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sceletaflores · 3 months ago

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GIVE IT TO HER LIKE A MAN!

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｡𖦹°‧➵ pair: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

｡𖦹°‧➵ wc: 5.1k

｡𖦹°‧➵ contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, no outbreak au, no ellie, joel’s pov, swearing, age gap (52/23), semi-public sex (more of a semi-public ALMOST over the pants handjob?), p in v, clothed sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, hair pulling, spit kink, degradation, pussy spanking, creampie, fucking in your childhood bedroom RAAAHHH, one (1) single line about joel wanting to slap you, one (1) single use of the word daddy, erectile dysfunction? we don't know what that means in this house because that old man can fuck like he's twenty, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

｡𖦹°‧➵ nat’s note: hi babies! i'm back! did you miss me? cause i missed you and oh em gee i'm so excited to be rejoining the party. this actually wasn't what i planned on posting but the angsty joel fic is kicking my ass so hard that i had to take a break from it. i just needed to word vomit some raunchy, freak-nasty porn to cleanse my palate! i don’t normally go for the dbf trope but it's just so joel i couldn't not dip my feet in these waters. it's also more like dad's-close-but-distant-acquaintance-joel because in my head that man has little to no friends honestly. hope you love it, mwah!

dividers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics!

joel gives the best graduation gifts...

Joel isn’t the type to get invited to these kinds of things.

Graduation parties for Ivy League brats. Champagne in fancy crystal flutes and catered hors d'oeuvres getting passed around on silver trays. Men in loafers and pastel polos calling each other “old buddy” without any irony. It’s a far cry from his usual crowd—his mangy old t-shirt and stained blue jeans stick out in the place like a damn sore thumb.

The invitation came from a distant friend, someone he used to work with before his career took him in an entirely different, much shiner direction. He was here more as a favor than anything else. Tommy’s been worried about him, says he needs to get out more.

“Meet some new people, drink a few beers.” He’d said with his hand clasped on Joel’s shoulder. “It ain’t healthy to spend every weekend fixin’ shit around the house, Joel.”

Joel doesn’t see the problem. He’s fine the way he is. But somehow, he still got roped into going when he could have used any excuse to pull out at the last second. He could have faked sick, faked busy, faked like he had anything else to do besides sit at a fancy oak table on a back porch bigger than the whole first story of his house, decorated in Yale blue balloons and streamers.

He regretted giving into Tommy the second he pulled up in the driveway—a too-big Craftsman style place in West Lake Hills, all clean laid brick and perfectly manicured lawns. Joel couldn’t for the life of him remember why he said yes in the first place. Maybe it was the guilt of worrying his brother. Maybe for the decent catered food and overpriced beers he knew would be there when he first got the address.

What he hadn’t expected—what hit him in the goddamn chest when the door swung open after he knocked—was you.

And Christ, did you look smug about it.

It had been months ago. The only reason Joel was even in Connecticut was to meet with a client, a big time East Coast entrepreneur who wanted a new add on to his ten car garage and was fine slinging around the money to pay for a round-trip flight and a cushy hotel room.

He hadn’t planned on going to the bar that night, but after hours of back-and-forth about permits and material costs, he needed a drink. Just one, maybe two—enough to take the edge off before heading back to the hotel.

It was a shitty little dive about ten minutes from where he was staying. The beer was cold, the lights were low, and he wasn’t supposed to be making decisions with his little head. But then he saw you across the way, right in the middle of the dancefloor.

You were in a circle with a few other girls, your dress riding up higher and higher each time you’d roll your hips to the heavy bass blaring from the overhead speakers.

Joel watched you like that for a while, leaned up against the bar lazily sipping at his beer. He hadn’t planned on doing anything about it, just sat there and enjoyed the view. But you’d caught him looking, and instead of turning away and pretending not to notice, you’d smirked.

Joel should have known right then that he was in trouble.

It wasn’t long before you left your little group and made your way over, slipping on the stool beside him like you belonged there, like you’d already made your mind up about what was going to happen next. You’d leaned in close, close enough for him to catch the scent of whatever perfume you’d rolled over your throat before heading out—something rich and heady that damn near made his head spin.

“Hey, cowboy.” You’d said with a tilt of your head, the long column of your neck dewy with a light sheen of sweat he wanted to feel under his tongue. “You’ve been watching me?”

There was no accusation in your voice, just a quiet sort of amusement, like you already knew the answer.

