question again when your answer came in the form of a new sound: not Joel’s voice, but another’s.

An announcer, apparently. You turned your head and saw ESPN on the living room TV, where the game was playing. In front of the screen, your dad was supine on his recliner. His jaw hung slack, and his eyes were shut.

So much for those morning beers with Tommy.

His leg was armored with a boot: a real, no-bullshit cast meant to protect the tibia he’d shattered, propped up in front of him while the other dangled haphazardly from the chair. You watched him, feeling an odd mix of pity, nausea, and love, and for a second, you didn’t think to move. This man was the reason you were home, after all—and why Joel was, too. You almost forgot your anger.

Your cup was full. Overflowing. You turned off the sink, then poured what excess you could as your hand shook.

You shouldn’t have been holding anything in that moment, off-kilter and unnerved as you were, but you wanted to seem occupied. You inhaled and started past Joel again, who was leaning against the counter, quiet.

He still didn’t talk, and let you stroll about half a foot in front of him before you felt the cup lift out of your hand.

“Hey—” you started.

But Joel was resuming your path before you could finish. He’d snagged the water from your grasp and made his way out of the kitchen, calmly, and you didn’t have to ask to know where he was going. You felt a pang of rekindled resentment but said nothing, knowing that was useless.

Arrogant motherfucker. Patronizing asshole. Clearly, you couldn’t be trusted to carry a cup of fucking water up the stairs in your own home, so he had had to do it for you. You went over to your father in the living room, blinking through a dozen more pissed off thoughts, when you glanced down at one of your hands again. You winced.

Stop shaking.

You needed to stay busy. Make use of those dumb, trembling hands while Joel was here and not let him see that it was all from memories of him—not the mimosas—that you couldn’t keep a steady hold to save your life.

You started to clean, mindlessly. Cleared the old coffee table of its manifold beer cans and plates of stale pizza. You walked with an unsteady gait, the room still tilting a little, but you ended up getting a decent amount cradled in your arms and into the trash or the sink shortly after.

You had just taken a bite of a slice of pepperoni and made a face when your dad shifted in his seat, letting out a grunt. Still unconscious, he rubbed at his arms. The house around him was warm, but never quite enough for a man who appeared to have been born cold-blooded. After years of this, you knew the routine; you dropped your pizza, went to the thermostat, and cranked it to 75.

Less than a minute later, it came: “Boiling us alive, huh?”

It was the first you’d heard from Joel since he spoke his curt greeting to Tess. You were over by the closet getting a blanket, and Joel was stood in the doorway, frowning.

You turned, holding up the big wool throw for him to see before you went back over to your dad in the recliner.

“He needs it,” you replied, gaze averted.

“By ‘it’ you mean his electric bill gone through the roof?”

He could be such a father sometimes. The worst kind.

“No, keeping him fucking warm, Joel.”

And the end of the last sentence you hadn’t meant to be so loud. Or mean. You didn’t really care whether it offended him, but the thought of waking your dad to hear that—being rude to your ‘Uncle Joel,’ as your dad had so innocently called the man last month—was awful. You squinted seeing him stir under the blanket, but then he turned to the side and snored even louder. You sighed.

“Doctor’s got him on some heavy painkillers. He’s been out since before the last game even ended,” Joel said.

You glanced at the TV. The game was crawling to halftime at a snail’s pace, by the looks of it. You smiled, seeing those puke-pumpkin-hued fucks getting smoked. In a second, though, the curve of your lips was fading.

“Will you stop?”

Your voice was shrill. You hurried over to Joel, who was busy dicking around with the thermostat and trying to get it down to 68 degrees—freezing, in your dad’s mind.

“It’s too hot.”

“No, it’s not.”

“You’re being—”

“This isn’t your fuckin’ house, Miller! Quit!”

“Yell a little louder, why don’t y—” Joel began to scold.

You wouldn’t let him. Of all things to get on your ass about now, volume wasn’t the hill he’d die on today. Before you even realized what you two were doing, you shoulder-checked him like you might do an annoying brother, and his arm wound swiftly around your front. It didn’t hurt, but it sure as hell made you mad to be held.

You made a jab at Joel’s ribs and ignored the grunt from him. Anger was a natural defense—your default state.

Every last semi-tranquil encounter you’d shared with someone you cared about before was always marred by rage at some point, and with Joel, it came as easy as breathing. If you weren’t tearing each other’s clothes off, you were ripping him a new one, or he was grating your nerves. You didn’t get along, and you likely never would.

That didn’t mean there wasn’t need there somewhere. You just smothered it with something hostile, constantly.

You wished it would go away. You shoved at his arm.

“You’re gonna wake him,” you hissed, strained.

“Yeah? That’s what you’re worried about?”

You wriggled against Joel’s hold and, scrunching your nose, made a pass for the dial on the wall. He caught it.

Now he was holding your hand in one of his, and your shoulder with the other as his forearm crossed your chest. Joel’s frame was looming over yours, and you glared ahead of you, where the screen still read ‘68.’

You could throttle him—Joel Miller simply refused to lose

“Is that all you’ve gotta say to me, after this whole time?”

His breaths were tight like yours, but the voice was slow.

“What else is there to say?” you snapped.

“You’ve been ignoring me all month.”

“I’m in college. I have shit to do.”

“Like block all of my calls?”

“Go fuck yourself, Joel.”

“Just tell me why.”

“Fuck. You.”

Your last two caustic words were still warm on your tongue when Joel turned you around. Again, he wasn’t forceful or harsh—your looks had enough vitriol for the two of you—but he pushed your body against the wall. Right beside the thermostat, your spine straightened, and your legs wrapped reflexively around his waist.

“Is that an invitation?” he hummed, voice palpably lower.

Un-fucking-believable, you thought. Of course, it was.

Silently, you prided yourself in wearing a dress that day. It wasn’t the short, red-and-white gingham thing you’d worn to the fair with Joel last month, but it was loose. Flowing. Easy enough for him to hike up your legs, sliding a coarse, warm palm up your thigh while the other held you tight to the wall. His hips pinned yours, and with that gesture, you felt him hard and desperate in denim.

“Need me to fuck you now or what? Is that the only way I’m getting a word out of this mouth?” he pressed again.

Honestly, it was. You nodded once to say as much.

Then he pushed you harder against the wall. He wrestled with his jeans just enough for you to hear a belt, and a button, and a short, sharp zip come down, and your mind was swimming with filthy ideas when he grunted.

Joel nosed your cheek, and a hand made its way to your mouth. You sucked in a breath right before you felt three fingertips graze the seam of your lips. Prying them open.

“If I’m fucking you here, I need more than a nod, kid.”

You really, really hated him now. This felt like a game. His index curled into your bottom teeth and pulled your mouth open wider, while his own was smiling, faintly. It was hard to talk with his fingers skirting your tongue—his warm, bare member springing out and grazing your folds through your panties down below—but you tried.

Your words were muffled as you spoke, “Please fuck me.”

Clearly, that was all Joel needed. With an easy nudge from the head of his cock, he pushed your underwear to the side, and his grin got bigger when he felt you soaked.

You were drooling down his length, and he hadn’t so much as touched you before he pushed you up against his body. It felt almost shameful as he slid himself inside.

Then, in the next moment, your brain went blank. Your bodies were joined completely, and Joel had you seated all the way down to the base of his cock, where a tuft of salt-and-pepper hair tickled your skin. His fingers hung limply from your lips while he nestled in; when you groaned, he used his middle and index to stifle the noise.

“Shh, hey—” he started, as if suddenly remembering where he was, and whose daughter he was fucking, “You’re okay. You’re good…I know that feels good.”

You despised him even more when he was right. He pressed the heft of his belly into you, and with the friction, you couldn’t help but whimper against his hand.

“Fuck you,” you bit again, this time through fingers.

“I am.”

Then he pushed them in further, and he made you suck. Joel started fucking you gently against the wall, and with the first few strokes, you knew you’d be putty soon enough. You focused on feeling and trying not to whine.

“I’ve been texting,” Joel continued, breath labored, sounding half-crazed, “Calling every chance I got—”

He paused to jerk his hips harder. Make you bounce on his cock or maybe just hold him closer from the force of it. And you did, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck and reluctantly burying your face into the side.

He was familiar, that was for sure. You tensed seeing something else familiar—your dad in the next room—and preemptively swallowed a moan while Joel kept going.

Fucking you stupid and talking to you, per usual.

“—to make sure you were OK,” he finished, panting.

Pulling his fingers from your lips so you could answer:

“I’m fine.”

“Are we?”

“You lied to me!”

And no sooner had he retracted his hand that he needed to clamp his palm over your mouth. You’d said that loud.

In the next room over, through the open space between the kitchen and the den, you heard your dad snore softly. When your gaze flitted back to Joel’s, it was like you were chiding the other at once—whose idea was this, anyway? Slowly, he moved his hand down, but his gaze was stern.

“Didn’t mean to lie,” Joel answered, now lower than ever.

“But you did. Dad’s been fucking his old sidepiece, my mom’s best friend, and you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I didn’t think it was my place—”

“Your place?!” You made sure to keep your indignation hushed this time, but your eyes went wide. Incredulous.

You would’ve shoved Joel off if he hadn’t moved first. Neither one of you had had a fraction of the presence of mind to be thinking straight here, obviously, so when he carried you closer to a table in an adjoining room, all you were thinking was how not to lose your cool completely. When Joel tried to set you down on the wooden surface, you slipped away. You moved to the couch; you weren’t even considering where you were going, just that you wanted more of him, and you needed to be done quick.

If that meant fucking on the sofa behind your dad’s recliner, so be it. Joel balked a second before following.

“Are you…?” he started, voice no louder than a whisper.

“What? Not your ‘place’ here, either?” you shot back.

Admittedly, you were both insane. No matter how far away your dad’s sleeping form happened to be, or how thoroughly knocked out he appeared from the drugs, this was batshit, objectively. Joel’s eyes narrowed at you.

Then he moved some more. Casting a sidelong glance at the recliner less than ten feet away, he gripped himself and gave you a look as if to say, ‘Are we crazy now, or…?’

You nodded to confirm that you were.

By moving again, apparently, Joel was saying the same.

Except now it wasn’t with words but with a look—eyeing you hungrily and setting all rational, sane thought aside to climb over the couch to you. Your legs were spread.

Joel slotted himself quickly between them, then inside you, without another word. His body crowded yours. The scent you knew was also the fragrance you hated most: the smell of his American Spirits. He tried to kiss you with those lips, and you dodged them, choosing instead to hold the coarse greyish hairs at the nape of his neck and pull them. Draw him closer to your body without letting him get too close to you. Joel let out a grunt.

His hips rutted in short, quick, shallow motions again, like he was desperate to feel anything. When you wouldn’t accept his lips on yours, they fell to the side of your face. He held your sides while he dragged his cock in and out of your pulsing heat, and his breaths fanned heavy on your cheek. His stubble was sharp on your skin.

“Anything you want,” he huffed shortly.

His mouth was right by your ear, and his words were spoken in a breath. And another. And another. Still panting and dragging his old, weary hips back and forth in an effort to pleasure you. He felt indescribably good.

“Want…what?” you murmured back.

You clawed at his torso and locked your legs around his waist. You glanced over at the recliner, turned away from the couch, thankfully, and hoped it wouldn’t move again. Your dad’s breaths were deep, and so was Joel inside you

Sliding a hand under your head and cradling your body to his, and still maintaining a bruising pace with his cock—you almost couldn’t take it. You wanted to come undone.

And there Joel went, murmuring in your ear. Battling the urge not to get too loud with your father there, but still:

“I’ll do anything…anything you want.”

“W-Why? For what?”

“To say I’m sorry.”

“You don’t—”

But your words were cut short. For a second, your heart leapt into your throat thinking the sound was coming from your dad’s old chair, and then you realized that it wasn’t. Just the same, your terror spiked again when you sensed it was somewhere inside—coming from the back.

“Can I get a…ROLL TIDE?!” someone yelled.

Tommy Miller wasn’t even an Alabama fan.

Still, it seemed he was here to celebrate like one anyway. You froze momentarily, taking in the shout, then the steps, then the linoleum floor of the mud room being shuffled across before the boots were kicked off quick.

His brother was quicker. Joel climbed off of you in a blink, jeans and boxers trailing just as fast. Then his hands were dropping to you, gripping your arms, and heaving you up. You stumbled. You shoved your skirt down, fast, and barely had the time to breathe while you skittered after Joel, still in his hold. The two of you ran like hell: quiet, but like your asses might’ve been on fire. You made it out to the foyer, and from there, you could hear Tommy making a fuss in the kitchen. Joel strode three steps at a time going up the stairs, and behind him, you nearly face-planted. He tugged you up then, swiftly.

Silent as death at the top of the stairs and trying to usher you into a room, not saying a word. You dug in your heels

“Wait. Wait—Tess?”

“Napping in the tub.”

Of course. You cast one last pensive look at the bathroom door before you let Joel nudge you away.

You were pushed into a room; you knew it was yours. Steeped as you were in fear, shame, and lingering inebriation, you couldn’t waste a second getting in—and neither could Joel. His frame followed close while Tommy’s old, familiar sounds grew louder downstairs. He ushered you further, walked you forward, pushed you in an inch or two too far, and before you knew it, your knees were bumping along the front of your bed. You tripped.

Your hands flew out to break your fall. Unfortunately, the limbs that were meant to stay straight were weaker than you’d hoped, and instead of holding you up, they crumpled beneath your weight. You fell on your face.

The spot where you landed was soft, though.

You let out a muffled grunt into cotton sheets.

Across from where you lay, Joel’s steps were slow—painstakingly so—and when you’d propped yourself up and blinked again and again to adjust your eyes to the dim half-light of the room, you could see him there. Pacing. Skating a look to the doorknob, as if checking to make sure he’d locked the thing properly, then running a hand through his hair. From your perch, you saw a wince.

Then his face turned to you. Again—guilty.

What the fuck am I doing here with you?

That was what you thought you saw in his expression, anyway. You felt compelled to ask him the very same.

