#and now that the boring tags are out of the way...

[simpjaes]

SWEET LITTLE MONEY MAKER. ― S.JY

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

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

WORDCOUNT― 13.6k

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

nsfw tags under cut::

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

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

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Suspicious.

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

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

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

Best Friend: you need it, trust me. 

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

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

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Little more.” He smiles

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

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

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

Stunning. 

This motherfucker is stunning. 

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

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

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

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

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

You’re uncomfortable. 

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

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

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

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

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

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

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

Expensive. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Are you…waiting to be told what to do? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In fact, he’s hiding his face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go on then, dance.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. 

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

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

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

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

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

He breathes in, seemingly frustrated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Such a confident, well respected woman…fucking whimpering.

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

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

Painfully faster.

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

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

It’s…overwhelming.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve rendered him incapable of speaking. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

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

Surprisingly, you believe him. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait, you’re serious?” 

You nod shyly, blinking at him.

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

Jake nods happily, without question even.

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

You narrow your eyes at him. 

“Jerk off like a normal person?”

Fair enough.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

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

[boybandbaby]

Best of My Life (Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Non-BAU!Reader)

guess this is a 5 times hotch let’s the team see his relationship

word count: 1676

warnings: unspecified brutal case, alcohol, tattoos, established relationship, axes, sweet!hotch

note: the bar scene is from my favorite scene in one of my favorite movies check it out here (all credits to the movie) frank farmer gives me hotch vibes

tag: @bernelflo based on your request though I did go off track I’m so sorry I tried my best

1️⃣

Hotch finally got a break from the team’s badgering after they met you. Well kind of. While they finally got to see you and meet you in person, they were still curious about your relationship and dynamic.

Once Penelope asked if you had met Jack yet, Hotch wouldn’t shut up about you two.

“Oh my god, he’s worse than Spencer.” Derek shook his head, leaning against his desk as he watched Hotch tell the girls another story about you. Something about you being good with an axe.

“Hey!” Spencer yelped.

When Hotch introduced you to Jack for the first time, you’d all went axe throwing. You picked the activity not wanting Jack to think you were boring. Jack ended up loving it and loving you.

Spencer’s mouth gaped as he watched Hotch pull his phone out to show the girls a video of you and him taken by Jack during that date. While Jack’s teenager instincts told him it was gross, he thought it was nice to see his dad so sweet so he recorded it. The video showed you pressed up against Hotch’s back as you moved his arm in the correct position to throw the axe. You kissed his cheek and gave Aaron space to throw the axe and for your safety. When Aaron hit the target, you cheered and clapped your hands. “Your dad isn’t too bad, huh Jack?” You stated before the video ended.

Hotch tucked the phone away before heading back up into his office.

“I would never have thought Hotch would be sharing his private life with us.” JJ smiled into her mug.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Penelope sighed, dreamily. “They’re so cute together. Oh shoot, he forgot his coffee.”

Penelope picked up the black travel mug adorned with “best boyfriend ever” in cursive on the side.

“Look!” JJ pointed at the words. “He’s so whipped!”

Penelope took the cup up to his office not bothering to knock. “Here Hotch, wouldn’t want you to forgot that you’re the best boyfriend ever.”

“Thanks, Garcia.” Hotch smiles, doesn’t even comment on her light teasing.

2️⃣

While away on a case, the team noticed Hotch had stepped away to answer a phone call. Assuming it was work related they didn’t say anything until 10 minutes later, he still hadn’t come back.

“You think he’s okay?” Emily asked.

“Let’s go check on him.” Derek urges.

Much to their surprise. Hotch is seated in an empty room, legs kicked up on the table, leaned back, and phone to his ear.

While he’s happy to hear from you and listen to you ramble about your day, he does know there’s a case to be solved and an unsub to be stopped. There’s a sparkle in his eye though his lips aren’t smiling. He wouldn’t want anyone to see him smiling during a case so brutal and get the wrong idea.

Derek and Emily hear snippets of his side of the conversation.

So, you took him to the zoo and aquarium? You’re spoiling him too much.

I know I wish I was there with you both

Where are you going to dinner? Use my credit car. It’s in my nightstand

When I get back, how about we go to that spa you’ve been talking about? We can get a couples massage

Why wait until Valentine’s Day when we can go now?

Okay, we’ll stop by the pie shop on our way back. I’ve got to head back the team is probably looking for me.

I love you.

Hotch looks up to see the amused faces of his two agents.

He stands from the chair and straightens his tie. “Sorry about that, y/n has been calling me to make sure I take at least 10 minutes a day for myself during cases. She says I’ve been working too hard.”

“Happiness looks nice on you, Hotch.” Derek states and it’s definitely not his normal teasing.

3️⃣

When they’re back in the office and it’s a paperwork day, the team decides to order in for lunch.

Penelope knocks on his door to get his order and sees he’s already eating. “Already got lunch, sir?”

“Yes, y/n made this incredible meal last night and packed me some for lunch. Come give it a try.” He pulls out a spoon from his lunchbox. Garcia internally squeals. Her boss, Aaron Hotchner has a lunch box. She can see that it’s a plain black lunchbox. On the right side there’s a small net holding a few napkins, a set of reusable utensils, and a folded sheet of binder paper with ‘A <3’ on it. On the right side, there’s an open Tupperware with some chicken, rice, and vegetable dish. There’s a granola bar, bottle of water and cup of yogurt.

Garcia approaches the desk as Hotch scoops a little bit of everything on the spoon and hands it to her. He continues eating as he reads a document on his desk. Garcia hands him back the spoon and agrees at how tasty it is. She leaves Hotch alone to enjoy his home cooked meal.

4️⃣

Hotch laid on his right side, propped on one elbow and feet crossed at the ankle. You sat on the same lounge chair in front of him but facing away. Hotch had his free hand rubbing at the lower half of your back while you talked to JJ and Will about the concert you and Aaron had went to last weekend.

“You should’ve seen him! I mean I didn’t know the frozen margaritas would get him so drunk!” You laughed. “Aaron danced and sang the whole time.”

“I really liked the music.” He shrugged. You had introduced him to one of your favorite bands and he had gotten you tickets.

“I had to massage his knees the next day.” You laugh. “Poor baby was so sore.”

“I was more than sore. I was in pain.” He smiles. “Not to mention we had gotten tattoos that day.”

Record scratch. The other members of the team pause their separate conversations to inquire more.

“You got a tattoo?” Garcia squealed.

“Nothing too flashy.” He smiles, “something tasteful.”

“Well let’s see it!” Emily gushes.

You show them your leg, a small ‘AH’ in something similar to Times New Roman inked onto the back of your left ankle.

Aaron sits up, rolls his sleeves up, and shows his forearms. On the right is a small ‘J’ and on the other side in the same font, your initial, etched just below his elbow crease. He wanted something he could cover during work, like he said, nothing too flashy.

“That’s insane.” Spencer mumbles. “I am actually speechless.”

“Very tasteful, Aaron.” Dave raises his drink to Aaron.

5️⃣

You’d been invited by Hotch to join an after work outing to get some drinks.

Hotch and Dave stood at the bar, discussing Rossi’s upcoming vacation plans. Hotch listens but keeps his eyes on you. Partially for safety reasons but mainly because he loves looking at you.

While you dance with the girls, twirling and smiling, a woman slowly comes up to him.

“Hi.” She says breathy and sultry.

Aaron takes a sip of his drink, his eyes barely flickering to the woman before narrowing back on you. You throw your head back and grip Emily’s bicep as you laugh at a particularly raunchy dance move from Penelope.

Aaron thinks, just ignore her and she’ll go away. She unfortunately doesn’t get the message and squeezes herself between Dave and Aaron.

“I couldn’t help but notice how handsome you are.” The woman coos as she begins to press her body into Hotch’s side. “I’ve been watching you all night from across the room.”

“Why don’t you go back there and keep watching.” Aaron roughly pulls his arm so it’s not touching the woman. She’s taken aback and rushes back to where she’d come from, clearly embarrassed and humiliated.

“Brutal, Aaron.” Rossi laughs.

“Not interested, Dave.” Hotch meets his eyes.

“Clearly.” Rossi nods his head in your direction. Aaron’s eyes turn back just as you’re approaching.

You’re not quite drunk but not quite tipsy either as you stumble towards him. “Hi handsome!”

“Hi honey.” He sets his drink on the table and his hands immediately find your hips.