Joel had huffed a laugh, he didn’t see the point of denying it. He was a lot of things, but subtle wasn’t one of them. “Yeah.” He’d admitted, taking a slow sip of his beer before setting it down. “What about it?”

Your eyes dropped down the length of his body, studying him, and he’d let you. Let you take your time looking, even as heat crawled up the back of his neck.

“Buy me a drink?” You’d asked, smiling up at him like butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth.

That was all it took.

One drink turned into two, which turned into three, and then you were leaning into his space like you were made to be there. Your index finger teasingly tracing along the collar of his shirt as you whispered something filthy in his ear that had all the blood in his brain rushing down south.

Joel really shouldn’t have let it go any further than some goddamn footsie under the bar and a few dirty words whispered over the rims of shiny glasses, he was too old for shit like that. But you were just so damn tempting—confident and sharp and pretty as all hell.

Before Joel knew it he had you pressed up against the side of his truck, giggling into his mouth, fingers tugging at his belt like you couldn't get it off fast enough. You’d tasted like the fruity cocktails he bought you and something sweeter underneath, something distinctly you, and Joel had to have more.

You let him have it too—fisting his shirt and dragging him into the backseat without a care in the world, all eager hands and breathless laughter as you straddled his lap.

It was supposed to be just that. A reckless decision with a pretty young thing as the cherry on top of his trip. A one-night deal he’d let himself have because, fuck, it had been a long time since someone looked at him like that.

Joel tried his damndest to think how he should’ve, tried not to let some one off fuck turn him all sorts of ass backwards. He tried his damndest to boot you out of his mind the next morning when he was boarding the flight back to Austin—but you stuck anyway, like a burr in his goddamn brain.

The way you’d looked sprawled out under him, eyes glazed over with pleasure, lips parted, or the way you’d moaned his name like it was a prayer you needed him to hear. The way you’d rode him nice and slow, dragging your nails down his chest just to watch him shudder. The way you’d kissed him after, lazy and sweet, before sneaking off into the night like a goddamn thief.

Joel could've sworn he saw God that night, a smudged silhouette in the fogged up windows of his truck.

And now you’re here, standing in the doorway of some polished, high society home, looking like sin wrapped up in tulle and pearls.

Joel wasn’t a man who spooked easy, but seeing you again, surrounded by people who had no goddamn idea what you’d let him do to you in the backseat of his truck all those months ago, knocked him on his ass harder than a sucker punch.

The recognition was damn near instant, your eyes shining just as much as the sparkly sash that read “GRAD!” in big glittery letters. The initial shock gave way to a tiny, secret smile as your gaze slid up and down his body shamelessly, like this was some kind of funny inside joke.

Joel was seconds away from turning tail, walking back down your ridiculously long driveway and getting in his truck to get the hell out of there, but then your father was walking up behind you with a big grin on his face. He clapped Joel on the shoulder roughly and introduced his “Old buddy Joel Miller from his blue-collar days!”

You were all coy smiles and wide eyes. A sugared, “It’s so nice to meet you, Mr. Miller. Thank you for coming…” passing through your glossy lips.

The same lips that left shiny red smudges along the skin of his cock when you slid him down your throat, peering up at him with glassy eyes. The memory alone was enough to get heat stirring deep in his gut, and the way you looked at him now—all demure and polished, like you were some angelic scholar fresh off a podium—only made it worse.

Joel is too damn old for this.

“Very top of her class,” your father boasts, swishing his beer bottle through the air towards you flippantly. “Can you believe it? Just think of what we were doing at her age, brother. She sure as hell didn’t get any brains from me, that’s all her mother.”

Joel tries to chuckle with him, but it sounds strained, forced. He keeps his eyes facing forward, knee bouncing restlessly under the table. You’re looking at him again, hot and persistent against the side of his face. The heavy weight of your gaze practically begging him to look back. He doesn’t.

This dinner is it’s own form of torture, because of course, you just had to sit in the empty seat next to Joel—close enough that he can feel your knee bump up against his every few minutes.

He’s done a good job avoiding you until now, always walking the other direction when you waltz into the same room, not making eye contact when your gaze would sweep over the crowd hoping to catch his, trying for once in his life to be a good man.

A good man that suffers through this damn party without doing something he'll regret, that leaves at the end of the night and never has to see you again.