“Why are you here? Why is Tommy here?” As if to punctuate your question, more footfalls followed, loud, “I thought he was taking my dad to the bar. And you—”

“I know. He was supposed to. Then he texted and said your dad crashed before the Notre Dame game even ended, so he figured he’d head over to the bar himself.”

You were about to speak, but Joel continued.

“I said he was an idiot to leave your dad home alone, since the man can hardly walk on his own. So I came.”

You swallowed. While some momentary swell of gratitude threatened to constrict your throat, you forced out a frown and scooted back. The room swayed a little.

“That the only reason?” you asked, clipped.

At the foot of the bed, Joel held your gaze. It was stern. Your own vacillating look was no match for the man who, in spite of the two or ten beers he’d likely guzzled that morning, could stand firm. Prop his hands on his hips.

Look every bit the displeased fatherly figure while he watched you crawl across the plush, pink bed at length.

It wasn’t right. You saw it in his eyes: the want painted there, however burdened by shame they might’ve been. No doubt seeing your childhood bedroom had kicked the guilt into overdrive, reminding him, plainly, that he was his age, and you were yours. And his best friend’s kid. The irises that shone in the glow of warm white fairy lights overhead flitted to the canopy where they hung. Joel sized up the mesh overtaking most of your bed, all flowing and girlish and juvenile as it cascaded from the four wooden posters, and he had to shake his head. He blinked faster, as if trying to rid himself of some thought.

“I’ll go,” he choked out.

“Alright.”

You unzipped your dress and let it fall to the bed the second Joel had started to turn. He stopped. Got himself an eyeful and probably could’ve bruised every fingertip from how hard he tightened his grip along his belt loops.

He watched you slip out of the fabric, then brush it aside. Clothed in just your bra and panties, you went to the nightstand and opened a drawer. You leaned down.

And, while you kneeled and bent over to reach, Joel was afforded a too-perfect view of the wet patch in the fabric between your legs. You could’ve sworn you heard a groan before you crawled back over to the place where you’d been—American Spirits and a lighter now in your hand.

“Where’d you…” Joel started, only to lose his train of thought the moment you sat and unclasped your bra.

You lit up, comfortably. Nodding to the window.

“Mind opening that?” you asked him.

Joel stood back and stared. He squared his shoulders, seeming poised to say ‘no,’ when his gaze dropped lower.

“Those’ll kill you.” But he was just looking at your breasts

Reluctantly, he moved from where he’d fixed himself at the center of your room and walked over to the window. He slid the pane up, but he didn’t let his gaze stray from you too long. As soon as the smoke found a place to go, he turned. He shook his head again. You smiled, then.

“These are yours,” you replied. You bared your teeth at him with the cigarette in between them, teasing a little.

After, you closed your lips and inhaled once. You blew a breath through your nose and let the smoke trail out. Joel scowled as he took a step closer to your bed.

Somewhere downstairs Tommy had cranked the game up louder. You could hear the blare of fanfare and a booming, cheery voice announcing a first down.

Meanwhile, Joel’s jaw hadn’t flinched. His lips were still curled in that sour, unsightly grimace. He had to have gotten a good deal of practice doing that while you were away, with every text, call, and FaceTime you’d declined over the past month, you imagined. Now it wasn’t so much a matter of being ignored as it was getting smoke blown into his face that made him irritated. Galled, even.

Joel made a pass for your mouth as if to take the cigarette away, but you were too quick. You slid back.

“Finders keepers,” you chided, trying not to giggle.

“Give it.”

“Make me.”

“Kid, don’t start.”

Joel’s face was turning pink as he leaned in again. In no more than a second, though, you’d made it safely out of his reach. He had to plant a knee on your bedspread, grit his teeth even tighter, and stretch his frame further in, and just when he’d gotten within half a foot from where you sat perched at the head of the bed, you felt a snap.

Or perhaps heard a groan and surmised the rest. Joel cursed, ‘Fuck!’ then fell to his elbow, hissing with pain.

He gripped his side, and he winced. Your eyes went wide.

“Joel?”

The cigarette fell from your lips; as soon as it did, Joel swept a brusque, graceless touch in your direction. He held tight to his side while he swatted the thing away. The second the still-lit stick hit the covers, Joel had it brushed to the side, sending it flying off of your bed.

His nostrils flared when he stood again. He crushed the cigarette underfoot. He looked pleased—then pained.

“Joel!” you hissed. This time reaching for him, and catching him narrowly before he lurched into your bed.

“‘M’alright. Stop, stop. It’s okay.”

Joel grunted, low. He held one bedpost. He clutched somewhere on his body close to the small of his back, and you could tell he felt a strain. He noticeably tensed.

“I’m fine.” And then he was starting to wave you off, too, “Lifetime of smoking’ll do that to you. And turning forty.”

You believed him. What you wouldn’t accept was how fast he tried to bend down and retrieve the cigarette from the floor. His cheeks flushed red with the effort.

And just when he’d started to tilt, you tugged him back.

You gripped his shirt and yanked him onto the bed.

Maybe that wasn’t the best for the muscle he’d pulled. At any rate, though, it was better than straining another by trying to pick up a cigarette butt, you reasoned. You hadn’t even jerked him that hard, and your bed was soft. Joel fell with a thud amidst a sea of satin, plush faux fur, a half-dozen pillows, and a mound of stuffed animals. His lips frowned as if annoyed, but the eyes betrayed relief. He breathed out a shallow puff of air once he’d settled.

“You need to stop smoking.” Grumbling now, of course.

You wanted to pinch the pout clean off his mouth.

“Yeah, really, Joel? You first,” you shot back.

“I’m old.”

“No shit.”

“Watch it.”

For someone who’d practically thrown out his back just bending at the waist, Joel Miller loved to wax poetic on the dangers of Big Tobacco. And getting old. By the time he groaned and laid flat, you decided you’d had enough of this sexless intermission, and you straddled his hips.

“Wh—” Joel huffed in protest, pushing at hands all too eager to act on his belt, “You still haven’t answered me.”

“What was the question?” you returned, careless.

But you knew it clear as day: Are we alright?

The old man didn’t stop the path of your hands, but he certainly made a show to try and pretend to stall their speed. He watched, curiosity piqued and shame still roiling in his gut, and he let you unbuckle, unzip, and finally free him from the confines of his briefs. He sighed.

It was then that you felt him hard against your palm, firm as he was before. Your mouth watered even more. When your eyes flitted up to his for permission, you didn’t expect to find resistance there, so the subsequent grip around your wrist took you back. Joel seized hold of your hand in his, and, rather than stopping you completely, he paused it in place. Sank your touch into his groin, as though tempting you with the outline of his bare length.

That was cruel. He knew what feeling him did to you.

“You know exactly what question I meant.”

What such a move would do to any girl in your position—freshly fucked and eager for more—and in your bed, no less. You didn’t care for the guilt Joel harbored today; he didn’t get to demand answers you weren’t ready to give.

“What? Feeling bad for boning your friend’s kid all of a sudden?” You smiled, voice devoid of any humor as you tried to pivot subjects, “Didn’t look like that downstairs.”

Shame flared in Joel’s eyes. Two could play at this game.

His grip tightened around your wrist, and he kept it still. In spite of this hold, you were able to flex your fingers the tiniest bit and take him snugly in your hand. He held you, and you held him, and for the next few excruciating moments, that was all either of you could do. Until:

“I would do it again.”

And then Joel’s touch was moving yours. Rubbing him. Seizing your hip with his free hand and rocking you back.

Making you hold his gaze while his dick swelled bigger.

“I don’t care if that’s wrong,” he added through his teeth.

“Wrong,” you mumbled absently. Touching him more.

It was as though you both were rooted in place by warring feelings—Joel by guilt, and you by knowing. Needing each other, and being unable to break apart. Words flowed like molasses; their end was no less sweet.

“I’d fuck you anywhere you asked if you would just—” Joel broke off suddenly, taking a breath, “Forgive me.”

Please.

The eyes beneath yours were pained with remorse.

You squeezed him tighter, and you stared more carefully.

“Here?” It left you more like a breath.

“Here.”

Your skull still buzzed. Your vision still wavered some. You could scarcely hope to know what it was that made this man a worse intoxicant than every drink you’d guzzled that morning, but the way he reached for your body and slid you back in the bed made answers pointless anyway. All you needed to know was that he wanted you, too. You could sort out the rest of it later; you let him lie you down

Joel was out of place here, that much was obvious. Clearly, no man skating through middle age belonged in the bedroom of a girl as young as you—and that was overlooking the paternal connection altogether—but all the same, he guided you back. Trailed your body with his. If it weren’t for the greys and the striations on his face and the legions of freckles bred from decades spent baking under the sun, he might’ve struck you as a much younger man. His every move now seemed to show it.

His hands shook like yours had earlier.

He watched you slide under the covers, then swallowed.

“Still cold?”

“Yeah.”

He gave you a long look, as though considering what to say. You beckoned him over and decided to talk for him.

“Like father, like daughter, I guess,” you added. Teasing.

You could hear the groan start to bubble in his throat, but Joel let you pull him in. He climbed under the sheets.

Like a much younger, doubly nervous teen around his date past curfew, he slotted between your legs with a moment’s indecision. He shed his clothes but was slow. Your gaze flitted to his torso, then his legs, and watching him gingerly undress, you couldn’t help but grin a little.

Both of you were naked in under a minute. Joel’s body was like a furnace searing hot between your thighs.

And while you smiled at him, he frowned down at you.

You might’ve expected anything next, except hearing:

“We aren’t gonna be parents anytime soon, right?”

You choked.

“What?”

Joel blinked.

“The Plan B, I mean,” he went on, color crawling up to his cheeks. He blinked harder, like he’d been dreading this, “Wasn’t sure if you ever got your…yeah. Just wonderin’.”

Just wondering.

After Joel’s Cenozoic-era condom had broken the first time you two had ever fucked, you realized you hadn’t bothered to tell him if you ended up getting your period. He’d probably been trying to ask that over the course of several dozen unanswered texts and calls the last month, but you’d been radio silent. Your drinking today had to have given the truth away, but you still felt a pang of guilt

You admired his sincerity. You didn’t want to mock it.

But when your lips twitched the tiniest bit, Joel’s did too. He’d heaved a sigh of relief before you’d even answered him in words, and for a moment, things were easy again.

“I’m sorry, Miller. That probably had you scared shitless.”

“It did.”

And, under most other circumstances, you probably would’ve expected him to chastise you for it a little. Chide you for your immaturity and shake his head, because this was always how it went. But he didn’t.

Joel smiled back instead, and he kissed your forehead.

You blinked, shortly summoning words to try and deflect.

“I mean, like…can you even imagine us having a kid?”

“I can’t. I think I’d be…” Joel trailed off, at a loss.

“Pissed to be changing diapers in your fifties, I bet,” you finished for him, and that made him laugh. You joined in, grinning, and for a second you almost forgot he was still between your legs. His cock softened against your belly.

“You’d be a hot mom. I’d be an old dad,” he countered, suddenly lowering his face to kiss and nuzzle your neck. When the ebbs of your laughter were renewed in a fit of giggles, and your feet kicked helplessly under the covers as he used his mouth and hands to tickle you then, you had to choke through your words—‘Joel, stop, I mean it.’

“Ticklish and hot, I forgot.”

His fingers were relentless on your ribs. You kicked again.

“Don’t fucking test me. I—I will kick you out,” you warned

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Go on, then.”

Evidently, the thought of ordering him back downstairs with your dad and Tommy seemed like the least likely outcome at the moment, so Joel kept tickling you. He moved his lips to your ear, about to whisper something stupid and teasing, most likely, when you jerked yourself the other way. You slid just far enough to reach off the bed. While you clawed at your nightstand, Joel simply draped his body over yours and went on kissing and touching and relishing the sounds you were making—even while you were cursing his name under your breath.

“Go. Go. Enough of this shit, Miller,” you finally told him, nudging Joel back and waving something in his face.

“Wh—”

“Since getting knocked up is the last thing either of us wants, and we’ve been terrible about playing it safe…”

It didn’t take long for Joel to recognize what it was. As soon as he’d lifted his head to ogle it, you didn’t let him stare at the box of condoms for more than a second or two before tearing it open. Its seal had still been intact.

“New stash for someone special?” Joel hummed, low.

“Nope. Just you.”

Your old friend didn’t seem to appreciate that remark, returning your smirk with a roll of his eyes, but he took the metallic-wrapped rubber when you offered him one anyway. He tore off the top. He probably would’ve liked to put the thing on, but with all the time and brainless banter that had passed, he had to get himself hard again. He eyed you once, and, wrapping a hand around himself semi-erect, he seemed to want to say something more.

You wouldn’t let him. You kissed him, and he kissed back, and with your legs sliding around the backs of his own underneath the soft, warm sheets, he probably forgot what he was going to say. Your lips and tongues intertwined without needing those words to be spoken, and before long, Joel was growing harder. He sucked in a breath when your hand reached down to touch him, soft.

Joel grunted when your touch replaced his. While you stroked his length, you could see the muscles tense in his stomach. The heft of his belly was smooth, and firm, and protruding with little patches of black and grey hairs, and the man looked so undone already with just your fingers curling over his shaft. You would’ve held him that way for as long as he asked. Would’ve relished the warmth of him in your hand, the way his breaths grew more ragged as he kissed you and let you pump him gently between your body and his. You might’ve mistaken it for something romantic when he reached up and brushed the hair out of your face, before pulling away and mumbling, ‘That’s it. That feels real good, sweetheart. You’re doin’ so good.’ But being the way you were, you couldn’t accept such intimacy without wanting to shy away. You pushed his words aside and reached for the condom in his hand, swallowing thickly as you did.

The latex went on quickly. Joel hardly seemed of a mind to try and slow things down with his body just as taut, on edge, and desperate as yours. He planted an arm beside your head, and you guided his length between your legs. It felt cozy. Tender. Nervous like this could’ve been your first. A little strange seeing how you’d done this multiple times before—had started it just downstairs, against a wall and on the couch—and somehow, felt different now.

Joel sank in, and both of you groaned.

“I missed you, baby.”