“Did you see Penelope? Her moves attracted a new friend.” You laugh and turn in his arms to watch Penelope and said new friend, Willard. Aaron’s not shy in pulling your back into his chest. You willingly lean back into his chest.

Aaron follows your gaze as he watches an older man, white hair with a big cowboy hat and boots spin Penelope around. It’s all just fun, nothing serious.

“You know, I’d like to see you in a cowboy hat. Bet you’d look real good.” You state.

“Me? In a big hat like that?” He chuckles. “I don’t think so.”

���No? Maybe those dark blue jeans I like on you but no shirt.”

“You want me to be a shirtless cowboy? That’s way too out of character for me.”

“What if you wear a flannel but not an undershirt? You can keep some of your modesty while keeping me satisfied.” You pull his arms around your stomach and run your fingertips through his arm hair. Yes, he decided to wear a short sleeve shirt to the bar just for you because you told him he has “delicious arms.”

“That sounds like a reasonable compromise.” He whispers into your ear.

“If I could persuade you to wear all that, can I persuade you into a dance with me?” You turn back to him, giving him the best puppy eyes you can with the tips Jack gave you. Jack swore that if you pout your bottom lip just a smidge and force a bit of tears in your eyes, Aaron gives in immediately.

“Only if you do that move Penelope did before.”

“Aaron!” You gasp. “I didn’t know you could be so dirty!”

“You have your fantasies and I have mine.” He winks before taking the lead to pull you onto the dance floor.

[hypnobeauty]

A Chance Encounter - a cho hyun-ju x reader fic (part 4)

summary: a story about how you and hyun-ju met and the following years of your relationship. part 1 / part 2 / part 3 cw: no use of y/n, reader is afab, fluff, slowburn, pre-squid game, slice of life. a/n: hello! i lied, forgive me; i said we'd get into the relationship this part, but i love me a good slowburn. i try to keep the chapters around 1,000 words so it's not too boring, so we end up having more parts. this one is a little short but the next will be bigger. enjoy xx as always, comments are appreciated ♥ taglist: @strayteez3staner @dekiruxxx @jeongteen @sunnysurvives @3leni @etta-huracan @honeyhyunju @basoressia - comment if you’d like to be tagged.

part 4. a table by the window

“i don’t have much time,” you said, checking the watch on your wrist. “i need to be back at the office in…” you squinted at the numbers. “thirty-two minutes.”

hyun-ju smiled faintly, her fingers brushing the side of her coffee cup. “that’s more than enough.”

after she’d stopped you on your way out of the café, you’d followed her to the table by the window. the golden afternoon light softened the angles of her face, catching on her cheekbones and the delicate curve of her nose.

“your nose looks beautiful,” you said, meaning it. the words were out before you could second-guess them.

her hand lifted to her face instinctively, touching her nose with a soft laugh. “thank you.”

“i just wish you’d let me know you were okay,” you said, the words coming out quieter than you expected.

*

the silence from hyun-ju lingered longer than you expected, turning from a question into a quiet ache. at first, you checked your phone constantly, convinced that each buzz or notification would be her reply. but days passed, then weeks, and your hope started to wane.

for hyun-ju, the silence wasn’t intentional—it was survival. every time her phone buzzed with one of your messages, her heart leapt, and she’d reach for it instinctively. but then the doubts would creep in: what if i say the wrong thing? what if she’s just being nice? what if this doesn’t work out?

she’d type out replies, erase them, and set her phone aside, the weight of what she wasn’t saying pressing down on her chest. but the silence didn’t mean she wasn’t thinking about you. in fact, you occupied her thoughts more than she cared to admit. she replayed your conversations in her mind—the way you’d made her laugh, the easy way you spoke, the warmth in your voice when you said she deserved kindness.

more than once, she caught herself imagining what she’d say if she had the courage to text back. she’d want to thank you for being so thoughtful, for seeing her as a person when so many others didn’t. she’d want to ask about your life, your friends, your favorite things. she’d want to tell you how much it meant to her that you didn’t flinch at her truth.

you told yourself you weren’t upset—after all, you barely knew her. but the truth was, her absence left a hollow space you couldn’t quite fill. there was something about her that stayed with you, something you couldn’t shake.

sometimes, you’d catch yourself wondering why it mattered so much. poor ha-neul had been filling up her shoes as best friend dutifully, recovering from her surgery with you yapping in her ear about the situation.

you’d known ha-neul since college, a whirlwind friendship that started over shared ramen packets during late-night study sessions and grew into something solid and dependable. now, working together in the same advertising agency— you as a graphic designer and her as an advertiser— , she was the closest person in your life, a friendship filled with unwavering support and never stopping banter.

so when ha-neul teased you about hyun-ju, it didn’t bother you as much as it might have coming from someone else.

“if you like her, you like her. it doesn’t have to be a big deal,” she said one day as you walked back from a coffee run. it was a simple statement, but it stayed with you.

you hadn’t thought much about dating women before. the truth was, you’d always admired women—sometimes in passing, sometimes more deeply—but you’d never let yourself linger on those feelings. boys were “easier”. in college, there was a girl in one of your classes, a sculptor with messy hair and calloused hands, who had a smile that made your stomach flip. you’d convinced yourself it was just admiration.

then there was your coworker at your first internship. she’d always leaned a little too close when she talked to you, her laugh warm and easy, and you’d caught yourself wondering what it would be like to hold her hand. but you hadn’t let yourself think about it for long.

it was easier to dismiss those feelings, to chalk them up to fleeting crushes or passing thoughts. you never questioned it too deeply, brushing those emotions aside before they could take root.

some of it, you realized, had to do with other people’s opinions. growing up, it was easier to follow the expectations placed on you—to keep things simple and avoid any sideways glances or pointed questions. the world had a funny way of making you second-guess yourself before you even had the chance to figure things out.

but hyun-ju wasn’t a fleeting moment. she wasn’t something you could brush aside.

at first, you told yourself it was just her kindness that drew you in, or maybe the way she seemed both strong and soft at once. but the more you thought about her, the more you realized it was something else. she’d made you laugh, made you curious, made you want to understand her in a way that felt new and exciting—and a little scary.

unknown to each other, both of you wanted to reach out but didn’t know how. both of you felt the weight of what wasn’t being said. and in the quiet spaces of your lives, both of you found yourselves thinking about each other: on your commute, you’d glance out the window, wondering if you’d ever run into her again; on her walks to the grocery store, hyun-ju would imagine what it might be like to bump into you, to have a reason to talk to you without the pressure of responding to your messages. you kept her number saved in your phone, the unanswered texts a reminder of something unfinished and she kept her phone close, always expecting the next buzz to be from you, even though she hadn’t replied to the last.

by the time a month had passed, the silence between you had stretched thin, hyun-ju holding onto the hope that it wasn’t too late and you resigned to the way the situation had ended. for hyun-ju, the café was just another stop in her routine, a quiet moment to sip her coffee and crunch numbers for her next surgery. she wasn’t expecting anything to change. for you, the café was a small indulgence in the middle of a long day, a chance to take a break and treat yourself to something sweet and forget the lingering questions in your mind. neither of you knew that the moment you’d both been waiting for was about to arrive.

*

hyun-ju smiled faintly as she cupped her drink, her fingers brushing the edge of the warm porcelain. “i… really am sorry. i didn’t mean to make you feel ignored. i wasn’t sure how to…” she paused, exhaling sharply. 

you tilted your head, studying her face. “it’s okay. i get it, kind of.” you softened your tone, glancing at her. “but it would’ve been nice just to know you were alright. i… worried about you.”

hyun-ju’s gaze darted to you, then back to her cup. “i wanted to reply,” she admitted, her voice quiet. “but every time i tried, i’d just… freeze. i overthink everything. so i’d delete it and try again. and again.”

“that sounds exhausting,” you said gently.

“it is.” she chuckled nervously. “my therapist keeps telling me to stop overthinking, but that’s like telling water not to be wet.”

you perked up at the mention of therapy. “therapist? how long have you been going?”

“about a year,” she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “i started right before i came out. it was… rough at first, but it’s been helpful. she’s great—tough but fair. keeps me from spiraling too much.”

“that’s awesome,” you said, smiling. “i’ve always thought therapy was one of those things everyone should try at least once, even if their life isn’t falling apart.”

“right?” hyun-ju said, her lips quirking upward. “sometimes i just go to vent about how my friends are driving me crazy.”

you leaned forward slightly, curiosity tugging at you. “you must have good ones if they’re worth venting about.”