“Yeah,” he says, nervously starting to pick at the label of his own beer. Some snobby, imported New England brewery, probably sixty bucks a six-pack. “Good times.”

Joel can see you lean forward out of the corner of his eye, the neckline of your dress sliding down an inch as you stare at him, attention rapt. “What were you like back then, Mr. Miller?”

Joel nearly winces, his fingers tightening around the neck of his beer hard enough to turn the skin around his knuckles white.

‘Mr. Miller’ echoes in his ears lewdly, blaring like church bells. Your voice is nothing but a honey-sweet mockery, so syrupy he can nearly feel it trickling down his throat to add to the warmth settling low in his stomach.

Your father snorts over the lip of his bottle, answering you before Joel could open his mouth. “Joel didn’t go to college, honey. He went into the trades right after graduation,” he takes a long sip, Joel feels your knee bump against his again. “That’s how we met.”

You hum, nodding your head languidly. “You’re an architect too?”

Joel shakes his head, not looking at you as he answers. “Carpenter.”

Your father launches into some story about his old work days with Joel, about how back in the day, they were “real men” with “real jobs,” but Joel can barely process any of it. He nods along absently, lets out some half-hearted chuckles when he needs to.

Joel nearly puts his knee through the table when he feels your barefoot brush up against his ankle, hiking his jeans up ever so slightly. He shoots you a glare as subtly as he can.

It’s a look so sharp, so warning, that it should be enough to make you back the hell off from whatever game you’re playing. You’re not even looking at him anymore, eyes glued to your father as you nod along to whatever story he’s telling now.

But there’s a knowing little smile on your lips as your hand creeps beneath the table and falls into his lap, the pads of your fingers pressing against the inside of his thigh.

Joel goes still. Rigid as his breath catches on a sharp inhale.

Christ, you’re trying to kill him.

Your father’s voice pulls him out of the silent panic and heavy arousal waging a war inside of him. “How’s business, Joel?” he asks, leaning back in his chair. “You and Tommy still running things at a hundred miles a minute?”

Joel barely registers the question as your hand inches higher and higher. He can hear his own pulse pounding in his throat, in his chest, in his cock, already half-hard in his boxers from some goddamn heavy petting like a wet behind the ears teenager.

“Yeah, we–” Joel pauses, willing his voice to steady with a quick cough to clear his throat. “We’ve been pretty busy with Summer rollin' around.”

Your father hums in agreement, cracking open another beer. “Of course, my schedule’s been a killer too this season,” he brags shamelessly, tone heavy with understanding like he and Joel are in the same boat. Only your fathers boat is a three million dollar yacht sailing for blue-print meetings with big shot celebrities and architectural digest interviews. “It’s a miracle I even had time to fly in for the party, isn’t that right sweetheart?”

Your hand slides up the length of his cock in one slow stroke, your palm grinding roughly over the tip through the tented denim.

“Yes, daddy.”

Your voice has gone all light and airy around the edges, almost melodic as it buries itself in Joel’s ears. At first, Joel thinks you’re talking to your father, but when his eyes flick over to you, you’re looking at him—your eyes half-lidded and sparkling with something dangerous as your fingers tug at the tab of his zipper.

Joel’s hand flies to your wrist, squeezing tight enough to stop your pawing at his now fully hard cock. “Alright if I use your bathroom?” he asks sharply, his voice a little too loud. He tosses your hand away and stands abruptly from his chair before he’s got an answer.

“Of course,” your father says easily, thankfully not noticing the tension at the table, or the way Joel’s trying to subtly hold his hands over his crotch. He turns his attention towards you, “Would you show Joel where the downstairs bathroom is, honey?”

Your smile only widens as you slip your sandal on and calmly stand from your own chair. “Sure,” you say breezily, but you’re not looking at your father, dark eyes still glued to Joel’s. “Follow me.”

The flowy fabric of your dress swishes behind you as you walk through the yard, Joel hot on your heels. He waits until you're both in the house, stepping through the open sliding glass door and out of view before his hand flies to your arm and squeezes hard.

Joel hears you wince softly, but you don’t try to fight your way out of his grip. He leans down closer, his lips inches away from your ear. His voice is low and rough as he grits out, “Take me to your room, now.”

You lead him through the kitchen and up the stairs silently, but Joel can still see the smug smile on your lips as you turn the corner. The need to slap that bratty shit right off your face wracks through him like thunder, anger burning hotter in his chest with every step.