It came from him all in the same breath. Your walls clenched, and he said it again. You peered up at the man, half-expecting to see his eyes shut and the feeling of you guiding his words more than anything else—he hadn’t meant you, but what was between your legs. But when you looked, you met his gaze. Joel was earnest, clearly.

“Did you miss me?” he panted, hips dragging back.

With the head of his cock drawn all the way up to your entrance, tip stretching that soft, sticky flesh, you could scarcely do more than whimper. You laced your fingers together behind his neck, felt him push in again, and suddenly, the sensations churning low in your gut got warmer. Stronger. They made you want to hold on longer

He felt so big inside you. Overwhelming you with his size and his scent and the way his lips trailed over yours while he fucked you; it all seemed too much to give a response.

Joel kissed you again, and your bodies fell into a rhythm. You squeezed his neck, let out a breathy whine when his cock grazed something soft and sensitive between your walls, and then pulled away fully to look down and watch.

He did too. He kissed the crown of your head, mumbling:

“See how good we fit?”

Those words could’ve sent you over the edge. Your body shuddered at the next thrust, feeling the warmth of his breath still fanning across your face, and you nodded.

Your eyes all but glazed over as you watched Joel’s big, glistening cock disappear and reappear from inside your body, coated with your arousal and the rubber and looking every bit as dizzyingly good as it had before. The wet noises only increased in volume the more he sped up, and with the need blossoming in your stomach, you had no choice but to moan. Joel plunged even deeper.

“Did she miss me, at least? Did she miss her daddy?”

Your walls clenched at those words—‘she,’ ‘daddy.’

Still, you couldn’t speak. You just nodded back.

Joel’s motions grew stronger, and with every stroke inside you, his cock hit something plush and sweet. You had to bite your lip to keep the sounds from coming out too loud, but the effort was almost wholly in vain. The harder he went, the more your throat came to betray you. The more Joel seemed keen on getting you to speak.

“Feels like she does, hon,” he said, tone dulcet and low, “Pussy’s been squeezin’ like she needed daddy here.”

That was true. Your heels dug deeper in his ass, and you felt something tender swell up inside, almost painfully.

Joel was moving your whole frame with the weight of his thrusts—your body bouncing beneath him, the bed creaking under the force, your old childhood room being filled with the sounds of your blooming pleasure and his. Your cunt stretched even more; it begged to be fucked deeper. Though your mouth couldn’t form the words, it seemed Joel was more than able to make out the rest.

He brought his thumb to your clit. He rubbed it, then caught your lips in a hot, steady kiss when a whimper from yours was just about to threaten to tremble out.

“Atta girl,” he grunted against your mouth, “That’s it.”

His hips worked faster. His thumb moved with even more precision, more persistence, as though begging your pleasure to come. You could feel the sweat bead on your skin and his; your bodies seemed to blend together. Your legs tightened around his sides, and while he fucked you and kissed you more fervidly then, you could feel your resolve start to slip. You broke from the kiss, panting.

“I can feel her, honey. Keep goin’,” Joel urged.

You weren’t sure if you could. It felt good.

It felt safe. You hadn’t felt that in a while.

Or maybe just since you’d been away.

You thought of the last, vulnerable state you’d been forced to endure—feeling hurt and betrayed after Joel had lied trying to keep you ‘safe’—and your body tensed. You held tighter, but you also couldn’t lose that feeling completely. You were so close, and there was still something else you couldn’t yet define, or explain.

“Cum for me, baby,” Joel kissed the side of your mouth, knowing the feeling coursing through your body too well, “Take what you need. Just let her feel good. It’s all okay.”

All okay.

Your walls fluttered again; your moans grew breathy and faint as Joel’s cock wedged deeper and deeper and his kisses grew softer along your face. It was evident you were there—you knew you were there—but then, the way you felt was like no place you’d ever experienced before.

You wanted to tell him something.

You met Joel’s gaze, and you almost did. Then he withdrew and fucked back in, and all words were lost.

The headboard thumped against the wall; you didn’t hear it. Joel’s one free hand was cradling your cheek, and his face drew closer, and right when you sensed the man was about to drop another kiss, you felt release, at last.

A snap.

A dizzying blow.

Your climax struck with all the force of a seismic wave, and, at the same time, you could feel Joel groaning, pulsing, spurting thick ropes of cum into rubber while his gaze stayed locked on yours and your body came apart. The look from him was sickeningly soft, even at his peak.

Intimate, again.

You couldn’t help it.

With your legs trembling, cunt spasming, and eyes still plastered to Joel’s, you felt that something resurface. This time, you didn’t have a hope of keeping it inside.

“I— I— I love you, Joel. I love you,” you stuttered out.

Your voice was tight. Your eyes burned with tears you hadn’t even sensed might threaten to appear with it.

You broke down and felt the sudden urge to sob.

And, just as quickly as you did, you shoved him off.

Regret flooded your chest. You shouldn’t have said that.

Joel was slow to move, no matter how much you tried getting him away. He was still in your bed, crowding your space—and worse yet, he was staring at you, eyes wide.

“Baby—”

“Don’t.” Your gaze was still wider. Wild. And remorseful, “I didn’t— I’m sorry, I just— I didn’t mean to say that.”

Joel had pulled out, but he was still between your legs. You slid backward in the bed, cheeks flaming with heat.

He followed.

He reached out.

“Please don’t,” you begged, shaking your head before his touch could find you. Your pulse thundered in your skull.

The sound almost drowned all other noises out.

At the next, you wished it would deafen you completely.

“I love you, too, baby,” Joel said.

No sooner had his palms come to rest on your face when you were shoving them away. Standing up from the bed.

“You don’t mean that. I didn’t mean it. Just— just stop.”

“I—”

“Need to go.”

You hardly realized it, but you were pointing to the door.

Joel was just getting the condom off, about to stand up from where he was, when a new sound startled you both.

The garage door was closing. Tommy shouted your name saying he needed help bringing something in, and for a second, you both froze. It was happening all over again.

You knew you couldn’t risk getting caught another time. Not with your father in the house, unconscious or not. Silently, you thanked your lucky stars for the opportunity afforded by this moment—getting Joel out—and bent to grab his clothes off the floor and throw them, one by one. He dressed, albeit reluctantly. He opened his mouth to speak again, but you were busy racing to throw on your own clothes, thinking of ways to get him out unnoticed. You heard the door to the garage slam shut downstairs.

“He’s gonna be back any minute. You need to go, Joel.”

“Come with me. We have to talk—”

“I have nothing else to say.”

“But you—”

“I lied. And so did you. Just like before,” you gritted out, “You can spare my feelings—I didn’t fucking mean it.”

He felt bad, that was all. You could see it in his eyes.

The pity, the self-loathing, the guilt; it was all there.

The sight made your stomach turn, and though your legs weren’t steady or sure underneath you in the slightest, you knew you had to go. If Joel didn’t intend on making things easier, you would have to leave first. You felt him reach for you, saw the plea in his eyes and knew how wrong this really was—that you had both fucked up—and couldn’t stay there. Again, you wrenched yourself away.

You didn’t give him the chance to protest. You heard words, dimly, but barely had the sense or self-possession to process one syllable of it, so you left. You bounded down steps, pulse hammering even louder than before, and you didn’t think to turn around or let Joel follow or even remotely allow yourself to stop feeling embarrassed

Leaving was for the best anyway.

If Joel had lied once, he’d lie again.

Downstairs, you cleaned. You folded laundry.

Joel had snuck out a while ago, having slipped from your room, down to the kitchen, and out the back door while Tommy was busy retrieving beer out of the garage. You’d gone down there to distract the younger Miller brother while Joel packed his shit up and left. Like he was meant to do. Luckily, Joel’s departure was quiet, and Tommy was all too happy to have some help toting cases of Budweiser inside. Your dad and Tess were still fast asleep

And now, nearly half an hour later, you had only to sweep the hardwood floor, fold your clothes, and busy yourself as best you could—or else grit your teeth so hard you could’ve broken your jaw. You were so fucking dumb.

“Almost done?” Tommy poked his head inside the room.

You’d told Joel you hated him last month. One measly fuck and you’re spewing, ‘I love you’? What the fuck?

“Just about,” you replied, dropping an old shirt of your dad’s into the nearest, neatest pile, “You heading out?”

Tommy jingled his car keys in his hand and hummed to say that he was. He had a happy, Alabama-just-beat-the-shit-out-of-Tennessee smile on his face as he stood there

“Yeah, I’m going back to Mando’s now to celebrate and watch another game. Was wondering if you wanted to come along,” he said, leaning against the door frame.

“I would, I’ve just got so much shit to do around here—” Gesturing indistinctly to the mountains of clothing stacked high all about the laundry room, “—cleaning.”

Beating yourself over the head, mentally, for ever telling his older brother that you liked him in the first place. Wishing you could crawl in a hole and wallow alone.

“Aww, that can wait. You’re here the whole week—”

“I know. But I gotta keep an eye on my old man, too.”

You rubbed at your face and pretended to get re-invested in a pair of socks with two gaping holes. Your father wouldn’t discard old, ratty clothes to save his life.

Then Tommy was at your side. Pressing against the washing machine and watching you work. Smirking.

“By ‘your old man’ do you mean your dad…or Joel?”

For the second time that day, you almost choked. You tried not to let it show but were sure you failed miserably.

“I— I— what?” you huffed, all terse, feigned incredulity.

“Don’t play stupid. Only suits my dumbass brother,” Tommy returned coolly, turning to face you head-on, “You sound just like him whenever I ask about you.”

“Whatever he’s said—” you started again.

“I heard his truck hightailing it out of here while you came down to distract me. Heard his footsteps, too.”

While your cheeks warmed, Tommy’s smile only grew.

“Aaaaand the headboard was bangin’ pretty loud—”

“Alright!” You threw your hands up, “Fine. OK. Enough.”

Your surrender was fast, far too grossed out to fight it.

You closed your eyes and wanted to die. From next to you, you could hear Tommy’s amusement morph into laughter. It didn’t take much to wring the truth out of you, and for a man who knew you as well as he did, there was really no telling where this would end. Once Tommy Miller called bullshit, there was rarely ever room to argue.

The last time that had happened, he’d sent you and Joel packing to abstinence camp and had never looked back.

Why he was finding humor in this now was beyond you.

You dropped the socks you were holding. You shot him a look as if to ask him just that, and the man shrugged.

“I know y’all skipped out on camp. Could’ve guessed there was some sort of fight between you two after that, because I’ve never seen Joel so goddamn grumpy for—”

“Yeah, well,” you cut in, not wanting to hear the rest, “That’s over now. Seriously. Today was just a fluke.”

Before he could even try to voice his disbelief, you added:

“Just don’t tell my dad about this. Please.”

By the look in his eyes, you could tell that was probably the furthest thing from his mind, but you asked it all the same. Tommy scoffed, and then he shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest like he couldn’t believe a word you were saying now. Like a smug big brother who didn’t know how else to say that you made a terrible liar.

Because that was what he’d been to you before you ever got with Joel in the first place: a good, no-bullshit friend. The recognition of this made you feel even worse inside.

“I’m sorry,” Tommy said at length, much to your surprise.

His arms constricted even tighter against his chest and his eyes scanned yours thoughtfully before continuing.

“I shouldn’t have stuck my nose in y’all’s business. What you and Joel do is up to you—I just hated the thought of things, uh…going south. Making it weird between you.”

“Like now,” you said quietly.

A beat.

Tommy scratched his neck.

“Yeah, a little like that,” he replied, breathing out a laugh, “But that’s alright. Joel’s my brother, and I love him, but the man can’t navigate a relationship to save his life. Much less with a girl your age. So just…keep that in mind. I don’t wanna see either of you getting hurt.”

In other words: don’t be stupid and get attached.

‘You’re right,’ was all you knew to say. All you felt capable of telling him now, after what had come to pass that day.

Frankly, you didn’t need to speak another word to get the gist of what he meant, and like he’d said, it wasn’t on him to dictate how you handled things with Joel. The message was clear enough, and the truth was all there.

You couldn’t make this work.

Joel wouldn’t make this work with a girl as young as you.

He’d only said what he said today out of habit—a knee-jerk reaction. He didn’t know what the fuck else to say when his best friend’s kid he’d been banging spilled out ‘I love you.’ And you didn’t blame him for it. But you also couldn’t expect him to be something he wasn’t when all this was ever supposed to be was a casual fuck here and there. You’d been confused and needing to feel safe. He had wanted access to something he shouldn’t have, and now that the thrill of that was wearing off, he felt trapped and cornered into saying what he had, for your sake. The best thing for the two of you now was a clean break, before any more feelings got muddled and misspoken and brought to anything worse than they already were.

It would suck for a while. You knew it would. The next second had you leaning in unconsciously, watching Tommy uncross his arms and pull you in for a hug.

This would really suck.

You buried your face in his chest.

There wasn’t much to say; still, Tommy said it best:

“Whatever happens, you’ll be fine. I know you will.”

[helladventurers]

WHAT THE **FUCK** DO YOU MEAN GAIUS VAN BAELSAR IS HOT, WHAT IS GOING ON

[reignpage]

Vice President!Sukuna

Pétain: losing it all pt 1

Word count: 4.4k Contents: 18+ mdni, cursing, smut, reading this is not compulsory, part 2 will explain The Night, so please read the warnings before reading, I will seriously block minors and ageless blogs Warnings: noncon, cnc, dub-con, primal play, threat of violence and act of violence, unprotected sex, dacryphilia, exhibitionism, slight blood play After much deliberation, I've decided to add noncon in the warnings, again proceed with caution

“Is that the Vice President?” Someone whispers. 

Another girl whispers back, “No, he’s the President now.”

You ignore everyone and continue your way to the field, carrying two buckets of soil, ready to plant the seeds in your pocket. Being a member of the Green Thumb Society meant being at one with nature, giving back to the Earth so that we can maintain an equilibrium, ensuring that the future generations will have something to inherit. 

Or whatever. 