“i do,” she said with a small smile. 

“you work out often?” you asked, glancing at her arms, where her muscles shifted under the sleeves of her grey shirt. you hoped you weren’t being too obvious, but it was hard not to notice.

“pretty regularly,” she said, shrugging. “it helps me clear my head.”

you nodded, still trying to appear casual. “yeah, i could… kind of tell.”

her brow furrowed, then she caught the direction of your gaze and laughed softly. “it’s not that serious.”

“sure, it’s not,” you said with a grin, taking a sip of your drink.

“what about you?” she asked. “what’s been going on in your life?”

“let’s see…” you began. “oh! ha-neul had her nose surgery a few weeks ago, so i’ve been playing nurse-slash-therapist for her ever since. she milked it for all it was worth.”

hyun-ju chuckled. “that’s what friends are for, right?”

“absolutely,” you said. “we’re lucky we could work remotely during her recovery. it was a lifesaver. we’d crash at each other’s places and work on projects together, though it was mostly me fetching her tea and reminding her not to poke her face.”

“she’s lucky to have you,” hyun-ju said, her voice warm.

“and i’m lucky she puts up with me,” you replied.

the conversation flowed easily now, each question and answer peeling back another layer. but when you glanced at your watch, reality hit.

“oh no,” you said, straightening in your chair. “i’ve got to get back to work. i didn’t even realize how much time had passed.”

hyun-ju’s expression flickered with disappointment, but she nodded. “i don’t want to keep you.”

you stood, slinging your bag over your shoulder. you hesitated at the table, something unspoken hovering between you. “maybe we could meet again sometime?” you offered. “i feel like there’s still so much to talk about.”

hyun-ju’s eyes widened slightly. “you mean… like a date?”

you grinned. “only if you want it to be.”

for a moment, you thought she might backtrack, but to your surprise, she met your gaze and nodded. “okay. yeah. let’s do that.”

your heart did a little flip as you smiled. “great. i’ll see you soon, then.”

*

your walk back to the agency wasn’t as cold as it should be; you actually felt reinvigorated and with more energy to finish your day. but your return was later than intended, slipping into your desk chair with a cup of cold coffee in hand. ha-neul noticed immediately.

“you’re late,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “and that coffee looks sad.”

you shrugged, setting the cup down. “got distracted.”

she narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “distracted by what?”

before you could answer, your phone buzzed on the desk. you glanced at the screen, and your lips curved into a smile as you read the text from hyun-ju.

"hi. there’s a traditioal korean restaurant near my place. would that work?"

ha-neul, always curious, leaned over before you could stop her. her eyes widened as she read the message, and then she turned to you with a grin so wide it almost hurt to look at.

“oh my god!” she squealed, grabbing your arm and jumping up and down like a kid. “is this really her?”

“ha-neul, calm down,” you said, laughing despite yourself.

“calm down? are you kidding? you have been yapping about her for a fucking month!” she said, laughing as she hugged you. “tell me everything!”

“later,” you said, still grinning as you typed your reply.

"sounds perfect. i can’t wait."

[joelmillerisapunk]

Wip Wednesday

Well well well here we are again Wednesday... hey look at us. tysm for the tags @probablyreadinsmut & @milla-frenchy

Today, I come to you with many wips it's truly insane how many wips I have on the go and idk why I have 1.5 million ideas. So I need your help... here's a poll and snippets of said options are underneath. Please tell me what you'd like first so I can try to commit to a single wip try being the keyword. K thank you, love you, smooching you 😘🥰

Dbf!Joel

The sight in front of him knocked the breath from his lungs. There you were, spread out on the bed, your hand between your legs, back arching as you chased your pleasure. His name escaped your lips in a hushed, broken moan, and he swallowed hard, his pants tightening uncomfortably.   Jesus Christ. He should walk away. He knew he should walk away. But instead, he stayed rooted to the spot, watching as you trembled, oblivious to the fact that you weren’t as alone as you thought.  

When you finally came down from your high, your body limp and sated, you turned your head—and froze. Standing in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame, was Joel. His arms were crossed over his chest, that infuriating smirk plastered across his face.  

“Well, well,” he drawled, his voice thick with amusement. “Didn’t know I had such an effect on you, sweetheart.”   _____________

You swallowed hard, clutching the blanket tighter around you, your body betraying you as heat pooled in your belly. “You should go,” you whispered, but even as you said it, your eyes lingered on him, on the way his broad shoulders filled the doorway, on the rough edge of his jaw, and the way his shirt clung to his chest.  

Joel walked closer until his hand reached out, slow and deliberate, tugging the blanket down just enough to expose the curve of your shoulder. You shivered under his touch, his fingers grazing your skin like a brand. “You don’t really want me to go,” he said, his voice soft, coaxing, but laced with that undeniable authority.  

Pirate!Joel Your laugh echoes, bright and sharp, filling the cavern. “You didn’t need to. You were mine the moment you set eyes on me.”

His stomach twists at your words, at the possessive edge in your tone. “What are you talking about?”

You lean closer, your hair cascading over your shoulders as your eyes bore into his. “You don’t belong to yourself anymore, Captain Miller. You belong to me.”

He stiffens, his heart pounding as the weight of your words sinks in.

“I could’ve let you die,” you continue, your voice soft but unyielding. “But I didn’t. And now, you’re bound to me. Wherever you go, whatever you do—you will always return to me. You’re not free. Not anymore.”

bfd!Joel - for @yxtkiwiyxt nhie challenge You grabbed his hand, your fingers brushing his palm. Joel froze for a split second, the warmth of your skin startling him, but you didn’t seem to notice as you tugged him through the crowd.  

When you led him upstairs, Joel hesitated, his brow furrowing. “She’s up here?”  

You turned to look at him, a flicker of mischief in your eyes. “Yeah, just a little further.”  

Something about your tone made his gut tighten, but he followed, watching as you opened the door to a small bedroom and stepped inside.  

“Where—” Joel started, but you shut the door behind him, leaning back against it.  

The room was quiet, muffled from the party below, and suddenly, the tension in the air shifted. Joel’s eyes darted to yours, his brows drawing together.  

“Where’s Sarah?” he asked, his voice low and cautious.  

You smiled, your head tilting slightly. “She’s fine, Joel. I just… I wanted to talk to you. Alone.”  

Marcus Acacius - for @almostfoxglove angst challenge

“Quiet,” he whispered, though his tone was anything but commanding. It was desperate and pleading. He knew the risk of being caught, but it didn’t matter. Not tonight.  

“You don’t mean that,” you shot back, your voice hushed but breathless. “You never do.”  

Acacius chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your lips. “You’re right,” he admitted, before lifting you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his hips. “Let them hear. Let them see what you do to me.”  

You shook your head, biting back a laugh, but any retort was swallowed by his kiss. It was slow this time, less desperate, but deeper, like he wanted to savor every second. His hands roamed your body with a familiarity that still made you shiver, like he was rediscovering you all over again.  

For a moment, you allowed yourself to forget everything—the wife waiting for him at home, the life he could never share with you, the crushing weight of reality that would come crashing down once this night ended.  

But then his lips left yours, trailing down your neck, and your mind spiraled back to him, to the way he touched you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this earth.  

“Marcus,” you whispered, his name trembling on your lips.  

He paused, his forehead resting against your collarbone. His breaths were ragged, his chest heaving. “Say it again,” he said hoarsely, his fingers tightening on your skin.  

You obliged, your voice softer this time. “Marcus.”  

npt: @thundermartini @itwasntimethatdidit40 @arcanefox207 @almostfoxglove @myownwholewildworld

@evolnoomym @ace-turned-confused @sunshineispunk @slimybeth69 @sawymredfox

@sunshinehaze1 @604to647 @aurorawritestoescape @hearteyesforjoel @gothcsz @baronessvonglitter

and anyone else who wants to just tell them I sent you lol

[crowsofdarkness]

Moment Of Weakness: Seventeen

-gif not mine. credit to owner-

Pairings: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Content Warnings: language, 18 + smut, angst, fluff, affair, cheating, violence, kidnapping, faking a pregnancy.

Summary: Reader is the assistant to New York's most feared mob boss, James Buchanan Barnes. He had the picture-perfect life: status in the mob, friends, and beautiful wife. So why can't he keep his mind and eyes off of reader?

Authors Note: I just wanted to remind everyone who reads this, there are heavy moments of cheating/having an affair in this story. You might not agree with the actions of "reader" or Bucky but it does pertain to the storyline. If anyone is interested, tags are open for this! Just send me a message or comment!