You push the door to your bedroom open and step inside, barely turning to face him before Joel slams the door shut behind him and stalks past you. His eyes are dark, filled with a mix of rage and want as he stares you down.

“Do you think this is a goddamn game?” His voice is teeming with fury, the calm facade he scarcely maintained at dinner now entirely gone. “That you can do whatever the hell you please because your Daddy’s sittin' across from you?”

You bite your bottom lip, leaning against the door with your arms crossed behind your back coyly. “You didn’t bring me a present.”

It’s a taunt if Joel’s ever heard one, and it finally breaks him.

He crosses the room in three large strides, pinning you against the door. His hands on either side of your head, caging you in. Joel cranes his neck down, his face inches away from yours. He can smell your perfume this close, it’s different than what you wore at the bar—something soft and girly and sweet that has his cock straining in his boxer.

“You’re real fuckin' proud of yourself aren’t you?” he spits roughly, watching the way your pupils dilate, eyes going glossy under his intensity. “Does your old man know how much of a tramp his precious little baby girl is? That she’s got such a greedy fuckin' pussy she can’t help herself from rubbin' his buddy Joel’s cock under the table like a desperate slut.”

“Joel,” you whisper breathlessly, all the attitude draining from you at the drop of a hat the second he gets a little mean. Your eyes are stuck on his lips and, after a beat, you start leaning in, like you’ll die if you don’t kiss him.

Joel stops you with a hand fisted in your hair, keeping you still a few centimeters away from his lips. A pitiful whine falls from your slack mouth, wide eyes flicking back up to meet his with a pleading look.

“You want me to kiss you, princess?” he asks, mean and condescending. Your breath puffs over his lips, hot and needy as you nod your head as best you can. Joel laughs, dark and cool as he shakes his head slowly. “Whores like you don’t get kissed baby, they get fucked.”

It does something to you—Joel can see it in the way your lashes flutter, in the way your thighs press together, like you can feel his words between your legs. He watches the rise and fall of your chest quicken, the way your lips part as a little breathless sound escapes them, and he knows he’s got you right where he wants you.

Desperate. Squirming. Ready to let him ruin you.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, low and almost reverent, but the wicked curl of his lips betrays the softness in his tone. “Bet you’re already soaked, aren’t you?”

You nod, your chest rising up to press against his with every breath.

“Words,” he demands, voice sharp as a needle. Your thighs twitch at the sound of it.

“Yes,” you breathe shakily. “I’ve been wet since you got here.”

That has Joel groaning, jaw ticking as his cock twitches heavily in his boxers, pre-come oozing into the cotton.

He doesn’t waste another second. He drops your hair to grab your shoulders, pulling and pushing until you’re tumbling onto your old bed. You let out a sharp gasp as your back hits the mattress, the force of it bouncing you a few times.

Joel looms over you, watching you, finally letting himself get a good look at the picture you make. Splayed across dainty floral sheets, chest heaving, staring up at him with need written all over your pretty face. It practically pumps off of you in waves, he can almost taste it.

Without another word, Joel reaches for his belt, his heavy gaze never leaving yours. The metal of his buckle clinks loudly in the quiet of the room, underscored by the quick pants of your breath. It snaps with how hard he yanks it out of his belt loops, the leather cracking in the air menacingly.

"You wanted this," Joel mutters, popping the button on his jeans, dragging the zipper down with a sharp hiss. "You practically fuckin’ begged for it."

You make a desperate little sound at the sight of his cock finally being freed from the confines of his jeans—thick, heavy, and leaking when it slaps against his stomach. Your legs spread wider like an offering, like you need it in you now.

Joel huffs out a laugh, grabbing your ankle and yanking you down the bed, making you squeak in surprise. He climbs on the mattress, his body completely blanketing yours so you couldn’t move if you wanted to.

His hand drags down your body, over the swell of your breasts, over your ribs, the curve of your hip, until he’s gripping the hem of your dress. Joel slips his hand under the skirt, rough palms gliding up the soft skin of your thighs before gripping the meat of them hard enough to bruise.

The thought of you finding the marks tomorrow, pretty shades of purple and yellow branding your skin as a reminder of this moment, of what Joel did to you—it makes his stomach flip with a sick thrill.

It doesn’t take much for Joel to push the bunched fabric around your hips the rest of the way up, exposing the barely-there scrap of lace covering you.