Truthfully, you haven’t been listening, simply itching to get your hands dirty so you can distract your mind. Not being the president means having lots of free time, but not having any friends means you don’t have anything to do in those times. At first, you were overjoyed because then you can focus on the mountain of work you have, however, once you sat yourself down to finish up all the readings and applications you had, you realised you didn’t actually have that much work to begin with. 

So now, you’re digging in the dirt, right at the edge of the forest at the back of the Lawn, pretending you can’t feel searing eyes on your back. The ground is hard, and you’re not even sure this is the right season to start planting anything, but what do you know?

Because it’s almost winter, the sky is darkening much faster than anyone would like, and you’re starting to feel more and more anxious as the clouds turn orange in the horizon. Coupled with the fact that you can feel a presence looming behind you, making the hairs on your arms stand, your fight or flight has been activated. 

“We need to talk.”

“No,” you say without missing a beat. 

A hand comes out and grabs the back of your sweater, hauling you up, shovel falling to the ground. You’re being spun around to face a frustratingly handsome face and he’s giving you a deadpan look, unimpressed by your stubbornness. Standing on your tiptoes, you have to cling onto his jacket to keep steady. 

“I wasn’t asking, prez,” he drawls. 

Scowling, you smack his chest once and then again when he didn’t even flinch. “That’s the problem; you never ask.”

Sukuna rolls his eyes, arm dropping so you can stand on your own, but he doesn’t let go. Probably thinks you’ll run again. Though, you’re not sure why he thinks you would; you’re not drunk. And you certainly don’t want a repeat of last time, people still come up to you to recite your speech. 

“Let’s get outta here,” he pulls you with him. 

You dig your heels onto the ground, slapping his arm to let you go. There’s no way in hell you’re going anywhere with him, being alone with Sukuna doesn’t work out well for you, it only forces you deeper and deeper into a hole you don’t want to be in and have been trying to get out for years now. Plus, you’d hate to give him the satisfaction. 

“Stop being a pain in the ass,” he growls, dragging you with him regardless. Your futile attempts at escape are only irritating him more. “You’re gonna talk whether you like it or not.”

People are staring and you’re gritting your teeth, the embarrassment making your face heat up and you pull away harder.  “Sukuna, stop, people are gonna talk.”

He gives you a look that screams, who the fuck cares.

“No, stop it, I’m serious,” people are whispering and pointing. “Please, Sukuna.”

Halting suddenly, your face hits his back. His back hurts, Jesus. 

One glance at you makes him roll his eyes and then he’s dragging you the opposite direction, into the forest. It’s darkening and the thick lines of trees makes your heartbeat faster and, once again, you’re trying to wrangle yourself out of his grip. This is the kind of place young girls go to die. 

“Not there, either!”

“Shut the fuck up,” he hisses. 

Eventually, the Green Thumbers disappear from you and all you can see for miles are trees. And a pissed off pink-haired, varsity jacket wearing pain in the ass, tapping his foot on the mud. You simply cannot catch a fucking break. Because apparently you committed some atrocities in your past life and now you must be punished. Again, and again and again. 

“Talk me through what the fuck is happening. Why did you let that old fucker push you out of your position and why the fuck aren't you fighting to get it back?”

You lean against a tree, the bark scratching you even through your sweater. Guess this is happening. With a sigh, you explain, “There wasn’t anything I could have done, Sukuna. He said, I was giving the school a bad rep. That the trustees don’t think I’ve been a doing a good enough job, what with Cursed Womb still running amok, the gossip column spreading the students’, and the staff’s, dirty secrets across campus and even across the city. Not to mention all those times I’ve been late to meetings, files going missing, and presentations being inaccurate. Thank to you.”

Sukuna huffs, leaning against a tree too, hands stuffed into his pocket. At first glance, he doesn’t even look like he’s listening to a thing you’re saying, but you know him better than that, unfortunately. Because when he flexes his jaw, you know he’s annoyed. 

“Alright, my bad.”

Your eye twitches. “Your bad? Your bad? Are you fucking kidding me?”

He shrugs, “Yeah.”

You walk away. 

With no idea where to go, you’re just marching away, kicking away leaves and pushing branches away from your face. Muttering curses under your breath, you grow weary of the darkening of the night, you start to regret letting him drag you away at all. Why do you always get swept up in his bullshit?

When you almost trip over a log, you screech. The ground nears but just as you’re about to fall, you’re being yanked back into a hard chest. 

“Watch where you’re fucking going,” he growls. 

“Why are you such a fucking prick?” You scream. “You’re everywhere. Seriously! Fuck off! Why do you want to ruin my life? It isn’t enough that you forced me out of the position so you can have it for yourself, but now you want to make me miserable by not letting me do anything fun?”

Your hands are flying, half waving in the air and half smacking into him, hitting whatever you can reach and you’re stomping your feet. This is all ridiculous — he hated you, and then he has these stupid, ridiculous moments where he makes your heart clench, where he looks at you like you’re somebody, like you’re special, and it always left you reeling, unable to sleep at night. 

“Calm the fuck down!” He yells back. “You’re fucking crazy.”

“CRAZY! I’m acting crazy. Ohhhhh, you’re such a fucking dick. I hate you I hate you I hate you!”

He’s grabbing your wrists, trying to restrain you so you’d shut up, but you’re done being silenced. Done with his horrible attitude and personality and his stupid face. Everything went to shit because of him, he ruined your first year, and now he’s ruined your third year, but apparently that isn’t enough because he’s trying to ruin every day of the rest of your life. 

Sukuna’s trying to get a word in, but you’re rambling, screeching and hollering about anything and everything, somethings he’s willing to admit was his fault, but other things were just plain ridiculous. 

“I dropped my bagel this morning and it was because of you! I can’t prove it but I know you had something to do with it. Your stupid malevolent energy reached me from whatever depths of hell you crawled out of, and you ruined my breakfast! That cost me £7! £7, Sukuna!”

“Shut the fuck up for just a second, y/n.”

“A-and when I slipped in the shower, I’m sure your evil spirit pushed me— “

“How could that possibly— “

“And now I have a bruise!”

“Have been my fault?”

SMACK!

In the midst of complaining and rambling, your arm had flung over, and your hand slipped. Right onto his cheek.

You slapped Sukuna. 

And the clenching of his fists, his heavy breaths, tensing shoulders, and flexing of his jaw all scream you’ve fucked up. You’re inching away, hands coming in between you two, shielding yourself from him. The burning of your hand is urging you back and back, eyes firmly fixed on the raging bull in your china shop. 

Oh shit. 

In all the two years and a bit you’ve known Sukuna, have kept an eye out for him, you’ve never seen him look this angry. And though you once thought he’d never raise a hand against a woman, against you, you’re suddenly very very unsure. 

His red eyes raise to meet yours and the tick at the corner of his mouth makes your heart drop. He says one word. And you turn away, silent screams escaping you. 

“Run.”

Your legs pump, frigid air biting cheeks, stabbing every exposed inch of skin as you disappeared further and further into a forest, weaving around thick trees and hurdling over logs and rocks. You’re practically galloping, pushing your body to its limits as you twist and turn, shuddering breath misting in front of you as your heart skips a beat.

If he catches you, you’re dead.

“Fuck!” You cry out. Sprinting, you ignore the growing ache in your legs and the pain in your ankles; you’ve never run like this before. Although, to be fair, you’ve never been chased by a livid Ryomen. Not sure anyone has ever lived to tell the tale. 

Leaves crunch under your shoes as you pushed through, unsure of where to go, where is safe. He's stronger, bigger and faster than you. You both know it. There isn't anywhere you could go where he wouldn't find you. It's as if you've entered a labyrinth of shadows, your vision obscured by the thickening blanket of night and every snap of a twig all around you threaten to make tears spill.

"Oh, prez, where are you?" His voice has taken a mocking, singsong tone, and it's scariest thing you've ever heard. It sends shivers down your spine, a promise of the damage that he could do, that despite the saccharine sweet words, he is nothing but nice. You fight the urge to scream.

"Leave me alone!"

Foot catching on something, you tumbled forward, palms reaching out and scraping against the rough earth. The sharp sting barely registered through the adrenaline coursing through your veins but you know it'll leaves marks. You scrambled to your feet, dirt sticking to your clothes, a sob catching in your throat, your eyes darting around the endless sea of trees.

"You know I can't do that."

"Why?" You yell back.

When you whirl your head back, scanning the area for any sign of pink hair or a purple jacket, you find nothing but shadows shaped like trees, their silhouette sharp and bony. You’re panting, chest heaving as you try to gulp air desperately.The trees look like his allies, obscuring him from your view, harbouring a criminal.

His voice is a low breeze and you can't pinpoint where it's coming from when he laughs sardonically, "You already know why, prez."

He could be anywhere, and you’re pressing yourself against a tree, nails digging into the bark as you looked around frantically. It’s dark. The only source of light being the moon and when you fumble for your phone in your jean pocket, you can’t find it. You must have dropped it. 

“This isn’t fair!”

You’re sobbing, tearing out your hair. Seconds pass. Maybe even minutes and there aren't any signs of Sukuna, of anyone being here apart from you. He could have left already. You laugh hysterically.

“I did everything right! I worked hard, I never complained, never broke a rule. Why am I being punished?” You punch the tree and cry even harder when it hurt. Your fist throbs. “OW! Fuck! What did I do that was so fucking wrong?”

There were rumours once of a girl who had died in the woods, right at the very centre of the forest. She had a fight with her boyfriend about something or the other, and they fought here, all night. But when morning came, only one emerged. No one could verify this gossip, no news article, nothing concrete, but the students who passed through Eden spoke of it as if it was as true as the sun is blinding. You're trying to wrack your brain for any more information, your brain desperate to distract you from the mania creeping through veins.

She was a law student.

"I don't want to die," you cry. "I've barely lived. I still haven't gone skydiving, haven't driven on the motorway 'cause that shit's fucking scary. A-and I need to say 'I love you' to my mother, and well fuck my father. But I want to say goodbye to Mr. Teddy and Mrs. Kitty Cat. They'll be so fucking sad."

“Talking to yourself, prez?”

You scream.

Sukuna’s leaning against a tree a couple metre behind you. You hadn’t heard him. Not even a snap of a branch or the rustling of leaves. He has his jacket off and thrown over his shoulder, his shirt riding up as he brushes his hair back, a seething sneer on his face. 

When he makes a step forward, you stumble back, another scream lodged in your throat. “Stay back! I swear, don’t come near me.”

A sharp smile climbs up his face, a glint in his eyes, and his jacket is being dragged behind him as he stalks over to you, completely disregarding your warning, his long legs taking him closer. You have goosebumps on your arms and you’re so close to pissing yourself. 

“So you can use a little violence, but I can’t?” He cocks his head at you. “That’s not very fair, is it, my adorable little president?”

“I’m not yours!”

That was apparently the wrong thing to say because the next thing you know you’re being pinned to the forest floor. You fall with a thump, screech muted by a hand over your mouth. His hip is between your legs, thighs spread and stretching to accommodate his body which holds you down, unable to wiggle or crawl away. Your hands claw at the leaves and mud, dirt caking your nails, and you’re trying to ignore the smirk on his face. 

Tutting, he snapped, "This has been a long time coming, prezzy."

He looks murderous. Like a serial killer who’s just found the perfect next victim. And before you can complain, his mouth is crashing down on yours. It’s a clash of teeth, his tongue penetrating your mouth when you gasp, fighting yours as you push at his shoulders, bucking your hips to throw him off. 

When your clothed core grinds against his hard length, you moan. “Let me go!”

Sukuna nips your bottom lip, the taste of iron filling your mouth and you’re lightheaded. With a growl, he promises, “Never.”

Bare hands clutching your sweater, he rips it off you, the fabric snapping and disappearing over his shoulder. The cool air pricks your skin, pebbling your nipples and he’s covering your tits with his huge hands, groping and kneading like they’re his worst enemies. 

“No bra, prez?” He snarls into your ear before licking a strip up your neck. “You’re just walking temptation, aren’t you?”

His hips are grinding on yours, a punishing pace that sets your skin ablaze and you’re gasping with every roll of your nipples between his fingers and whimpering when he pinches and pulls. Like you’re being controlled by someone else, you grind back, legs crossing over his legs.

“Let me go!” You cry out again. “Stop it, Sukuna!”

He bites your neck, and you arch into him, eyes rolling to the back of your head. When you pull at his hair, he only huffs a laugh before he’s creeping a hand into your jeans, somehow having unbuttoned and unzipped it. His fingers press against your panties, and you hide your face into his neck, nipping him back. 

“You tell me to stop but you’re soaked,” he laughs. 

His hand weaves inside your panties, rubbing your clit at a merciless pace; hard and fast from the get-go, your eyes are shutting, and you cry out when he dips inside, soaking himself with your wetness. He curls them, prodding and pummelling that spot inside of you that has you digging your nails into his back, threatening to rip up his shirt. 

With a broken moan, you smack his back, “No more!”

“More? This not enough for you,” his voice is mocking. “Don’t wanna cum from my fingers, is that it, you frustratingly beautiful piece of work?”

Before you could argue back, could push him away, or kick your legs, he’s pulling your jeans halfway off, and then he’s spinning you around, face down and ass up. The cold air brushes against your sloppy pussy, clit swollen from having been rubbed and petted by his hostile hand, longer fingers stretching you out.

And then something equally hot and wet touches your slit. He's lapping up your wetness, fingers still curled inside of you as he rubs your walls whilst he sucks at your clit. You're moaning, fingers digging into the dirt as you try to crawl away, but his spare hand is holding you down, forcing you to arch more painfully so he can suck and lick to his heart's content. He scissors his long fingers, forcing you to stretch.

"Stop! Stop it!" You sob. He isn't listening, he's taking what he wants from you, extracting a strained orgasm that makes you tear up, pussy clenching around his fingers. "No! No, I don't want this!"

"I don't care," is all he says. Through the fog of pain and pleasure, you hear a ziiiip, and you’re panicking, hands clawing even more. You have to get out of here, have to escape. If anyone's emerging, it's you. It has to be you.

But when he lines his cock up, you realise your face isn’t buried in leaves and mud, but rather something soft. It’s his jacket. He slams inside you in one thrust. 

“FUCK!”