Tags: @cjand10 @generalmoonpolice @sapphirebarnes @baw1066

Monday morning came before I was ready to face it but I knew that there wasn’t any way I would be able to stay home, avoiding my problems, for much longer. My mind had been jumbled with thoughts of Bucky and Steve which made my decision way harder than I would have liked it to be. What did help, however, was that I didn’t hear from either of them the last couple of days, both giving me space when I needed it most. 

Now, the half block walk from where I parked my car to the office building gave me time to think even more about the two men. 

Steve.

He was a breath of fresh air, something different and inviting. He never once judged me for what I was doing with Bucky. He never said he knew but didn’t have too. Steve was nice from day one when I started and our relationship grew slowly over time and it would be stupid not to give him a chance. 

Bucky.

Bucky was everything that I had been wanting for so long, he’s the one that my heart yearns for when I’m not around him. He’s the one that I think of the second I put my head down for the night and the second I rise from the bed.

While there was chemistry when Steve and I kissed, it was alway different with Bucky. 

My heart rate would accelerate, pounding all throughout my body while my knees would go weak, unable to stand. There was so much fire and intensity with something unknown hidden behind every one of Bucky’s kisses. I couldn’t explain it, it merely kept me wanting more.  

However, there still was the fact that Bucky was married and unable to fully commit to me one hundred percent while Steve was ready to give himself to me; in more ways than one. 

In the end, someone was going to get hurt and I was willing for it to be me so neither Bucky nor Steve would fall prey to it. 

As I turned the corner, Barnes Industries coming into view, I felt a burning gaze at the back of my head which caused me to turn on my heels. Eyes scanned the busy street, other people getting ready to start their own work day, and when no one seemed out of place, I continued the short walk to the front door. 

Only now, the burning intensified and I quickly spun around, this time catching a petite woman dart down the alley a couple feet away from me. 

“What the fuck,” I muttered with furrowed brows. 

When I turned back around, I collided with a large chest, feet stumbling back and I prepared myself to fall onto the concrete. Strong arms wrapped around me, catching me before I fell. 

His eyes bored into mine and my body went rigid with fear. 

“Cl-clint.” I stammered. 

Clint helped me stand up straight and made a mockery of dusting my shoulders off. 

“You should really watch where you’re going, Y/N. You never know who you might run into, literally.” 

My lips were pulled in a straight line, too afraid to speak a word, and I did the best I could to move past him through the crowded streets. Two gazes were burning a hole into the back of my head but I didn’t bother to look back and see, knowing who one of them belonged to. 

“Shit.” 

“Oh fuck!” 

A small scream fell from my lips when I collided with yet another body, only this one I felt safe in their embrace as his vibranium hand captured my lower back. Bucky’s blue eyes watching me with concern. 

“Doll? Are you alright?” 

I shook my head, blinking away a few tears that pooled in my eyes. Bucky looked around before pulling me further inside of the building, helping me sit in the chair at my desk. 

He kneeled in front of me, placing a hand on my cheek. “Hey, what happened?” 

“I felt as if someone was watching me when I was walking in. I got distracted trying to see who and ended up walking into Clint. There’s no way that he would be in your neighborhood for the hell of it, right?” 

Bucky’s shoulders went rigid, a low scowl on his lips. “Only to scare you.” 

I shook my head. “I thought you paid off the hit?” 

“I did,” he nodded. “Maybe he’s trying to scare you.” 

“Well, it worked,” I sniffled. 

With both of his hands around the back of my neck, he placed a small kiss on my forehead, the action calming my shaking bones immediately. 

“Maybe I should go home. He doesn't know where I live,” I said. 

As soon as the words left my lips, I couldn’t help but question that statement. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that he knew where I lived. 

“I’d feel a lot better if you stayed here, that way I can make sure you’re safe,” Bucky replied. 

I nodded, knowing he was right. 

We stared at each other, his tongue wetting his bottom lip as Bucky began to lean in closer and even with the fire burning low in my abdomen, I let out a small cough to put some distance between us. 

“I think I’m going to make some coffee, get my mind off what happened.” 

“Sure,” Bucky gave me a forced smile and slowly pulled away. “I’ll be in my office and have the door open if you need anything.” 

I didn’t bother to see the small look of hurt across his face as I removed myself from his grasp. 

Who was that woman? Something about her screamed familiar but I never got a good look at her face. 

I mulled those same thoughts in my mind as I stood in front of the coffee maker, teeth caught between my teeth, trying to figure out who that mystery woman was that darted into the alley when I caught her following me. 

“Maybe she works with Clint,” I muttered to myself, pouring a rather large cup of coffee. 

My third one in a few hours. 

The morning slowly spilled into the early afternoon and I had done a great job in avoiding Bucky and Steve, not ready to face the latter. Though, I knew that at some point I would have to talk to him, to let him know how I felt. 

“Hey,” a soft voice sounded behind me. 

Fuck, I didn’t mean right now.

I sighed, giving Steve a small smile. “Hi.” 

“Bucky told me what happened,” Steve said while running a hand through his hair. 

“I’m okay,” I assured him, noticing how worried he was. “Clint didn’t hurt me.” 

“I promise you, I paid him off. Bucky handed me the money and I brought it to Clint’s house. He gave me his word that the hit is off,” he assured me. 

I gave him a firm nod. “Steve, you don’t need to prove yourself. I believe you.” 

His shoulders relaxed a bit before I felt his fingers grasp at my own, pulling me towards his office. “Can we talk, in private?” 

Biting the inside of my cheek, I knew that this conversation would happen eventually and now would be the best time to get it over with. No more avoiding it. 

“Sure.” 

I let Steve gently pull me into his office and once the door was closed, he motioned for the couch that sat in place on the other end of the room. We both sat, with some distance between us. 

He ran a hand over his beard and let out a deep breath. “I wanted to apologize. You’re going through a lot right now and I shouldn’t have added more by kissing you.” 

I place a hand on his knee. “I wanted that kiss just as much as you did, Steve.” 

His face brightened. “You did?” 

“Yeah. We’ve been doing this dance for months now, it was only a matter of time.” 

Steve sighed. “But-.” 

My heart stung when I realized he had a hint of what I was going to say, his tone of voice sounding so broken. 

This time I linked our hands together. “I don’t think it’s fair to you to be with you if I’m not 100 percent committed to you. You don’t deserve that.” 

Steve’s blue eyes twinkled under the light from his office. “But you do?” 

I blinked, a bit caught off guard, and didn’t know how to answer him only because he was right. Why did I deserve to be with someone that wasn’t committed to me? 

“I can’t explain it,” I admitted with a shrug. “There’s something about him that it’s hard to let go.” 

Steve lifted my chin when I looked down ashamed. “Don’t feel sorry for me, Y/N. I’m used to losing girls to Buck.” 

“Do you hate me?” I asked with a shaky breath. 

“I could never hate you.” 

We gazed into each other's eyes and even with the magnetic pull I felt bringing me in closer to him, I fought against it by placing a gentle kiss on his cheek. 

“You’re a good man, Rogers,” I breathed against his skin. 

The bright glow of the moon spilled through the large windows of the building and with a low breath, I packed up my things purposely taking my time. I had to leave, go home for the night, but I was afraid of walking to my car alone with what happened this morning. 

Steve had left a few hours ago, with a quick wave but broken eyes, and it did nothing to mend the hurt I felt in my stomach. It made me sick, knowing I caused him that pain. 

I glanced over to the office behind me, the man lounging on his couch with his head resting against the back of it, eyes shut in quiet solace. 

We spent the majority of the day avoiding each other but now that I needed to ask him a huge favor, I wasn’t quite sure on how Bucky would answer. 

A gentle tap sounded on the frame of his door causing him to open his eyes, a small smile pulling at his lips. 

“Headed out?” Bucky nodded to my purse and jacket. 

I nodded. “I know I’ve been avoiding you all day so feel free to say no.” 

With his own nod, I continued. “Would you mind walking me to my car?” 

“Of course, doll.” 

Bucky’s smile warmed my heart and I waited patiently as he slipped on his leather jacket. “Ready?” 

“Yea,” I smiled. 

The cold night air wrapped around us and I made an effort to bring my jacket closer to me, in hope of creating some sort of heat. Bucky noticed and wrapped an arm around my shoulder to pull me closer. The warmth that radiated from him quickly spread to my own body and I silently moaned at the feeling. 