He makes a sound low in his throat when he sees the little damp spot blooming along the powder blue fabric. “So fuckin’ needy,” he mutters, tracing his middle finger along the wet seam of your pussy, featherlight, teasing. “Can’t even sit through one damn dinner without beggin’ for my attention like a two-bit truck stop whore.”

You nod frantically, lips trembling, pupils blown wide as you blink up at him.

Joel tsks mockingly, raising his palm to give your clothed pussy a sharp slap that has you crying out. “Use your words, baby.”

“Yes,” you gasp. “Please, Joel.”

Your voice is so soft, so wrecked. And Joel feels himself get impossibly harder, his cock throbbing where it’s pressed against your stomach, blurting pre-come onto the delicate pink tulle of your dress. He can hardly wait any longer.

Joel hooks a finger into the leg of your panties, dragging them down hard enough that he hears a rip. He can’t find it in himself to care, he just pulls them far enough that they pool around your ankles uselessly.

He finally takes himself in his hand so he can drag his cock through the wet mess of your pussy, bumping it up against your hole but not giving you a damn inch. A devastating noise falls from your lips, slow and sweet as molasses, your hips buck up off the mattress, trying to take him in. He presses one heavy hand down on your stomach, keeping you still.

“Ask me for it,” Joel whispers darkly, slapping the head over your glistening clit. “Beg for my cock.”

Your fingers curl into the sheets, frustration and desire burning in the inky black of your pupils. “Please, Joel. It’s all I can think about, can only think about you,” you ramble senseslessly, voice breathless. “About you fucking me. About your cock stretching me open. Please fuck me, please, want it so bad.”

Fuck, he loves hearing you beg.

Joel grips your hips, holding you steady as he presses inside, slow at first, just enough to make you gasp, enough to let you feel how thick he is stretching you open. He curses, head falling forward as he watches himself disappear inside you inch by inch.

Your hands scramble along the length of his back, nails scratching uselessly as you try to adjust to the sudden fullness. Joel knows he’s too big, the stretch too much all at once without prep. He knows it. He just doesn’t give a damn.

“I know, it’s a big stretch ain’t it?” Joel coos, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles over the skin of your hips. “You can still take it, darlin’. It’s what you wanted, wanted me to lose my goddamn mind and ruin this sweet little pussy.”

You nod desperately, a loud cry bursting from your chest as he pulls you back until his hips are flush with your ass. Your velvety heat feels scalding around him, snug and perfect, like it was made for him—made for his cock.

“Fuck, baby,” he stays there for a beat, buried to the hilt—forcing you really feel the full, aching stretch before he starts to move. He drags his cock out to the tip, almost all the way, before slamming forward again, knocking the breath from your lungs. “That’s it—take it all, just like that.”

Joel sets a brutal pace, fucking you so deep he swears he must be in your goddamn guts. His grip is merciless, his fingers digging into your hips as he uses them to pull you back against him, meeting every punishing thrust. The dirty sound of skin on skin fills the room, mixing with the slick squelch of your pussy as it tries to suck him back in each time he pulls out, the pretty soft gasps and moans you’re struggling to keep quiet the cherry on top of it all.

It’s so loud, a symphony of lewd sounds bouncing off the walls enough that Joel would be worried that someone might overhear if your house wasn’t such a maze.

Joel watches you writhe beneath him, your back arching, hands grasping at his shoulders, his arms, his hair, desperate for something to hold onto as he fucks into you with ruthless precision. Every thrust sends a shockwave through your body, makes your breath hitch, your legs trembling where they’re locked tight around his waist.

“Poor thing,” he mutters, voice a low rasp in your ear. “Too dumb to talk now, huh? Just layin’ here, takin’ it like a good little whore.”

Your eyes roll back in your head when he tilts his hips, the new angle forcing his cock to rub up against your sweet spot with every thrust. “Joel–”

Joel leans over you, breath hot against your ear as he mutters, “This what you needed, baby? Needed Daddy’s friend to hike your pretty dress up and fuck you good and hard like this?” He speeds his hips up fast enough to get the bed shaking on its frame. “Actin’ like a spoiled little brat all night just so I’d drag you up here and teach you some fuckin’ manners?”

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck—” Your words slur together, breathy and high-pitched, your fingers twisting in his hair as he keeps up that relentless pace.