He’s thrusting inside, hard, and with a bruising grip on your hips, simultaneously keeping you still so he can drill his fat cock inside your clenching pussy and pulling you to meet his hips. The forest is quiet, apart from the choked moans and groans coming from you, and the sound of skin slapping against each other. 

“Been keeping this tight pussy from me?” He thrusts harder, cock head rubbing against that spot inside you and it steals your breath. “Fucking selfish!”

You’re trying to argue back but it all just comes out garbled, drool pooling under your chin. There’s nothing you can do but maul his hands, trying to pry them off you. He doesn’t let up, only thrusts harder, like he’s punishing you for all his frustrations. 

“I hate you!” You manage to push out. 

Sukuna leans forward, heavy body pinning you to the floor even more so he can nip your ear, licking away the blood and growling at the taste. “You may hate me, but this cunt doesn’t.”

And to prove his point, he shuts up, grinding inside of you so you can hear the squelching of your pussy and the way it’s squeezing him for more, desperate to milk him so it can be coated in his cum. You twist, hand pushing against his chest whilst you cry, tears streaming down your face from the sheer stretch. 

“Tell me what happened. Tell me what I did,” he orders.

You shake your head, groaning with every thrust, and when he rubs your clit with one hand, whilst the other gropes your bare tit, you can only cry out louder. “You ruined everything! Ngh! I had it all and you -ha- took it from me.”

Clinking of metal and rustling of paper catches your eye. He’s dropped money on the floor. Sukuna’s emptied his wallet in front of you, even his cards fall out, including a shiny black one. They all clink and clatter right by your head.

“Take it all as compensation for your fucking bagel, you damn brat.”

“I DON’T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT THE BAGEL,” you screech.

His hips don’t stutter, not even for a second, insistent on plunging his cock again and again so your pussy will never forget the shape of it. You can feel him in your stomach, can feel every ridge, every vein, and you think you might just pass out from the stretch.

Years of pressure, of tension, of hatred, of bitterness and resentment build up inside of you, tearing you apart. You think about the tears, the nightmares, the loneliness in your first year. The numbness in your second and the anger, the pain, the pleasure in your third. 

“Keep crying, baby. Only —ha— makes me want to fuck you harder till you can’t cry anymore.”

It’s a tsunami approaching land, you can feel the painful orgasm creeping up, threatening to drown you. And when his left hand falls beside your head, steadying himself so he can angle his cock deeper, kissing your cervix with every thrust now, you see something that looks so familiar you missed it every time you saw it on his wrist. 

He’s wearing your hair tie. 

You cum all over him, drenching his abs with your wetness, and you’re tensing up, still being used as practically a sex doll, all limp and pliant for his pleasure. It’s the kind of pleasure you’ve never had before, the one you’ve chased with boys who didn’t know what they were doing, couldn’t tell your thigh from your clit, and have only ever left you unsatisfied and full of regret. 

“Fuck! S’kuna!” 

“That’s right, prez, cum all over my cock. Take what you want, baby.” He soothes your ass, watching the way it’s bouncing on his length to elongate your high, before he meets you in the middle. 

And with one last moan, you fall, your ass kept up high by his hands only. Then, he cums with a growl, right in your ear, the vibrations piercing your body and lighting your soul with a warmth you can’t bear to think about. 

“So fucking good,” he snarls. “Perfect. Fucking made just for me, yeah?”

He wasn't talking to you, was only groaning to himself, but you mutter agreements, everything you can to make him spurt out all of his hatred for you. And he does. You feel it spilling out.

When you both calm down, lying on the ground — you on his jacket and him on the floor — you feel something has changed between you. An acceptance of whatever the fuck is wrong with both of you. Of that strange, fucked up string connecting you both. You won’t fight it anymore. 

Can’t fight it anymore. 

You're a mess. Tears and drool drying on your face, your juice and his cum coating your inner thighs, dirt and blood caking your body. You've never felt more cleansed.

Feeling an urge to cry but having used up all your tears, you scoot over to him, lying on his chest and his arms wrap around you like it’s second nature, a hand rubbing your back whilst the other threads through your hair, pulling out leaves from the tangles. 

“I’m bored,” you admit, tracing abstract patters on his chest. His shirt is sticking to him, slightly damp from the exertion. You’re completely naked, jeans discarded somewhere. There should be a fear of being caught, of being seen in such a vulnerable position, but for some reason you don’t care. Maybe it’s because you know Sukuna wouldn’t let that happen. Or maybe he would, and you just don’t care anymore. 

He sighs. “I know.”

“I really liked being the president,” you mumble. 

“I know.”

“But the Dean ruined everything. No, Mahito did. No, you did.”

He sighs again. “I know. I’ll fix it.”

You raise your head, chin resting on your hand as you look up at him. “How are you gonna do that?”

Brushing errant hairs from your face, he promises, “EdenU relies heavily on funding from my family. I’ll force the Dean’s hand, make him reinstate you.”

Unable to resist the urge, you bite his chin, feeling an aggressive desire to make him hurt. He smacks your ass in retaliation.

“But what about you? Didn’t you want to be president? Isn’t that what this whole thing’s even about?” It’s odd to be so casual, so conversational after that mind-numbing sex and the fact that there’s so much to be said, to be discussed between you two, but that’s just how it is with you and him. You aren’t normal. And certainly, aren’t healthy. 

“Nah,” he scoffs, “been president for like a week and that shit was tiring. Dunno how you did it.”

You giggle. “It’s not for the weak, that’s for sure.”

Sukuna slaps your ass for his own pleasure, a grin growing on his face. matching yours. But then it drops as he looks over your face, like he’s just remembered what the whole thing’s been about. Your smile drops too.

“Do we have to?” You ask, but the grim look on his face is all the answer you need. 

He cradles your cheek in one hand, uncharacteristically soft, and then he pecks your lips, once, twice. “Tell me what I did to you. Tell me what I put you through.”

You try to pull away but he’s holding you tighter. Your lip trembles and with a hiccup, you hiss, “What does it matter? Will you even apologise?”

“Yes,” he insists. “I’ll do it. For you. I’ll do it now.”

Sitting up, you try to find your clothes, fumbling in the dark. You find your panties and jeans, miraculously, and put them on. Unfortunately, your sweater is ripped up, but he drapes his jacket on you, and you both know it’ll stay with you from now on, like he had always intended. 

“If I tell you, we’ll have to start over again.”

His mouth is teasing and tasting wherever it can reach, exploring your neck, brushing your cheek and your hair, as if he’s promising your body his sincerity when he says, “Whatever it takes, I’ll win you back. Even if it takes forever.”

You’re willing to test that out. 

So, leaning back on his chest, you recount the night you set out to lose one thing and ended up losing everything.

[bunny-jpeg]

secret tattoos (vol. 1)

max verstappen

tags: smut/pwp, tattoos, established relationship, cowgirl position, tattoo worship, dirty talk

a/n: this was inspired by my want (need) for tattoos. but i think my gran would kill me if i came home with a tattoo so for now it'll just have to exist in my silly little fan fics <3

charles edition // lando edition // lewis edition // toto edition

you enjoyed your fair share of baggy t-shirts. your style was a lot more casual. usually an over-sized t-shirt with tighter pants. so max was used

it wasn't until he saw you undress for the first time, stripped away the layers of your clothes where he saw that on your upper bicep, near your shoulder. a tattoo, but not any tattoo.

a small one of nijntje

he stopped in his tracks as he watched you get the t-shirt over your head. he looked at you curiously when you turned to him and looked at him with confusion. you asked, "never seen breasts before, max?" you were in a sports bra.

"i didn't know you had a tattoo." he said as he pointed to it before he approached you. he reached out for your arm and looked at it. you looked down at the tattoo too.

"oh yeah, i got that like a week before we met." you laughed, "the little miffy." you turned your arms a little as you looked at it.

max smiled, "very cute. didn't know you liked nijntje." he looked at you while he still held your arm.

you replied, "i have for years. we used to have the books in the library at the elementary school i want to." your boyfriend of the part few months pulled you in a little closer. you held onto the front of his t-shirt and smiled, "it's how i learned where the netherlands was."

your chest pressed against his as he looked at you with a gentle smile. soon he kissed you on the lips and held you by the waist. there was a certain tenderness to it that made you blush a little harder.

when he pulled away you took him by the face and looked into his eyes, "i'm sorry i didn't tell you. i honestly thought you had already seen it."

"i would've remembered such a cute tattoo on such a cute girl." he chuckled before he kissed you once more. he then asked, "are there any other tattoos i should know about." he groped your ass and it made you moan. he chuckled lightly before he kissed you once more.

his hands got curious as they roamed your body. you moaned into the kiss before he broke it and led you to the bedroom, "i'm very curious about how you look. all of you." his hands were on the waistband of your yoga shorts.

you helped him out of his shirt and kissed the sharp line of his jaw then up his nose. he pulled the shorts down your thighs and you got them fully off. clothes were scattered everywhere by the time you two were nude and eventually you ended up straddling max's waist.

you braced your hands across his chest and rubbed yourself up against him. you were curious how come he hadn't seen the tattoo before, you two had sex.

"how did you not see the tattoo before?" you asked as you wet cunt rubbed against max's hard cock

he replied as he laced his fingers behind his head, "every time you had a shirt on. last time we did it you had my driver's jacket on. i guess i've never seen you without a shirt on."

you couldn't disagree with that, you were both often too wrapped up in lust to really focus on getting everything off. you tensed up and your toes curled as you seated yourself onto his cock. you could feel the shudder of want through your body as you started to move.

max tensed up for a moment as well and laid out under you as you rode him. you felt the heat in your gut as you moved, his cock hit against all the right areas. you felt the thump of pleasure in the drums of your ears as you moved against him.

"fuck." you panted as you moved against him. you could feel the rush of pleasure through your body as you rutted against him. you used his strong chest as leverage for your heavy thrusts. you could feel it all.

being with max was always pleasurable, he was a very giving lover. the type that some would fantasize about as if they didn't do that about him already. the heat bloomed in your cheeks when you caught max staring at you.

"you look nice with tattoos." he said as he reached for you and took a hold of your hips, "maybe you should get some more." his licked his lips, "something that reminds you of me." he said with heat in his tone.

you raked your nails down his chest and moved your hips, "oh yeah, like what?" you knew people had tattoos about your boyfriend. and you did think about it after you two got together.

"my number... a lion... my last name?"

you giggled, "your last name? i thought that was supposed to be on my passport, not on my skin." he felt him shuddered. you teased him with the idea of eventually getting married.

he groaned, "i'll think of something." his expression changed from the heightened pleasure as you continued to move against him. you took a hold of your shoulders and his grasp tightened on your hips. you two moved against one another and you felt the heated euphoria in your body. max felt the same as he rolled his hips against yours.

the idea of having max pick out a tattoo for you was hot. it was hot in a way that made your stomach jump as you continued to move against him. you felt the fire only grow in your stomach the more you fucked him. the more you near bounced on his cock with a sexual fever that you could deny yourself any further.

you were glad that max found your tattoo hot. that he thought the little stamp shaped tattoo with nijntje inside of it was beyond adorable. you raked his chest with your nails as the two of you moved. soon his chest was littered with marks fro your nails which only made him more aroused.

you two weren't going to last much longer. you felt the rush of pleasure through you as you picked up the pace. everything felt like fireworks in the back of your mind as you pace staggered. you continued to work him up and down until it all became too much. you panted, "i'm cumming." before you finished.

max felt a shudder of pleasure through his core as he held onto you a little tighter. he worked you up and down on his cock. you whined and your toes curled as you felt the heat in your gut grow. he knew he wasn't going to last much longer either. the two of you moved against one another as the pleasure took over him as well.

he gave it a few more thrusts before he spilled inside of you with a heated groan. you made him feel good all over in a way that made every nerve in his body feel alive in the best way possible.

you both slowed to a stop before you rested against max's chest for a moment before he wrapped his strong arms around you. you ended up on your side with max cuddled up against you, his lips against your skin.

"fuck, i want to pick your next tattoo." he said as he kissed you. you moaned into the kiss as he held you closer. with kisses like that you'd end up with a verstappen tattoo soon enough <3

nijntje tattoo

[scoupsakakitty]

Silent Flames | idol!S.coups x idol!reader | angst, fluff

The December chill nipped at Y/N’s cheeks as she pulled her coat tighter, walking toward the practice room. Seungcheol trailed just behind her, his steps heavy with frustration. He reached for her wrist, stopping her just before they entered the building.

“Wait,” he said quietly.

She turned to face him, her expression soft but wary. “What is it?”

“I hate this,” he muttered, his jaw clenched. “Pretending like we’re not together. Like you’re just some… stranger to me.”

Y/N sighed, reaching up to touch his arm reassuringly. “I know. But we agreed, remember? It’s better than letting the management think we’re defying them. If they find out, they’ll make things even harder for us.”

He scoffed bitterly. “Harder? They already made up lies about us to force us apart. The fans believed it. The rumors, about you using me for fame, it was disgusting. Not to forget our age difference. And now they’re watching every move we make.”

Y/N stepped closer, lowering her voice. “I know it’s unfair, Seungcheol. But we’re still here, aren’t we? We’re still us. We just have to act like we’re not.”

His shoulders slumped, and he nodded reluctantly. “Okay. Let’s get through today. But the second we’re alone, I’m not pretending anymore.”

She smiled softly. “Deal.”

Taking a deep breath, they stepped into the practice room, their professional masks slipping into place.

———————————————————————————

The rehearsal was in full swing, with members from Seventeen, Stray Kids, and Y/N’s group scattered around the room. Seungcheol tried to focus on the group choreography, but his attention kept drifting to the center of the room, where Y/N and Hyunjin were rehearsing their duet.

The choreography was playful but undeniably provocative. Hyunjin’s hands lingered on Y/N’s waist during a spin, their faces close as they hit their marks. The teasing laughter that followed each successful move grated on Seungcheol’s nerves.

“Hyung,” Mingyu said, nudging him. “You’re staring. Everyone can see it.”

“I’m not staring,” Seungcheol snapped, though his eyes remained locked on the duo.