“Bucky?” 

My voice was quiet but he still heard, his hand squeezing my shoulder. “You alright, doll?” 

We came to a stop in front of my car and I avoided leaving; not before telling him exactly how I felt about everything. 

My palm rested against his cheek, his plump lips pressing a kiss upon the skin there and the butterflies that laid dormant the last few days began to flutter to life. 

“I don’t want to get hurt,” I said. 

Bucky nodded in my grasp. “I don’t want to hurt you, doll.” 

“I like you a lot, Bucky.” 

He quickly brought me closer to him, our nose grazing against one another. 

“The feelings are mutual.” 

His voice was deep which made my core itch with desire. 

Bucky began digging around in his pocket and placed a small, white card in my hand. As the words burned into my brain, my lips curled up in a smile.

Matt Murdock. New York’s Best Divorce Lawyer.

“A divorce?” I questioned, with so much optimism. 

He answered my question by capturing our lips together, his own feeling so soft and tasted like the bourbon I saw him drink earlier in the night. Our bodies molded together, as they always did, and I nibbled on his bottom lip when he pulled away. 

“I’m hoping by the end of the month she’ll be served with the papers.” 

Tears brimmed in my eyes. “You’re really leaving her?” 

Vibranium fingers tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. “For you, Y/N. I’d do anything for you. The mere thought of possibly losing you to Steve was a wake up call. I can’t lose you and I will do anything to keep you.” 

Our lips met in yet another heated kiss, Bucky pushing me up against the cold metal of my car and I looped my fingers into the belt loops of his pants to bring him closer to me, needing that reminder of how his cock felt pressed against me. 

We were so engrossed in each other, our possible future together, that neither of us felt the burning eyes from the figure that lingered in the darkness. 

[novaursa]

A Lion's Folly (the hopeful)

- Summary: A story where a lion falls for the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, you.

- Pairing: stark!reader/Jaime Lannister

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (deaths scene)

- Previous part: duty

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @butterflygxril @lordofthunderthr @mrsnms @itisjustwhatitis

The Great Hall of the Red Keep was adorned in a spectacle of wealth and grandeur that could only accompany a royal wedding. The banners bearing the crowned stag of Baratheon and the rose of Tyrell hung from the high ceilings, while the scent of roasted meats and sweet wine filled the air. Musicians played lively tunes from a raised platform, their music barely audible over the clamor of voices and the clinking of goblets.

At the high table, King Joffrey sat with his new queen, Margaery Tyrell, resplendent in golden robes and a crown that glittered under the glow of countless candles. His face bore a smirk that had grown more insufferable with every toast, and Margaery’s polite smile was the only counterbalance to his arrogance.

You were seated at a table near the center of the hall, flanked by Jaime on one side and Brienne on the other. Your expression was stormy, your lips pressed into a thin line as you picked at the food on your plate. Across the room, Sansa sat beside Tyrion, her face pale and drawn as Tyrion raised his goblet to Jaime in a silent toast.

Jaime returned the gesture with a faint nod, his gaze lingering on Sansa for a moment before shifting to you. You hadn’t touched your wine, and the stiffness in your posture was visible.

“You look like you’re enjoying yourself,” Jaime said, his tone low enough not to carry beyond your table.

You turned your head slightly, your eyes narrowing at him. “Does this look like enjoyment to you?”

Jaime smirked faintly, leaning back in his chair. “You’re in a room full of food, wine, and music. Some might call that a celebration.”

“And some might call it a spectacle of arrogance,” you shot back, your voice biting. “But I suppose that’s what Lannisters do best.”

Jaime chuckled softly, though there was no malice in it. He raised his goblet, the light catching on the metal as he swirled the wine inside. “Careful, Y/N. If you keep glaring like that, you’ll frighten the musicians.”

“I’d consider that an accomplishment,” you muttered, glancing toward the high table where Joffrey was laughing loudly at something Margaery had said.

Jaime followed your gaze, his smirk fading as his expression grew thoughtful. Before he could say anything, you turned back to him. “How does it feel, watching your bastard brat get married?”

The question hung in the air like a blade, cutting and deliberate. Jaime stiffened slightly, though he recovered quickly, his smirk returning with a faint edge. “Ah, so you’ve decided to be cruel tonight. I suppose I deserve that once more.”

You raised an eyebrow, your gaze unflinching. “I’m just curious. You seem so proud of him, after all.”

Jaime’s expression darkened briefly, but he let out a soft sigh, his voice quieter now. “Proud isn’t the word I’d use. Joffrey… is complicated.”

“Complicated,” you repeated, your tone dripping with disdain. “That’s one way to put it.”

Jaime leaned closer, his gaze locking onto yours. “And what would you call it, Y/N? What would you call me?”

You met his gaze without flinching, your voice low but firm. “I’d call you a man who’s spent his life doing whatever he pleased, without a care for the consequences. And now, you’re finally seeing what those consequences look like.”

Jaime’s jaw tightened, though he didn’t look away. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t see the mistakes I’ve made?”

“You act like it doesn’t matter,” you retorted.

“Maybe it didn’t,” Jaime admitted, his voice softening. “But it does now.”

The tension between you was broken by the sound of laughter from the high table. Joffrey had risen, raising his goblet as he called for the attention of the hall. His voice boomed over the crowd, and Jaime glanced toward him briefly before returning his focus to you.

At the other end of the table, Cersei’s face was a mask of barely concealed fury. Her menacing gaze flicked between you and Jaime, her knuckles white as she gripped her goblet. It was clear she was barely tolerating the sight of the two of you seated together, the announcement of your betrothal looming over her like a storm cloud.

Sansa, meanwhile, looked miserable beside Tyrion, her hands clenched tightly in her lap as she avoided looking at the high table altogether. Tyrion, for his part, seemed determined to lighten the mood, though his attempts at conversation were met with little more than nods and faint smiles.

Jaime leaned closer to you again, his voice quieter this time. “I know you don’t want to be here,” he said. “And I know you don’t want to hear this, but… I’m trying, Y/N. I’m trying to make this right.”

You didn’t respond immediately, your gaze fixed on the goblet in your hands. When you finally looked up at him, your eyes were colder than he’d hoped. “Then try harder.”

The weight of your words settled heavily between you, and Jaime found himself at a loss for how to respond. For the first time in a long while, the man who always had a clever retort or cutting remark was silent.

The feast continued around you, the noise and laughter a stark contrast to the tension at your table. And though the hall was filled with hundreds of people, Jaime couldn’t shake the feeling that the only person who mattered was sitting right beside him, her words lingering in his mind like an unshakable truth.

The hall quieted as Tywin Lannister rose from his seat at the high table. His imposing presence alone was enough to command attention, but when Tywin stood, everyone knew it meant something significant. The clinking of goblets and murmured conversations faded into silence as all eyes turned to him. Even Joffrey, seated with Margaery beside him, paused in his incessant boasting to look at his grandsire.

You tensed instinctively again, your hands gripping the edge of the table as Tywin surveyed the room. Beside you, Jaime straightened in his chair, his expression unreadable, though his golden hand gleamed in the candlelight, catching the eye of more than a few nobles.

"My lords and ladies," Tywin began, his deep voice carrying effortlessly across the hall. "Today we celebrate the union of two great houses. King Joffrey Baratheon, first of his name, and Queen Margaery Tyrell have joined in marriage, securing a bond that strengthens the realm."

There was a polite smattering of applause, though it was clear the room was waiting for something more. Tywin let the applause die before continuing.

"But this wedding is not the only union we celebrate," he said, his stern gaze sweeping over the gathered nobles. "As Hand of the King, it is my duty to ensure the stability and prosperity of the realm. To that end, I am pleased to announce another betrothal—one that will further secure the future of our great house and the realm itself."

Your stomach twisted as his words sank in, and you felt Jaime shift beside you. His gaze flicked toward you briefly, but he said nothing.

Tywin raised a hand, gesturing toward your table. "Ser Jaime Lannister, soon to be named the heir to Casterly Rock, will be wed to Lady Y/N Stark of Winterfell."

The hall erupted into murmurs and gasps, the announcement sending a ripple of shock through the gathered nobles. Even the ever-composed Margaery raised her eyebrows slightly, though she quickly masked her surprise with a polite smile.

At the high table, Joffrey leaned forward, a gleeful smirk spreading across his face. "Another Stark and a Lannister match? How quaint," he said loudly, earning a few scattered chuckles from the courtiers closest to him.