Joel reaches up to snatch your jaw in a tight grip, the rhythm of his hips never faltering. “Open your mouth,” he growls, fingers digging into the meat of your cheeks meanly. When you don’t, too fucked out of your mind to listen, he shakes your head back and forth like a bad dog. “Open it.”

The command breaks through the pleasure filled haze clouding your mind, and your mouth falls open obediently. Your slick lips parting enough for Joel to see the enticing pink of your tongue. A groan claws its way out from deep in his chest, and he leans down close to spit into your mouth.

Your moan is a high, choked whine as your eyes flutter shut, your pussy squeezing around his cock impossibly tighter.

“Don’t you dare fuckin’ swallow,” he says, fucking into your clenching heat harder. “Hold it right there.”

You open your eyes to stare up at him like he’s some kind of God, your lashes clumped together and glossy with unshed tears—gaze glazed over with a kind of bliss that makes something dark and satisfied wriggle to life in his chest.

“Good girl,” he mutters, barely above a whisper, but the words hit you like a sack of bricks. Your walls squeeze around him, and he groans low in his chest. His hands grip your thighs, spreading you even wider so he can watch the way his cock disappears into your puffy pussy, shining with your slick every time he pulls out. “Look at that. Fuckin’ made to take cock, aren’t you?”

You moan around closed lips, nails digging little crescent moons into his shoulders so hard that he can feel his shirt ripping under the force of it. Joel can tell you’re getting close, your whole body trembling violently as the coil of your orgasm winds tighter and tighter.

“Go ahead and swallow for me, baby girl.” Joel needs to hear you, needs to hear you say his name when you come on his cock. “Wanna hear that pretty voice.”

The sound of you swallowing is music to Joel’s ears, his hips stuttering as he watches your throat work.

“Please,” you gasp, fat crocodile tears rolling down your cheeks. “Need to come, need you to make me—”

“Yes,” he hisses, his thrusts turning sloppy for a beat before he regains his rhythm. “You gonna come for me, baby? Gonna soak my cock nice and good?”

His words push you right over the edge. Your entire body tenses, pleasure rolling through you in a white-hot wave as your climax crashes over you, stealing your breath. You sob Joel’s name, thighs shaking uncontrollably, body shuddering beneath him as you clench down so fucking tight he can barely move.

Joel groans, his jaw going slack as he watches you fall apart, losing himself in the feel of your pussy milking his cock. He grits his teeth, hips snapping erratically as he chases his own release.

“Fuck—gonna fill you up, baby,” he groans, voice wrecked. “Gonna fuck you full of me, make you mine.”

With one last thrust, Joel spills inside of you. He buries himself as deep as he can go, warmth flooding your core as spurt after spurt of come paints your insides, thick and hot. His body shakes with the force of it, a deep, guttural moan falling from his lips as he rides out his orgasm.

Joel just stays there, panting, his forehead resting against yours.

For a moment, both of you are too overwhelmed to move. You just lay on the mattress tangled together in the aftermath, breaths mingling, bodies slick with sweat. Joel smooths his hands up your sides, grounding himself as you both come down from the highs of ecstasy.

When you finally stop shaking, Joel pulls back just enough to look at you, to take in the wrecked, spent look on your face. He brushes his knuckles over your sweaty cheek, softer than before. “Still think I didn’t bring you a present?”

You let out an amused huff, pushing your hands up under the back of his shirt so you can trace the column of his spine with gentle fingers. “Trust me, it’s the only present I’m getting that’ll be worth a damn. Money can’t buy this, Miller.”

Joel chuckles, low and smooth as warmth blooms in his chest. He presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder. “You earned it, baby.”

mini nat's note: thank you so much for reading! mwah.

5K notes · View notes

theobservatory · 4 months ago

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｡⁠☆Loser Boyfriend｡⁠.ﾟ⁠+⁠

☆Cw: one use of "her", Mina calls you girl once, embarrassment, fluff, humor, rookie!prohero!deku

"Izuku, dude, no offense, but how did you land that?"

Izuku turns to Denki, looking just as lost as he does. There's a little flush on his cheeks and a wide eyed expression on his face. The boy looks like a confused baby dear, which truly only adds to Denki's confusion.

"Your guess is as good as mine."

"Teach me your ways." Denki says, comically whipping out a notepad from his pants pocket. "Did you grovel? Cry? Feed her a love potion but disguise it as juice so that she would drink it, but have no clue what it was?"