Mingyu chuckled, leaning closer. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you. Relax. It’s just choreography.”

“It’s not just choreography,” Seungcheol muttered. “Why does it have to be so—” He cut himself off, shaking his head.

Mingyu raised an eyebrow, his tone turning teasing. “Oh, if you’re this riled up now, wait until you hear this. Did you know Y/N’s been hanging out with the ‘2000-line’ idols? You know, Hyunjin, Felix, and the others? They’ve even got their own group chat.”

Seungcheol’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

“Yeah,” Mingyu said with a grin. “They’re getting a lot of attention lately, like our ‘97-line group. People are calling them the future of K-pop or something. They look good together, too—young, fresh, all born in the same year.”

Seungcheol’s jaw tightened, and Mingyu smirked. “You’re going to pop a vein if you keep this up.”

Before Seungcheol could reply, Bang Chan and Lee Know approached, both smiling warmly.

“Hey, guys,” Chan greeted. “You’re working hard today.”

“Always,” Mingyu said smoothly, giving Seungcheol a look that said Don’t blow it.

Chan leaned against the mirror, glancing at the ongoing rehearsal. “Hyunjin and Y/N are killing it out there. Their chemistry is great, really natural.”

Seungcheol forced a tight smile. “Yeah. They’ve been practicing a lot.”

Lee Know nodded. “Hyunjin was nervous about this duet at first, but I think Y/N brings out the best in him. They make a good pair.”

Seungcheol’s fists clenched at his sides, and Mingyu quickly jumped in. “That’s the goal, right? Making the fans happy. It’s all for the show.”

“Exactly,” Chan said. “Speaking of which, did you hear about their photoshoot tomorrow? They’re going to crush it. A Christmas theme, I think.”

Seungcheol’s stomach dropped, but he kept his expression neutral. “Photoshoot?”

As if on cue, the managers walked in and made the announcement.

“Attention, everyone,” one of the staff called out. “Hyunjin and Y/N will have a photoshoot tomorrow for the promotional materials. Make sure to coordinate with your stylists. The theme is cozy Christmas.”

Excited murmurs rippled through the room, and Hyunjin turned to Y/N with a grin. “Looks like we’re working together again.”

Y/N smiled politely, but she could feel Seungcheol’s gaze burning into her. Mingyu leaned closer to him and whispered, “Hyung, chill. The cameras are still on.”

———————————————————————————

After the session ended, the groups gathered in the lounge area to unwind. Someone suggested a game of charades, and soon, the room was filled with laughter and friendly competition.

Y/N sat with her group, but her attention kept drifting to Seungcheol, who was on the other side of the room with Seventeen. He caught her eye once, and for a fleeting moment, his mask slipped, revealing the frustration and longing beneath.

Hyunjin noticed her distraction and leaned in with a playful smile. “Are you okay?”

Y/N turned to him, nodding quickly. “Yeah, just tired.”

Hyunjin studied her for a moment before asking casually, “Are you still with Seungcheol?”

Y/N blinked in surprise. “How did you figure that out?”

He shrugged nonchalantly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Not hard to guess. Just look at the way he’s staring at me. It’s like he’s about to jump across the room and strangle me.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at his lighthearted tone, but she also felt a weight in her chest. “Yeah, we’re still together.”

Hyunjin raised his hands in mock surrender. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. I won’t tell anyone.”

She smiled softly, grateful for his understanding. “Thanks, Hyunjin. I appreciate it.”

Across the room, Mingyu leaned over to Seungcheol. “If you keep staring, people are going to notice.”

“Let them,” Seungcheol muttered.

Mingyu rolled his eyes. “You’re impossible.“

———————————————————————————

The game of charades had long ended, and most of the idols had dispersed to their respective dressing rooms. Seungcheol leaned against the wall near the vending machines, waiting for Y/N. Mingyu had urged him to stay calm, but the day’s events had worn down his patience. Between the duet, the photoshoot announcement, and Chan’s casual praise for Y/N and Hyunjin’s “chemistry,” his resolve was hanging by a thread.

Finally, Y/N appeared, walking toward him. She glanced around to make sure no one was nearby before stepping into the shadowy corner where he stood.

“You’re waiting for me?” she asked softly, trying to mask the exhaustion in her voice.

“Of course I am,” he replied, his tone quieter but no less intense.

Y/N sighed and leaned against the wall beside him, keeping a safe distance in case anyone happened by. “Seungcheol, you need to relax. The day’s almost over.”

“Relax?” he echoed bitterly. “How am I supposed to relax when he’s touching you like that, smiling at you like that?”

She turned her head to look at him, her gaze steady but gentle. “It’s choreography. It’s a photoshoot. That’s all it is.”

“You don’t see the way he looks at you,” Seungcheol muttered, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. “Like he wants more.”

Y/N frowned, stepping closer despite the risk. “And you don’t see the way I look at you. That’s the only look that matters, Seungcheol. You know that.”

Her words softened something in him, and he let out a long breath, his fists unclenching. “I hate this, Y/N. All of it. Pretending we’re not together, watching you from a distance, hearing people talk about you and Hyunjin like you’re some perfect pair.”

She reached for his hand, their fingers brushing lightly. “I hate it too. But we agreed. If the management thinks we’ve moved on, they’ll leave us alone. This is the only way we can be together…at least for now.”

Seungcheol closed his eyes, tilting his head back against the wall. “I know. I just…” He trailed off, his voice breaking slightly. “I miss you. I miss us.”

Y/N’s heart ached at his vulnerability. She wanted nothing more than to pull him into her arms, but the sound of distant footsteps reminded her that they couldn’t risk it. Not here. Not now.

She squeezed his hand gently before speaking softly. “By the way, Hyunjin noticed. He asked me earlier if we’re still together.”

Seungcheol tensed, but Y/N quickly reassured him. “I told him yes. But he promised he wouldn’t tell anyone. He said he won’t breathe a word of it. You don’t have to worry about him.”

Seungcheol let out a small sigh of relief, but the tension didn’t completely leave him. “I still don’t like it, Y/N. The way he looks at you… the way he smiles at you.”

Y/N leaned in a little closer, her voice gentle but firm. “You don’t have to worry about him. I’m here with you, Seungcheol. I always will be.”

Her words softened something in him, and he let out a long breath, his fists unclenching. “I know. I just…” He trailed off, his voice breaking slightly. “I miss you. I miss us.”

Y/N smiled softly and leaned her head against his shoulder for a moment. “Meet me after,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. “At the hotel. I’ll come to your room.”

Seungcheol opened his eyes, his gaze locking onto hers. “Promise?”

Y/N nodded. “I promise.”

———————————————————————————

Later that night, after all the schedules and rehearsals were finished, Y/N made her way to Seungcheol’s hotel room. The hallways were quiet, and she moved quickly, slipping inside without knocking.

Seungcheol was waiting for her, sitting on the edge of the bed. He stood the moment she entered, pulling her into his arms without hesitation.

Finally, they could be themselves.

She clung to him, burying her face in his chest. “I’m sorry you had to go through that today.”

“It’s not your fault,” he murmured, his chin resting on top of her head. “I just can’t stand the idea of losing you. Watching you with him…it felt too real.”

“You’re not losing me,” she said firmly, pulling back to look at him. “You never will. I’m here, Seungcheol. I’m yours.”

His hands cupped her face, his thumbs brushing against her cheeks. “I don’t care about the rumors, the fans, or the management. I’ll fight them all if it means keeping you by my side.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and she shook her head. “We can’t fight them outright. Not yet. But we can survive this, Seungcheol. Together. We’re stronger than they think.”

He kissed her then, slow and tender, as if to remind her—and himself—that their love was worth every battle.

When they finally pulled apart, Y/N rested her forehead against his. “We’ll get through this. One day, we won’t have to hide anymore. Until then, we just have to hold on.”

Seungcheol nodded, his arms tightening around her. “As long as I have you, I can hold on forever.”

————————————————————————————-

[burntoutdaydreamer]

Weird Brain Hacks That Help Me Write

I'm a consistently inconsistent writer/aspiring novelist, member of the burnt-out-gifted-kid-to-adult-ADHD-diagnosis-pipeline, recently unemployed overachiever, and person who's sick of hearing the conventional neurotypical advice to dealing with writer's block (i.e. "write every single day," or "there's no such thing as writer's block- if you're struggling to write, just write" Like F*CK THAT. Thank you, Brenda, why don't you go and tell someone with diabetes to just start producing more insulin?)

I've yet to get to a point in my life where I'm able to consistently write at the pace I want to, but I've come a long way from where I was a few years ago. In the past five years I've written two drafts of a 130,000 word fantasy novel (currently working on the third) and I'm about 50,000 words in on the sequel. I've hit a bit of a snag recently, but now that I've suddenly got a lot of time on my hands, I'm hoping to revamp things and return to the basics that have gotten me to this point and I thought I might share.

1) My first draft stays between me and God

I find that I and a lot of other writers unfortunately have gotten it into our heads that first drafts are supposed to resemble the finished product and that revisions are only for fixing minor mistakes. Therefore, if our first draft sucks that must mean we suck as writers and having to rewrite things from scratch means that means our first draft is a failure.

I'm here to say that is one of the most detrimental mentalities you can have as a writer.

Ever try drawing a circle? You know how when you try to free-hand draw a perfect circle in one go, it never turns out right? Whereas if you scribble, say, ten circles on top of one another really quickly and then erase the messy lines until it looks like you drew a circle with a singular line, it ends up looking pretty decent?

Yeah. That's what the drafting process is.

Your first draft is supposed to suck. I don't care who you are, but you're never going to write a perfect first draft, especially if you're inexperienced. The purpose of the first draft is to lay down a semi-workable foundation. A really loose, messy sketch if you will. Get it all down on paper, even if it turns out to be the most cliche, cringe-inducing writing you've ever done. You can work out those kinks in the later drafts. The hardest part of the first draft is the most crucial part: getting started. Don't stress yourself out and make it even harder than it already is.

If that means making a promise to yourself that no one other than you will ever read your first draft unless it's over your cold, dead body, so be it.

2) Tell perfectionism to screw off by writing with a pen

I used to exclusively write with pencil until I realized I was spending more time erasing instead of writing.

Writing with a pen keeps me from editing while I right. Like, sometimes I'll have to cross something out or make notes in the margins, but unlike erasing and rewriting, this leaves the page looking like a disaster zone and that's a good thing.

If my writing looks like a complete mess on paper, that helps me move past the perfectionist paralysis and just focus on getting words down on the page. Somehow seeing a page full of chicken scratch makes me less worried about making my writing all perfect and pretty- and that helps me get on with my main goal of fleshing out ideas and getting words on a page.

3) It's okay to leave things blank when you can't think of the right word

My writing, especially my first draft, is often filled with ___ and .... and (insert name here) and red text that reads like stage directions because I can't think of what is supposed to go there or the correct way to write it.

I found it helps to treat my writing like I do multiple choice tests. Can't think of the right answer? Just skip it. Circle it, come back to it later, but don't let one tricky question stall you to the point where you run out of brain power or run out of time to answer the other questions.

If I'm on a role, I'm not gonna waste it by trying to remember that exact word that I need or figure out the right transition into the next scene or paragraph. I'm just going to leave it blank, mark to myself that I'll need to fix the problem later, and move on.

Trust me. This helps me sooooo much with staying on a roll.

4) Write Out of Order

This may not be for everyone, but it works wonders for me.

Sure, the story your writing may need to progress chronologically, but does that mean you need to write it chronologically? No. It just needs to be written.

I generally don't do this as much for editing, but for writing, so long as you're making progress, it doesn't matter if it's in the right order. Can't think of how to structure Chapter 2, but you have a pretty good idea of how your story's going to end? Write the ending then. You'll have to go back and write Chapter 2 eventually, but if you're feeling more motivated to write a completely different part of the book, who's to say you can't do that?

When I'm working on a project, I start off with a single document that I title "Scrap for (Project Title)" and then just write whatever comes to mind, in whatever order. Once I've gotten enough to work with, then I start outlining my plot and predicting how many chapters I'm going to need. Then, I create separate google docs for each individual chapter and work on them in whatever order I feel like, often leaving several partially complete as I jump from one to the other. Then, as each one gets finished, I copy and paste the chapter into the full manuscript document. This means that the official "draft" could have Chapters 1 and 9, but completely be missing Chapters 2-8, and that's fine. It's not like anyone will ever know once I finish it.

Sorry for the absurdly long post. Hopes this helps someone. Maybe I'll share more tricks in the future.

[act-nat-ural]

Apologies

@ash0-0ley: Can you write for suna? Angst to fluff please (sorry for my bad english 🤡)

word count: 1013

Rintarou didn’t mean to yell at you, not really. He’d just been so on edge lately, putting in extra hours at practice and pushing himself to his limits as he prepared for the upcoming tournament. Every game felt like it was raising the stakes, and he wanted to be sure he didn’t let anyone down.

But all that stress, all that pressure—it had a way of bleeding out. And you, his favorite person, were unfortunately in his line of fire.

It was supposed to be a quick visit. You had swung by the gym after practice with a snack and a few words of encouragement, hoping to ease his stress. You saw the fatigue in his eyes and the tension in his shoulders. Rintarou had always been calm and collected, but today, he seemed like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“Hey, Rin,” you greeted him with a warm smile, holding out the small bag you’d brought. “I thought you could use a little pick-me-up.”

But instead of the soft smile you were used to, he barely even looked at you.

“Can’t you see I’m busy?” he snapped, the sharpness in his voice slicing through you like a blade. “I don’t have time for this right now.”

His words hit you harder than they should have, and you flinched. You could feel your face heating up, embarrassment and hurt mixing in your chest. You wanted to say something, to tell him you were just trying to help, but you couldn’t bring yourself to respond. The look on his face told you enough; he was frustrated, tired, and didn’t want you around.

So, you left. You told yourself it was fine, that he was just stressed and didn’t mean it. But as the days passed, doubt began to creep in. Maybe you were a distraction. Maybe he’d be better off without you around. The more you thought about it, the more you began to wonder if he even wanted you there at all.