Cersei’s reaction was far less subtle. Her knuckles whitened as she gripped her goblet, her lips pressed into a thin line of fury. Her green eyes darted between Tywin, Jaime, and you, her barely contained rage simmering just below the surface.

You, however, sat frozen, your jaw tightening as both the reality of the moment and weight of the announcement settled over you like a crushing wave.

Tywin ignored the murmurs, his expression calm and composed as he continued. "This union symbolizes the strength of our alliances and the enduring power of House Lannister. Together, Ser Jaime and Lady Y/N will ensure further stability in both the Westerlands and the North, binding two great houses in common purpose."

Jaime leaned toward you slightly, his voice low and laced with tension. "Say something before the entire hall sees your fury."

You turned your head toward him, your eyes narrowing. "I have nothing to say that wouldn’t disgrace myself further."

"Better silence than that look," he muttered, his lips twitching faintly as if attempting to lighten the moment.

Across the hall, Sansa’s face was pale, her hands clenched in her lap. Her gaze darted to you, worry etched into her delicate features. Tyrion leaned toward her, murmuring something that earned only the faintest nod of acknowledgment.

Lady Olenna Tyrell, seated beside Margaery, tilted her head, her bright eyes glinting with interest. "Well, that was expected," she said, her voice carrying just enough for those nearby to hear. "I wonder how that poor girl feels about being bound to the Kingslayer."

Tywin remained standing, his presence unwavering as the murmurs in the hall gradually subsided. "The details of the betrothal will be announced in due course," he concluded. "For now, let us continue our celebration of the king’s wedding."

He sat down, his expression as composed as ever, and the hall hesitated for a moment before resuming its earlier clamor.

You didn’t move, your hands still gripping the edge of the table as your mind raced. Jaime, sensing your turmoil, leaned closer again. "You wanted to be out of your chambers," he said quietly. "Welcome to the spotlight."

You glared at him, your voice low and sharp. "If I had known this was what awaited, I would’ve stayed locked away."

Jaime’s smirk faltered, and he turned his attention back to his goblet, swirling the wine absently.

As the anxiety at your table grew, the clamor in the hall shifted. Servants entered carrying an enormous pie, its golden crust steaming and adorned with intricate designs of lions and stags. The murmurs of curiosity quickly turned to applause and cheers as the pie was presented before Joffrey and Margaery at the high table.

Joffrey clapped his hands, his grin widening. "Ah, the finest delicacy in all the Seven Kingdoms!" he proclaimed, his voice loud and theatrical. "Let us feast as a king and queen should!"

The pie was set before the king and queen, and a servant handed Joffrey a gilded blade to cut into the crust. As the crowd’s attention shifted to the spectacle, you found yourself grateful for the brief reprieve, though the weight of Tywin’s announcement still hung heavily in the air.

Jaime, sitting beside you, couldn’t help but glance at you out of the corner of his eye. Despite your anger, despite your defiance, he still found himself captivated. And for a fleeting moment, he wondered if there was any way to make you see him as something other than the man you despised.

The air in the Great Hall shifted the moment Joffrey brought a piece of the pie to his mouth. The crust crumbled as he bit into it, and for a brief moment, the only sound was the clinking of goblets and scattered laughter among the courtiers.

Joffrey chewed with exaggerated enthusiasm, his smirk firmly in place as he leaned back in his chair. “A fine pie,” he declared loudly, though his tone carried a note of disdain. “But dry. Tyrion, fetch me some wine.”

At the far end of the high table, Tyrion stiffened, his goblet poised mid-air. His mismatched eyes flicked to Sansa beside him before he rose slowly, his expression unreadable. A servant had already begun to pour the wine, but Joffrey waved him away impatiently.

“No,” he said, his voice dripping with malice. “I want my uncle to serve me. It seems only fitting.”

Tyrion approached the king cautiously, his every movement measured. The dread in the room was palpable, the laughter and conversation fading as eyes turned to the scene unfolding at the high table.

Jaime leaned slightly toward you, his voice low. “He never misses an opportunity to make a fool of himself, does he?”

You didn’t respond, your gaze fixed on the king as Tyrion reached for the goblet.

Joffrey snatched the cup from his uncle’s hands with exaggerated flair, lifting it high for all to see before taking a long, dramatic sip. He set the goblet down and reached for another piece of pie, but as he took the first bite, his expression shifted.

At first, it was subtle—a slight narrowing of his eyes, a twitch at the corner of his mouth. But then his face contorted, his hand flying to his throat as he began to cough violently.

The hall fell silent, the only sound Joffrey’s gasping breaths and the scrape of his chair as he stumbled to his feet.

“Joffrey?” Margaery’s voice was soft, uncertain, as she reached out toward him.

The king’s face turned red, his coughing growing more frantic as he clawed at his throat. His goblet fell to the floor with a clang, the wine pooling darkly on the stone.

“Joffrey!” Cersei’s scream cut through the chaos, her face twisting in panic as she rose from her seat.

Jaime stood abruptly, his hand clenching at his side as he watched his son—no, the king—struggle for breath. For a brief moment, he was frozen, unsure whether to move toward Joffrey or remain where he was.

You instinctively reached for Jaime’s arm, your own confusion and unease mirrored in his expression. “What’s happening?” you whispered, though there was no answer.

Joffrey collapsed onto the floor, his body convulsing as his mother rushed to his side. Margaery backed away, her hand covering her mouth in horror.

“Help him!” Cersei screamed, her voice shrill as she cradled Joffrey’s head. “Someone, help him!”

The courtiers erupted into chaos, their murmurs and gasps filling the hall as guards pushed forward to surround the royal family.

Tyrion, still standing near the high table, looked down at the fallen king with a mix of shock and dread.

“You!” Cersei screeched, her eyes blazing as she pointed a trembling finger at Tyrion. “Guards! Seize him!”

The Lannister guards moved quickly, surrounding Tyrion as he raised his hands in protest. “I had nothing to do with this!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the noise.

“Take him away!” Cersei screamed, her voice cracking with hysteria.

The guards grabbed Tyrion roughly, dragging him back through the hall as the chaos continued to unfold.

Jaime turned to you, his face pale, his voice low and urgent. “Stay close to me.”

You nodded, your hand tightening on his arm as Tywin appeared at Jaime’s side, his expression grim. “We’re leaving,” Tywin said curtly, his tone brooking no argument.

Jaime nodded, pulling you closer as Tywin’s men surrounded you both. Brienne appeared beside you, her hand on the hilt of her sword as she scanned the chaotic scene.

“Come,” Tywin barked, his men ushering you toward the exit.

As you were led out of the hall, you cast one last glance over your shoulder, your gaze falling on the fallen king. His face was purple now, his mouth twisted in a grotesque grimace as Cersei sobbed over his body.

The last thing you heard before the doors closed behind you was Cersei’s anguished scream, her voice echoing through the stone walls.

Jaime’s grip on your arm tightened slightly as he guided you through the corridors. His face was unreadable, but the tension in his posture spoke volumes.

The Red Keep had always been a place of intrigue and danger, but tonight, it felt like a powder keg ready to explode.

The stone corridors of the Red Keep stretched endlessly as Tywin’s guards led Jaime and you toward safety. The clamor from the Great Hall faded behind you, replaced by the steady rhythm of boots on stone. Jaime’s face was pale, his jaw clenched so tightly you could almost hear his teeth grinding. He hadn’t said a word since they left the chaos of the feast, but the tension radiating from him was palpable.

You glanced at him, noting the way his hand was clenched into a fist, his knuckles white. For all his usual composure, Jaime looked shaken, unmoored.

The guards finally stopped at a small chamber off a side hall, gesturing for you both to step inside. Jaime entered first, his movements stiff and mechanical, as though he were barely aware of what he was doing. You followed, casting a wary glance at the guards before the door closed behind you.

The room was sparse, with only a few chairs and a small table, but it was quiet—a sanctuary compared to the chaos you’d just left. Jaime leaned against the wall, his head falling back against the cold stone as he exhaled a shaky breath.

You hesitated for a moment before stepping closer. “Jaime?”

He didn’t respond, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, his chest rising and falling with measured breaths.

“Jaime,” you said again, your voice softer this time.

He finally looked at you, his gaze heavy with something you couldn’t quite name. “Don’t,” he said quietly.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t pretend you care,” he said, his voice edged with bitterness. “You hate me. Remember?”

You frowned, crossing your arms as you studied him. “I don’t hate you,” you said, surprising yourself with the honesty in your tone.

Jaime let out a hollow laugh, shaking his head. “You could’ve fooled me.”

“I don’t hate you,” you repeated, firmer this time. “I hate what you’ve done. There’s a difference.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you, and for a moment, the bitterness in his eyes gave way to something raw. “That makes one of us,” he muttered.

You furrowed your brow, stepping closer. “Jaime, what happened back there—”

“Was my fault,” he interrupted, his voice sharp. “All of it. Joffrey… Cersei… the way the whole damn realm looks at me. It’s all my fault.”

“You don’t know that,” you said, your voice calm but firm. “What happened to Joffrey—”

“He was a monster,” Jaime said bitterly, his gaze dropping to the floor. “And I made him that way. I didn’t stop him when I should have. I didn’t—” He stopped, his voice breaking slightly.

You hesitated, then stepped closer, your hand hovering near his arm before you finally placed it there gently. “You can’t carry all of this,” you said softly. “What happened to Joffrey wasn’t your doing.”

Jaime laughed again, though it was a broken, humorless sound. “You think I don’t know what people say? The whispers? The rumors? The Kingslayer and the queen. The bastard king born of sin.”

“People will always whisper,” you said quietly. “No matter what you did.”

He looked at you then, his green eyes searching yours as if trying to find some hidden meaning in your words. For a moment, the weight in his gaze lifted, replaced by something almost vulnerable.

“Why are you saying this?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Because you need to hear it right now,” you replied simply. “You can’t change the past, Jaime. But you’re not the man you were. I’ve seen that.”

He blinked, as if startled by your words, and his expression softened. For a moment, he looked like he might say something, but then he shook his head, his smirk returning faintly. “I must be losing my mind,” he said. “A Stark, of all people, trying to comfort me.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no heat in the gesture. “Don’t get used to it,” you muttered.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He pushed off the wall, standing straighter as he adjusted the golden hand at his side. “Thank you,” he said quietly, his tone so soft you almost didn’t catch it.

You nodded, stepping back to give him space. “Get some rest,” you said. “We’ll need it for whatever comes next.”

Jaime didn’t respond, but as you turned to leave the room, you couldn’t help but notice the way his gaze lingered on you, as if trying to memorize something he didn’t want to forget.

The room grew quiet again after you left, the echo of the door shutting behind you lingering longer than it should have. Jaime stood motionless in the stillness, his golden hand resting heavily at his side. For the first time in what felt like ages, his thoughts weren’t dominated by his usual blend of regret and bitterness but by the soft cadence of your voice.

"You’re not the man you were. I’ve seen that."

Your words replayed in his mind, over and over, like an unfamiliar melody that refused to fade. He didn’t know why they mattered so much—why you mattered so much. He told himself it was nothing more than circumstance. You were tied together by a situation neither of you wanted, bound by duty and the scheming of his father. But it was more than that, wasn’t it?

Jaime paced the small chamber, his hand brushing against the edge of the table as his thoughts spiraled. You had every reason to despise him. The weight of what he’d done to your family, to your brother Bran, should have made you hate him with every fiber of your being. And yet, in that fleeting moment, you’d offered him something he hadn’t realized he needed: warmth.

Not forgiveness—not yet, perhaps not ever—but a glimmer of something softer.

It unsettled him. Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, the golden lion, didn’t need warmth. He didn’t deserve it. And yet, when you placed your hand on his arm, when you spoke to him without venom for the first time, it was as if the walls he’d built around himself began to crack.

He sank into a chair, resting his forehead in his good hand. His thoughts drifted, unbidden, to your father.

Eddard Stark.

It was almost laughable, the parallels he found himself drawing between you and the man who had loomed over his guilt for so long. You carried yourself with the same unyielding strength, the same unwavering commitment to doing what was right. Even your sharp tongue reminded him of the late Lord of Winterfell, though Eddard’s disapproval had been quieter, colder. Yours burned hotter, cutting like the edge of a blade.

But there was something else, something Eddard had lacked: your ability to see past the surface, to find cracks in the armor. Eddard had judged Jaime the moment they met, and that judgment had never wavered. Yet you, even after all you’d endured, had looked at him tonight with something that felt almost like understanding. Just like you did at Harrenhal.

Jaime leaned back in the chair, staring up at the ceiling as his thoughts churned. He had told himself countless times that he didn’t care what others thought of him. The world saw him as a monster, a liar, a Kingslayer, and he had worn those titles like armor. But with you, he found himself wanting to be more, to prove he could be more.

It was a dangerous thought, one he couldn’t afford to indulge. And yet, it lingered.

He thought of your father again, of the quiet strength Eddard had carried, even when it had cost him his life. Jaime had envied that strength once, resented it even. But now he wondered if you had inherited it, if you were somehow cut from the same cloth, carrying the same impossible weight with the same unyielding resolve.

And then there was the warmth. Eddard Stark had been many things, but warmth was not one of them. You, despite your fire and your defiance, had offered Jaime something he hadn’t felt in years—a moment of reprieve, of connection.

He hated how much it mattered.

Jaime stood abruptly, running a hand through his hair as he paced the room once more. He had spent years burying himself under layers of cynicism and self-loathing, but you were peeling them away without even realizing it. It wasn’t fair—none of it was fair.

"Don’t pretend you care," he had said, but now he wondered if you did, even just a little.

He shook his head, trying to banish the thought. It was a weakness, this newfound longing for your approval, your forgiveness. He couldn’t afford weaknesses, not now, not ever.

But as Jaime stared out the narrow window, the city lights flickering in the distance, he couldn’t help but think of your words again.

"You’re not the man you were."

He didn’t know if it was true. But for the first time in years, he found himself wanting to believe it could be.

[rafeysbambi]

bambi

part x

summary:

kind, sweet and the definition of innocent, obsessed with pink, bows and all animals but especially deers. y/n has barely held a boys hand let alone been kissed until rafe cameron lays eyes on her

a/n:

hi hope u all r having a great week my work is super duper busy rn but i cannot wait for the weekend 😋 ps pls let me know if u wanna be added to a tag list luv u all

you woke up the next morning smiling, placing your hand to your lips still remembering the kiss; you still couldn’t believe it, you basically danced out of bed into the shower. after showering you grabbed your phone.

bambiyn: haiiiii

rafecameron: good morning pretty girl

bambiyn: hi good morning hi

rafecameron: you’re very energetic this morning i wonder why 😉

bambiyn: oh just some boy

rafecameron: oh wow he sounds tall, handsome and charming

bambiyn: no

bambiyn: short king 🩷

rafecameron: ?

bambiyn: petite king 🩷

rafecameron: shut up

bambiyn: ☹️

bambiyn: wut r u doing today ☺️😊😉😋😏

rafecameron: not much just made some phone calls

bambiyn: you didn’t call me yet 👎

rafecameron: needy girl

rafecameron: what’re you doing today doll?

bambiyn: nothing sooooo bored if only my short petite king would come see me and rescue me from my boredom ☹️

rafecameron: i am not coming over if you call me that

bambiyn: nothing sooooo bored if only my handsome talll charming king would come see me and rescue me from my boredom ☹️

rafecameron: that’s better

bambiyn: do you wanna watch bambi with me?

rafecameron: whatever you want princess, you want me to pick up some snacks on the way?

bambiyn: yes please

rafecameron: i’ll be over in about 20 pretty

bambiyn: okay yay

you quickly got ready before setting up some blankets and pillows in your movie room. soon enough you heard the familiar knock of rafe at your door, opening it up to see rafe standing with a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a bag full of snacks in the other.

“oh my gosh! you shouldn’t have!” you exclaimed as rafe handed you the pink lilies. “seriously rafe i’m running out of room to put all of these flowers.” he followed you into the kitchen where you placed the flowers into a vase before turning around to greet rafe properly. he wrapped his arm around your waist and picked you up easily as you threw your arms around his neck. “thank you” you placed a small kiss on his cheek before he placed you back down on the floor.

“so needy today baby” he chuckled as you grabbed onto his hand pulling into the movie room. you pushed him down on the couch, sitting down next to him, you pulled a blanket over you, handing him one too.

“okay bambi time” you smiled at him before pressing play on the movie. as you watched the movie rafewrapped his arm around your shoulder and you snuggled into his chest. he was trying to pay attention to the movie but he couldn’t help to watch you with a grin on your face as you mouthed the words. as faline came onto the screen, you looked over at rafe poking him, “look rafe that’s us.”

rafe couldn’t help but to smile, “i thought you were bambi doll.”