So you started to avoid him. You stopped swinging by the gym, stopped texting him as much. When he called, you kept the conversations short. And when he asked if you wanted to meet up, you always had an excuse ready.

Rintarou noticed the change immediately, but he brushed it off at first, thinking you were just busy. But after a few days, it became impossible to ignore. He missed you, missed the comfort of having you around, and every time he saw your name on his phone, his chest ached with guilt. He knew he’d messed up, that he’d hurt you. But he didn’t realize how much until now, when you were slipping further and further away.

One night, after another long, grueling practice, he found himself standing outside your apartment. He had barely thought it through, too tired and too anxious to wait any longer. He raised his hand, hesitating for a moment, before knocking softly.

The sound startled you. It was late, and you hadn’t been expecting anyone. When you opened the door and saw Rintarou standing there, his eyes tired but determined, your heart clenched. You hadn’t seen him in days, and you realized just how much you’d missed him.

“Rin?” you asked, surprised.

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking down at his feet. “Hey. Can I…can I come in?”

You nodded, stepping aside to let him in. The silence between you was heavy, and you didn’t know what to say, how to explain why you’d been avoiding him. But before you could even gather your thoughts, he spoke.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was quiet, but there was a rawness to it that caught you off guard. “I’m sorry for the way I snapped at you. I was stressed, but that’s no excuse. You didn’t deserve that.”

You felt your throat tighten, the hurt you’d been pushing down rising to the surface. “It’s okay. I know you’ve been under a lot of pressure lately.”

He shook his head, his gaze finally meeting yours. “No, it’s not okay. I pushed you away, and I shouldn’t have. I thought that if I focused everything on practice, if I shut out everything else, I’d be able to handle it. But…not having you around just made everything worse.”

You swallowed, feeling a mix of relief and lingering doubt. “I thought…I thought maybe you didn’t want me around anymore. That I was just making things harder for you.”

Rintarou’s eyes widened, and he took a step closer, his hand reaching out to yours. “No. You’re the one thing that makes all of this easier. I…I messed up, and I’m sorry. I need you with me, okay? I don’t want to do this alone.”

His words broke down the walls you’d been building around yourself, and you let out a shaky breath. “I missed you, Rin.”

He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly. “I missed you too. So much.”

You stayed like that for a while, the tension between you melting away as he held you close. The familiar warmth of his embrace soothed the ache that had been sitting in your chest for days, and you felt the weight of your doubts and fears lifting.

After a few moments, he pulled back slightly, looking down at you with a soft smile. “I’ll do better, I promise. I’ll make time for you, no matter how busy things get. Just…don’t leave me, okay?”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I won’t. But you have to let me help, too. You don’t have to do this all on your own.”

He let out a soft chuckle, his eyes crinkling with a mixture of relief and affection. “Yeah. I think I could use that.”

You spent the rest of the night curled up together on the couch, talking quietly about everything and nothing at all. And in that moment, with Rin’s arms wrapped around you and his apologies whispered into your hair, you knew that whatever challenges came your way, you’d face them together.

note: can you tell i'm bad at angst lol

[karinasbaby]

hiii!! what type of porn do u think enha would be into?? this question has literally been plaguing me for the past week

thank u sm for sending this to me my beloved anon ! (⺣◡⺣)♡ here is my personal opinion on what kind of porn the enha hyung line (adding jungwon cuz i love nia) would be into 🤞

𖥻 JAKE i know will be into the nastiest shit known to humanity. but ! at the same time everything really depends on his mood and what he’s feeling. if he’s feeling like he just needs to get one nut out and have a quick orgasm he’ll probably go into the shadiest & easiest porn sites and just click on whatever makes his cock twitch from the thumbnail on the recently uploaded page. and he has range. his gravitation towards these types of videos range from (obv scripted) milfs getting pounded by their step sons or … hear me out. just straight up pussy eating videos. that does it for him tbh. however ! if he does have time and wants to have a whole masturbation session he would probably take his time in searching for the types of videos he’s in the mood for (also ranges from 69 videos, anal videos, sex toys videos, BDSM videos and so on and so forth) but at the end of the day, doesn’t matter if he was here for a quick or long orgasm— it WILL knock him out and he will sleep like a baby :(

honourable mentions ! : fucking machine videos, … sybian, step-cest hentai, pussy eating videos & squirting orgasm compilations (he’s a munch what can i say).

𖥻 HEESEUNG also into the nastiest shit known to human kind. i feel like heeseung has a phase where he hyperfixates on either 3D porn (probably futanari threesomes) or hentai (highschool themed ones maybe? or … infidelity ones ngl). (that phase comes and goes every now and then but it’s there for sure) he also has a thing for step-cest and i feel like lots & lots of bondage videos. i’m talking like porn videos where girls get tied up and fucked with different kinds of toys for hours till they squirt uncontrollably and best believe he’s watching it entirely. heeseung also has a thing for edging himself as it makes his orgasm hit 10 times harder. so he probably has participated in those ‘10 mins do not cum’ challenge videos on random porn sites. i also believe he has a thing for rough fucking videos. going back into the bdsm part he loves watching threesome bdsm videos where there’s a guy fucking a girl while another one is pushing his cock down her throat. also seems like the guy to have a thing for monsterfucking.. anything that involves werewolf, monster or alien x human porn videos just know that he’s already watched it. tentacles hentai is the way to go, 3D alien forced breeding is also one of his favourites (might even have an obsession with facehuggers phase… anyone interested in alien hee?) overall really filthy shit gets him off so well.

honourable mentions ! : has a thing for double penetration videos, gangbangs, lesbian threesomes, sex toy videos, alien breeding & facehuggers.

𖥻 JAY my romantic baby :( this man probably doesn’t even go to porn sites that often (lies) he goes to twitter to his fav nsfw accs & watches the most romantic and loving porn on the internet that it’s not even porn atp it’s just watching two ppl love each other (and being jealous). he’s the type of man that will have a thing for missionary videos because i feel like he watches the type of porn that he, himself can replicate. missionary videos with the guy being so whiny and kissing his girl everywhere is one of his favs, but ! he also does really enjoy watching cowgirl povs.. doesn’t matter if it’s reverse or not, i know an ass man when i see one. see now all of this? applies to my beloved soft boy jay ♡ who takes his time and enjoys his alone pleasure time so nicely and sleeps so contently like a baby after. butttt ! he also does have his own random urges and moments and needs to watch diff types of porn. i see him as the type of guy to stay on twitter still but also go to diff acc w diff kinds of porn in them.. call me crazy but i believe he also has a thing for tying up like heeseung. except this time its obv diff than the bondage on porn sites. he loves loves loves to watch videos of pretty ‘good girls’ getting punished on their daddies lap with their legs and arms tied up. loves to watch how their daddies make them sit on their faces so they can eat their cunts out for hours. also has a thing for full fucking session videos from start to beginning. is fully tuned in from the first few minutes of the make out session or the teasing till the final minute where both of them orgasm. might even be the type to start jerking himself off slowly in the beginning and make himself cum with the ppl on the video to get maximum satisfaction, then goes into a deep slumber cuz he’s been edging himself for a long time.

honourable mentions ! : twt videos that lean heavily towards ddlg content, bj videos, tit play videos (to feed into his lactation kink ! best believe he’s jerking off to a man sucking milky droplets off his girl’s nipples) and doggystyle compilations.

𖥻 SUNGHOON … he’s really into role play videos. idk how to explain this but i feel like he has a massive obsession with role play porn videos that are all scripted. a police officer x criminal porn video where the girl is the criminal and gets cuffed and fucked over the chief’s table just does it for him. his interests also drift towards pet play… has a thing for pet play kind of videos & cute pet like outfits like cat ears :( really has a huge thing for calling a pretty girl kitty it just makes him cum so quickly & so so hard. when the video contains roleplaying and punishment? he’s so gone. give him a video where it’s a professor / teacher x student roleplay porn and his hands will be around his cock in a second. his obsession is so deep rooted he’s willing to go into the sketchiest sites just to find the full versions of the videos he sees that are frustratingly teasers / half way through. he’s also a freak for ‘stuck inside the washing machine’ type shit (so yes to step-cest roleplaying videos). it just adds up in my head tbh cuz it’s freakhoon we’re talking about. bcs of his obsession with roleplaying and pet play… he also sometimes falls down a horny rabbit hole of 3D hentai.. that’s furry porn. he will never admit this but he came so hard to furry / wildlife porn especially when he found werewolf & human porn. best nut of his life the second he saw the knot orgasm. again will never admit this bcs the post nut clarity hit him so hard he didn’t jerk off for five days straight after that. (anyone interested in werewolf hoon? omegaverse hoon?).

honourable mentions ! : also into fucking machine videos, furry breeding videos, roleplaying hentai videos and anal compilations (no i will not elaborate for now.)

𖥻 JUNGWON the only thought that comes into my head when i think about the type of porn that will get won off is tits. doesn’t matter what kind of video he’s watching as long as there’s tit play is involved he’s so gone. loves and adores to watch videos of either boob play & jerking off or missionary with milfs (yes has a huge thing for milfs) where the camera pov is from above and he has the perfect angle of their cunt & tits bouncing. though he might have a thing for tits & female body worship… cock worship gets him off so well. just seeing a girl get so cockdrunk with a guy slapping his leaking dick on the side of her cheek makes him so fucking hard. like jake, jungwon’s porn videos depend on his mood and how he’s feeling like. if he needs a quick nut he’ll go to his favourite website and click on whatever appears for him first cuz he has an acc and the algorithm already knows the kind of filth he watches. (he’s a dedicated consumer, has an acc on every site and might even go as far as to downloading porn site apps & following their twt accs) but if he is looking for a long session where he can take his time then best believe he’s watching a whole homemade movie. loves to watch videos from beginning to end with all different positions and angles and multiple orgasms. also tends to have a thing for following along and experiencing everything in the video. but then again he also strikes me as the guy to also watch tit play compilations… for sure has a lactation kink and lives to get off of boob sucking videos & maybe even adult breastfeeding. either way… everything depends on his mood.

honourable mentions ! : 69 compilations, cowgirl compilations especially ones where the guy starts to suck on the girl’s boobs, pussy fingering orgasm videos, deep throating.

again thank u for sending this ask !! <3

[nadvs]

Ok so,from what I read,Rafe goes down on her pretty often,right? What about her? Can u write her going down on him please?

YESSS omg he’s a munch with her 🤭 but she returns the favor!!

set in the home before dark universe! 18+!

rafe almost always chooses his motorcycle over his car. but when his girlfriend tells him she’s planning on wearing a dress to the formal party at the country club one cool summer night, he picks her up in his suv.

his eyes hungrily trail down her body the second he sees her. he’s not sure how he’s going to get through the night with her looking like that.

they arrive at the club and stand together in the crowd, drinks in their hands, talking amongst friends.

a few nights ago, one of rafe’s friends drunkenly told her something she keeps replaying in her head. this is corny as fuck but rafe seems happy with you and i’ve never really seen him like that.

she looks up at rafe through her lashes, so infatuated with the complex, handsome man who somehow can be gentle and rough at the same time. she’s so glad that she can make him happy. she’s eager to make him even happier.

rafe feels her hand press against his chest, fingers bunching over the fabric of his dress shirt. he looks down at her, stomach twisting with arousal like it always does when she touches him.

“i forgot something in the car,” she says over the music. he puts down his drink and nods, offering his hand. she smiles, already knowing he wouldn’t let her go alone anywhere.

when they get to his car in the dark parking lot, she opens the back door and sits and slowly pulls him in.

“what are you doing?” rafe asks, a sexy smile on his face, his tone low, ducking into the car.

she shuts the door behind him, glad his windows are so tinted, and shifts to straddle him, brushing her lips against his.

“remember last night?” she asks. he smirks, thinking about how long he went down on her in his bed.

“yeah,” he rasps.

“i don’t think i showed you how much i appreciated that,” she whispers. she feels his cock growing in his pants already and she kisses him, tasting the alcohol on his tongue.

she perches up on her knees, unbuckling his belt. he shifts to lean against the door, stretched out in the backseat, watching her strip his pants down to his knees, palming him over his boxers.

“shit,” he groans. he can’t even wrap his head around how hot this is, how he was just in the club with her a minute ago, surrounded by people, and now they’re alone in his car, her hand gripping his cock.

she looks up at him, making out the outline of his features in the dark, stroking his length. when she pulls down the band of his boxers, he springs out.

she runs her tongue up from his base, keeping her eyes locked on his the entire time, watching the way his face twists in pleasure. she kisses the tip, making his head fall back as he chuckles in excitement and disbelief.

“goddamn,” rafe groans. “you’re so fucking hot.”

she smirks and holds him at his base as she starts to lap at his cock, her breath hot on him, her tongue flicking. once she finally locks her lips around him, he bucks his hips.

the feeling of her tight, hot mouth sucking him makes him groan even louder and she puts her other hand on him, bobbing up and down slowly while her hands work what she can’t reach with her mouth.

“is that good?” she asks.

“so good,” he tells her.

the sounds of her wet sucks and his heavy breaths fill the car. when she looks up at him again, he cups her cheek, in awe of her.

that look on his face makes her want to push herself to her limits and give him everything. she adjusts her stance on her knees, the carpet smooth against her skin, and slowly sinks to take all of him in.

rafe feels himself hit the back of her throat and it makes fire coil in his gut.

“yeah, that’s it,” he praises. “like that.”

she pulls back slowly, then takes all of him again, feeling him get even harder, close to his climax. she sucks hard, her jaw getting sore as she pumps him with her hand, lining it up with her mouth, making sure she never loses contact.

“i’m gonna come,” he groans. “fuck… fuck…”

he fills her mouth in hot, hard spurts as he shakes, gripping her head, fingers digging in her hair, seeing stars.

he’s panting, feeling her kiss his length as he shuts his eyes, nearly dizzy from the pleasure.

eager to kiss her, to thank her, he cradles her jaw and gently leads her to come back up to him.

“that was…” he whispers, unable to find the words as he kisses her temple. she smiles, resting her hands on his shoulders, just as breathless as he is.

he always makes her feel so treasured, and she hopes she made him feel the same way. with the way he’s holding her, kissing her, still slightly shaking, she’s sure she has.

[fanfiction4sooya]

Could I please request Phone sex w/ Ning Ning while she’s away on tour. Thank you

Took me long enough, but here I come!! Thank you for your patience and the request, love 💖 hope y'all like it.

cw: masturbation, sex over the phone, dirty talking, humping, etc. not really proofread.

Ning felt the addrenaline rush as she left the stage, her heart beating fast inside her ribcage; Her idol life was amazing but sometimes she missed you next to her whenever she felt like that. Sometimes she wanted you with her, your eyes watching every step she took and every move she made on stage.

God, that world tour was killing her.

Two weeks without seeing you due to your work schedule and her constant travelling. Some might say two weeks is nothing, but not ning; Not to you either, but you were very controlled, contrary to your girlfriend.

She quickly got to her hotel room, denying any invitation for dinner with the girls saying she needed to rest because of a headache. She giggled, looking at the time on her phone, knowing very well she would wake you. Good. She loved your sleepy voice.

She called. Your phone rang three times as her back hit the mattress, her skirt rolled up. On the fourth time you picked it up.

"Hey, sleepy head" She said, not loud and clear like she would usually do, but a bit more contained. "Hi, baby" You answered, yawning. "is it everyhting okay?" You looked at the time. "You don't usually call me this late"

"Oh yeah..." She said, lowering her free hand to her wet panties to lightly circle her clit. "I just missed you so much today at the concert, baby" She breathed out.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be there, ning" You said and she held her breath as she felt herself clench around nothing, really wishing your fingers were the ones inside her.

She pushed her panties to the side, a low whimper reaching you when one of her fingers slipped through her folds.

"Ning what..."

"Keep talking baby" She said, her tone getting more and more obscene. "I wanna hear your voice - shit" She reached deeper inside of her and you could hear the wet sound on the other side of the line, furiously blushing as you thought about her doing such thing to the sound of your voice.

You felt heat pool in the pit of your stomach.

"Why didn't you call me on video, baby?" You said a bit out of breath as you placed a pillow in between your legs, pouting a bit. "I wanna see you" You whined and you heard her moan louder, you always knew she was keen to your whining.

"Oh you wanna see me, princess?" She sped up her pace, pressing the phone between her shoulder and ear to rub her swollen clit with the other hand. "Would you like to see my fingers stretching me while I think of you?" She said.

"Yes, please" You closed you eyes, pressing your already soaked pussy to the pillow harder to rub it better.

"I like the sound of your voice baby, I like how desperate you get when your need to see me grows inside of you" Ning added another finger inside of her. "Fuck I'm so wet baby" She breathed out, followed by a lot of curses falling from her lips.

"Ning" You closed your eyes, hips stuttering against the soft fabric of the pillow.

"Fuck baby, are you touching yourself too?" She whined, closing her eyes so she could imagine you doing just that.

"Hmm" You huffed, hips moving freely to grind on it.

"Oh my good girl" Ning said fucking herself harder, her mind going crazy as your lewd sounds reached her ears.

"I miss you so much, ning" you cried out, your clit pulsing inside your wet sleeping shorts as hers throbbed under her digits. She was furiously rubbing it now. "I miss your hands on my body, please come home"

Your whines were getting the chinese woman insane, her own arousal dripping down her center to the mattres, the sounds she were making getting louder with each trust of her fingers to her own core.

"I wish I was there, baby" She said, trying hard to hold her impending orgasm but it was nearly impossible with you moaning so beautifully for her. "Fu-fuck" She closed her eyes, her legs shaking uncontrollably when her orgasm hit her like a bullet.

"Ning, oh god" You squeezed the pillow harder against the mattress, hips stuttering as your hard clit pulsed against the soft fabric and you smeared your arousal all over it too as it leaked through your shorts. "I need you inside me, fuck"

You said and she clenched around her fingers, riding down her climax, eyes squeezed shut.

"I came so hard baby, jesus" Ning said a bit out of breath. "I bet you look so pretty, honey" Her attention was now all yours. "How are you trying to get off, pretty girl?" Her voice sounded smooth, not at all that breathless mess of less than a minute ago.

"Y-your pillow" You sobbed.

"My pillow, baby?" She said with a predatory tone. "Why not yours? Hm?"

"F-Fuck" You said, still rutting against it. "Yours smells like you and I- I miss you so fucking much" You felt your pussy clench and that knot in your stomach tightens considerably. "Ning, baby... please" You cried out.

Of course, knowing your girlfriend just like you did, she'd love to hear you begging for her to let you cum (and honestly, so did you).

"You sound so good when you beg, baby..." She hushed, a wave of arousal crashing through her again. "Cum for me, princess" She said. "Imagine you are rutting all over my face, how about that?" She said and that was your last straw.

Your hips took off as hard as you could, your moans filling the empty room and bouncing on the walls, echoing on your ears and hers. You started saying nonsense after nonsense, never stopping to think you were basically screaming for your neighbors to hear as well.

"I'm cumming ning, fuck I'm cumming" You babbled, your climax hitting you hard and making your ears ring.

You stopped moving, your labored breath reaching ningning's ears like the most beautiful music in the world, she was grinning like and idiot as you tried your best to gain composure.

"How are you feeling, love?" She said.

"I'm feeling like I'm on cloud nine..." Pulling the pillow from between your legs you winced, even the slightest move getting you overstimulated. "But I still wish you were here" You said, pouting and your heard another moan. "Ning?"

"I'll turn on a video call, baby" It was the only thing she said and you immediately pulled the phone from your ear to your eye level. "Now I want you to watch me" She positioned her phone lower, filming herself playing with her pussy lips.

"Ningie" You mewled, mouth watering at the sight. You wanted to cry because of that infernal distance.

Her abused pussy was glistening and red, her clit engorged in the way you enjoyed sucking so much. She dipped a finger inside herself and you heard her hiss.

When you were about to say something else you heard a knock on her door and she quickly lowered her skirt.

"Ning! I decided to head back too, got you some food" Jimin said. "Why are you looking so red?" Karina eyed ningning up and down from the other side of the room.

"Nothing unnie, I was just telling my beautiful girlfriend how much I've missed her while I was on stage" She smiled, showing you on the phone and Jimin waved at you to say hi.

"Well alright, I'll leave you two lovebirds at it. Please don't make too many sounds" She said, leaving the room.

"Unnie!" Ning screamed, pretending to be ultraged by that.

You two laughed it off, soon the room falling silent as you two stared at each other.

"I miss you" You said in a hushed tone as if it was a secret and she smiled.

"So do I, baby" You devishly bit your lip, lowering your phone to show her the wet patch on your sleeping shorts.

"I think I miss you more..." She gasped, swallowing thickly right after.

"I'm buying your plane tickets right at this moment"

[wolvietxt]

💭 thinking about…

𝗅𝗈𝗀𝖺𝗇 𝗁𝗈𝗐𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗍 𝗑 𝗍𝖾𝗅𝖾𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗁𝗂𝖼!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

pairing : logan howlett x fem!reader warnings : anxiety, panic, angst, fluff, overstimulation, implied age gap, pet names, budding relationship au wc : 1.5k a/n : i’m thinking about maybe making the odd prompt list, not sure if anyone would be interested? idk i feel like i have so many ideas on what to write but not enough time to actually write them. lmk if it’s something anyone would be interested in😭

you'd always hated crowded spaces, but this - this was something else entirely.

the pounding bass from the club’s speakers seemed to vibrate through your whole body, and the flashing lights made it impossible to focus on anything for too long. it was all too loud, too chaotic. the mission had been simple: blend in, keep an eye on the target, and extract information. easy enough. except no one had accounted for the fact that a telepath like you could hardly stand in the middle of a packed nightclub without being bombarded by the overwhelming flood of thoughts and emotions from every single person around you.

the drinks, the laughter, the flirtations happening at every corner - they were suffocating. you tried to block them out, but your mental shields were already thin, your energy worn down from the mission prep. and now, with the music and flashing lights adding to the noise in your head, everything was starting to blur together. the alcohol from earlier wasn’t helping either.

you stood near the edge of the room, trying to focus on anything other than the mental cacophony around you. the team was scattered throughout the club, everyone doing their part to blend in with the crowd. but for you, it was becoming harder to concentrate on the task at hand. the target’s thoughts were buried under a thousand others, each one screaming for attention inside your mind.

you felt sick, like the world was spinning too fast. the room was closing in. your head pounded, and you could feel a sharp nausea creeping up your throat. you needed to get out of there, away from the noise, the thoughts, the people.

a warm hand suddenly brushed against your arm, pulling you out of the spiral you were falling into. you turned, blinking, and found logan standing beside you. his sharp eyes were locked on you, concern written all over his face. he’d always been able to read you better than anyone else on the team, even without telepathy.

“you alright, kid?” his voice cut through the haze, gruff but steady. it was like an anchor, something real and solid to focus on.

you nodded quickly, though it was a lie. “i’m fine,” you muttered, but the words felt weak, shaky.

logan didn’t buy it for a second. “yeah, bullshit,” he muttered, his hand still resting on your arm, grounding you. “you’re lookin’ pale as hell. c’mon, bub.”

before you could protest, logan gently but firmly led you toward the exit, weaving through the crowd with ease. you followed, grateful for his presence. the second you stepped outside, the cool night air hit you, and you felt like you could finally breathe again.

logan guided you away from the line of people waiting to get in and toward a quieter spot around the corner of the building, far from the pounding music. the noise from inside was muffled now, and without the sea of thoughts crashing into you from all sides, your head began to clear, just a little.

“better?” logan asked, his voice softer now, though still carrying that rough edge that was so inherently him.

you nodded, taking a deep breath. “yeah… yeah, much better. thanks.”

he leaned back against the brick wall, folding his arms across his chest, watching you carefully. he didn’t push, didn’t demand an explanation, but you could tell by the way his eyes narrowed slightly that he knew something was wrong.

“it’s just... the noise in there,” you said after a moment, your voice quiet, almost embarrassed. “not just the music, but the people. their thoughts. it’s... it’s a lot.”

logan’s expression softened, just a little. he might not understand telepathy the way you experienced it, but he got it in his own way. he knew what it was like to have too much going on in your head, to feel overwhelmed by things out of your control.

“should’ve said somethin’,” he muttered, though his tone wasn’t harsh. “i would’ve gotten you outta there sooner.”

you shook your head. “i didn’t want to mess up the mission.”

“the mission doesn’t matter if you’re about to pass out,” he shot back, his eyes flashing with irritation - not at you, but at the situation. “you gotta take care of yourself.”

you sighed, leaning against the wall beside him. “i know. ‘s just... hard. when you’re in a place like that, and everyone’s thinking all at once, it’s like - ” you shrugged, trying to find the right words. “it’s like being underwater. you can hear everything muffled, but it’s all too much at the same time. i couldn’t block them all out.”

logan was quiet for a moment, processing what you said. then he nodded, as if he understood. “well, you’re outta there now. you don’t need to go back in. the rest of us can handle it.”

you frowned, shaking your head. “no, i can’t leave the team like that. we’re supposed to - ”

“hey,” he interrupted, his voice low but firm. “you’ve done enough, kid. let us take it from here.” his gaze softened as he looked down at you. “besides, you ain’t leavin’ us hangin’. you’re just takin’ a breather. nothin’ wrong with that.”

you met his eyes, feeling a little less guilty under his steady gaze. he was right, of course. but it still felt wrong to step back when the rest of the team was inside, working.

“how about this,” logan added, his tone softening. “you stay out here for a bit, get your head straight, and if you’re feelin’ up to it, we’ll go back in together. but only if you’re ready.”

his words made you relax a little more. the pressure to keep pushing through was gone, and the idea of taking a break, even if just for a few minutes, didn’t feel so bad when he framed it like that.

“okay,” you agreed softly. “i think... i think i need a few minutes.”

logan nodded, satisfied with your answer. he pushed away from the wall and motioned toward a nearby bench. “sit down for a sec. no rush.”

you followed him, sinking onto the bench gratefully. the fresh air felt good, like it was clearing away the fog in your mind. logan sat beside you, silent but present, his arm resting on the back of the bench, his fingers grazing your shoulder lightly.

“how do you do it?” you asked after a few minutes, your voice barely above a whisper.

logan glanced at you, eyebrow raised. “do what?”

“stay so calm,” you murmured, staring down at your hands. “you’re always in control. even when everything’s going crazy, you just... keep it together.”

he huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “you think i’m calm?”

you looked at him, a little surprised by his response. “well, yeah. you always seem like you’ve got it under control.”

logan’s gaze softened as he met your eyes. “darlin’, i ain’t always calm. most of the time, i’m just as pissed off or frustrated as the next guy. but i learned a long time ago that lettin’ it take over don’t do any good. doesn’t mean it’s easy, but... you get used to it.”

you frowned slightly, processing what he said. “so... you’re just used to it?”

“nah,” he corrected, his voice softer now. “i’m used to dealin’ with it. there’s a difference. but i had to figure that out the hard way. you’ll get there, bub. more easily i hope.”

you nodded slowly, letting his words sink in. it wasn’t the same as what you were dealing with, but in a way, it felt like he understood more than anyone else on the team ever could. and the fact that he was here, sitting with you, offering quiet support, meant more than you could express.

“thanks,” you said after a moment, glancing up at him with a small smile. “for getting me out of there. for... everything.”

logan looked at you for a beat, his expression softening. “anytime,” he muttered, his voice gruff but genuine.

for a while, the two of you just sat there in the quiet, the night air cool against your skin. the noise and chaos of the club were distant now, and with logan beside you, the overwhelming thoughts and emotions that had threatened to drown you finally felt manageable.

“you ready to head back in?” logan asked after a few minutes, though his tone wasn’t pushy.

you hesitated for a second, then shook your head. “not yet.”

he smirked slightly, nodding. “good. let’s stay out here a bit longer.”

you smiled, leaning into his shoulder, and he didn’t pull away. instead, his arm settled around you, holding you close as the night stretched on, the two of you finding a moment of peace amidst the chaos.

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