“well i am but i’m letting you be my bambi.” you giggled before settling your head back on to rafe’s chest, focus shifting back to the movie.

“i thought flower was a girl why is he a guy now.” rafe said turning to you, clearly more into the movie than expected.

“no he’s a boy he just has a cute voice.” you replied quickly, eyes still glued to the screen.

“you have a cute voice.” you blushed nestling your head further into rafe’s chest, he begun playing with your hair.

“i like it when you do that, feels nice.” if you weren’t watching your favourite movie you could definitely fall asleep with how cozy you were.

as the movie ended you sat up, turning to rafe, “did you like it? or did you love it?” you said smiling at him.

“it was good baby. i’m not gonna lie i always thought bambi was a girl, maybe that’s just because i think of you.” he said tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. you both smiled at each other, eyes locked as rafe’s hand moved to the back your head, his thumb stroking your hair. your heads moved closer and closer until your lips finally touched for a sweet delicate kiss. as you pulled away cheeks flushed, you played with the bambi plushie in your lap before a lightbulb went off in your head.

“time for bambi 2!” you exclaimed grabbing the remote.

“there’s a second one?”

[necrotic-nephilim]

there is not enough femslash in batcest circles. the girls deserve to be just as weird about each other as the boys are. if BruDick gets to be weird father/son/brothers/lovers/friends/rivals/soulmates then it is only fair that Babs/Cass get to be mother/daughter/sisters/lovers too. Something about that deep intrinsic but undefinable love that is born out of trauma, especially if you consider Cass not knowing what healthy love looks like in the first place. i think it's fun and deserves just as much fandom content.

besides that, you can get even more niche with rarepairs like Helena/Steph. Huntress/Spoiler: Blunt Trauma is already a fantastic comic and even though it's their only real canon interaction it has so much potential. very comparable to TimJay in how Helena tries to get Steph to understand her morals and the corruption you could play with it.

batman: huntress/spoiler: blunt trauma (1998)

that comic also highlights on how both Steph and Helena are outcasts of the Batfamily and don't have the approval of Bruce to be doing what they do in "his city". I think there's so much Potential in Helena taking Steph under her wing because Bruce won't let her in and it becomes a weird codependent toxic sapphic mess. I think the protectiveness Helena feels over Steph from the get-go is so clear and the way she wants to look out for Steph, wants to make sure Steph understands the real world? I love them. Helena should be allowed to steal Steph, actually. I think it'd be fun.

there are a lot of other possibilities too like Babs/Steph or even getting weird with Helena Bertinelli/Helena Wayne and the existential question of "is it selfcest or not." But these two specifically live in my head rent-free, especially Helena/Steph and one day I'll convince everyone else to ship it too.

[disposal-blueeee]

halloween thing i drew for an art trade with @cherry-207 ! she asked for edgar and scri dressed as angel and devil . you can see her part here !

edgar vargas belongs to jhonen vasquez

scriabin belongs to @zarla-s

[rbtlvr]

u know. i feel like. the way i 'cover' music (listening reaaaaally really closely note by note and transcribing it into the free program that i have) is probably not. the way most people do it. almost certainly there is a simpler way of doing things. however

[milfbrainrot]

it's nice that claire can experience being loved more humanly but also... you fucked up a perfectly good robot is what you did. look at it it's got anxiety.

[simgerale]

me after attempting to get back into sims and realizing i had a lot more to do than play the game

[james-spooky]

this is a test

[puppppppppy]

My god I need to finish this website so I can write diary entries and not be this obvious abt it

[batsplat]

casey also talks about sepang 2015 what do you think of that

oh in that podcast? uh... lemme listen again...

yeah idk it's not really anything new I'd say? he's said basically all the same stuff in more interesting and extensive ways elsewhere. I think casey inevitably has a very 'well feuding is bad and helps nobody' point of view, has expressed that before in the past, does it here again, and he's also drawn a parallel between himself and marc on several occasions. which... well, of course there's similarities in terms of public discourse or whatever, but the parallel really falls apart whenever casey argues the feuds cost valentino. like, I do think it's sometimes important to just. keep in mind. it's interesting that casey draws this comparison in his mind but that doesn't necessarily means he's right about this. I'm not sure how you'd argue that starting a feud with casey cost valentino anything competitively? you can argue it didn't help him I guess, and then we can have a debate about the ins and outs of the 2008 season. we can also have an argument that in a hypothetical world where casey isn't ill in 2009, valentino doesn't break his leg and casey isn't on a piece of junk in 2010, and valentino isn't on a piece of junk in 2011-12, then actually maybe valentino sparking open animosity with casey COULD have cost him. but we don't know that! didn't happen! I wish we could have found out, but we never got the chance! as it stands, the tally on this is pretty straightforward: casey won the title when things were reasonably civil between them in 2007, and valentino took control of the following season at the exact moment he worsened the relationship between the pair of them in 2008. obviously, it's all more complicated than that and casey would of course argue laguna didn't negatively affect his subsequent performances... but it certainly didn't help them. like, at the very worst valentino escalating tensions in 2008 is a complete net neutral. after 2009, them being bitchy to each other every other tuesday was completely competitively irrelevant beyond maybe affecting how they approached occasionally fighting for a podium position. hey, maybe casey used that feud to fire himself up through sheer spite throughout the later stages of his career, but that doesn't actually support his anti-feud stance - it's basically the exact same thing as what valentino does. they're both quite similar in that regard! always so hungry to prove a point, to show how someone else is wrong. kinda half the point with this feuding business is to get yourself going, get yourself motivated, yeah. he straight up openly admits to using yamaha's repeat rejection of him as a way of giving himself motivation, and at the end of the day that's really not all that different?

anyway, what else does casey say... oh yeah, that him and the other aliens were already kinda prepared for this and had learned vale's tricks. that valentino had only been able to get into the minds of the previous generation. welllllll *wiggles hand* sure, I mean, he did clearly have to change his approach... he couldn't just use the exact same playbook to get to them, either on-track or off-track. but that's why he did change up the playbook... again, whether you want to believe valentino won his final two titles 'in the head' rather than just through pure pace kinda depends on how you assess the evidence, but it is at the very least a debate. and, y'know, it's always worth remembering that valentino's most important mind games with casey didn't happen in a press conference... it was on the track. and the on-track stuff really is just embedded in how valentino approaches winning. speaking of aliens, this is what dani and jorge have said:

like, valentino's entire approach to his riding, even to the way he's setting his bike up, is deliberately about directly fucking with you... he's not actually always trying to be faster than you as much as he's trying to give himself the tools to make your life miserable, to pressure you into mistakes, etc etc... and again, especially with casey (if anything because he was so mentally sturdy), the off-track stuff was really just window dressing. (I know they bicker a lot after 2009 but it's just so fundamentally irrelevant to actual on-track competition.) so you can be aware of those tricks, but it also doesn't necessarily help you when someone's being nasty to you on-track in a way you just fully do not enjoy. which is what it was like for casey! for casey, a lot of this comes back to the truly unpleasant context of how he was perceived by the public, how he was treated as mentally weak or 'broken' or whatever partly because he had the misfortune of coming up against a bloke who had the reputation for breaking rivals. I think it's quite natural to end up with a bit of a hardliner 'actually I've never been mentally affected by a result in my life' stance - and of course casey is a lot tougher than a lot of people give him credit for. that being said. sometimes your rivals affect you, shit happens, it's part of the game. it's fundamentally a nice idea to think that valentino's tactics weren't just morally wrong but also ineffective, which is kind of the appeal of this narrative, right? you want to believe you're above that, you want to believe you were adequately prepared and wise to valentino's tactic. it's unsurprising and understandable that casey does tend to tell the story that way, but again it's *wiggles hand* also hard to describe it as completely factual

uh. what else. oh I'm thrilled casey does canonically know valentino and marc were friends, he has said he wasn't following motogp too much during that time period so you couldn't be sure of that. does this mean anything? does it tell you anything? well, no, but it's just a pleasing thought to me. I like that. oh also 'provoking particularly aggressive riders isn't a good idea' is kinda a funny take from casey? like, he of all people would hate the idea of being cowed by someone's reputation like that... casey's right that provoking fast riders can potentially be dangerous, but y'know I do think that's probably not news to anyone almost nine years later. um. that's all I've got I think

[writhe]