"N-No of course not!... And I'm pretty sure that would be illegal anyway..."

Denki shrugs, "Hey I don't know your life. You could be into some weird shit on the down low, you seem the type!"

Izuku responds with an eye roll. If anyone 'seems the type' it's Mineta and Denki himself. They turn back towards you instead of continuing the conversation. You're still in the same position you were in before; fully leaned over the back of the couch, legs closed with one slightly hanging in the air, while the rest of you is inside Mina's personal space giggling at something she's showing you on her phone.

You're in some cute little outfit that Izuku helped you pick out, a rare case, since Izuku still wears almost exclusively punny t-shirts and sweats. The only reason he helped is because it's your first time meeting his friends and former classmates, you just wanted to make sure the outfit wasn't too little or too much. This is not to say he was much help.

Izuku feels almost entranced by you, and you're not even looking at him. You haven't glanced his way since Mina took your attention, actually. Izuku could start pouting if he wasn't too busy ogling your backside. He's so busy he misses the picture Denki snaps at the enraptured look on his face.

"C'mon man, let's go raid the snacks before Kaachan forces us to leave the kitchen."

Denki's arm around Izuku's shoulder shakes him out of his stupor and he nods in agreement, not really having heard what he said at all. He allows Denki to lead him to the kitchen with only minimal glancing behind his back, just to get a little more time to soak in your image.

But he doesn't expect your eyes to catch. He has no time to prepare for the heat in his pink cheeks to spread to his ears, no time to prepare for your smile to make his heart thump in his chest. It makes him lightly stumble in his steps and turn to face forward again, feeling incredibly embarrassed.

"Oh, Izu! Can you come back for just a sec?"

Izuku breaks out of Denki's hold with not a single lick of hesitation, embarrassment be damned. His world shortens and zooms in when you talk, the feeling of embarrassment, as well as Denki's voice, becomes muffled in the face of it. None of that matters if you're the one who needs him.

"Look at this picture Mina has of you!"

It's the picture All Might took of him before he bulked up. The one where he's dirty and sweating and crying after trying to haul a fridge across a beach. Izuku thinks he might die. Where did she even get that picture?

His face must say a lot, because both you and Mina burst out laughing. You're trying to reassure him, but you're laughing so hard you're struggling to gain a breath to string words together. If the floor swallowed Izuku whole right now, he would be grateful. It was a terrible idea to bring you to meet his classmates, especially a gossip like Mina.

"Oh, baby no, don't look like that!" You gasp, placing a hand on his shoulder. It's not nearly as comforting as you're trying to make it be.

"Izuku you look like a total loser, good thing you gained some muscle there, pipsqueak!" Mina chortles.

"Oh stop it! He doesn't look like a... Loser... I think it's cute!"

"Keep telling yourself that!"

Izuku has never considered the merits of getting hit by a bus before, now is a better time than ever to start.

Your arms wrap around him, and he instinctually hugs you back. You press your still smiling face into his chest, and turn towards Mina, still a little breathless.

"It's okay Izuku, I'll protect you from Mina's mean words." You giggle.

Mina is quick to start booing you, but Izuku doesn't miss the picture of him being sent to an unsaved number in her phone. Oh she's going to get it next time they spare together, and he will make absolutely sure it is soon. She doesn't get to run away from the enemy she has created today.

"Whose side are you even on, girl?" Mina huffs playfully, turning back to her phone and sitting back down on the couch.

The party goes smoothly after that, mostly because Izuku doesn't leave your side for the rest of the night. He refuses to let any of his other classmates show you blackmail. Even when you go to the bathroom he stands right outside the door, waiting for you to come back. At one point during the night Katsuki told him he looks like a stray puppy, and before he could deny it, you responded, "it's cute, part of his charm". He elected to ignore the way it made his chest puff out.

He likes to believe you think of him less as a puppy and more of a guard dog. He will not be confirming or denying this with you.

Before long, the party is over. Despite the little mishap with Mina earlier, he's satisfied. You were both fed well, and you very clearly had a good time with his friends, so he considers the night a success. He knew that you'd been nervous about the whole thing, his reassurances hadn't done much to sway you, but you had a great time. Just like he said you would.

As he's pulling the car out of the driveway, you turn to him, a mischievous smile spread across your face. Izuku hopes you don't notice how heavily he swallows when you look at him, your expression is making him nervous.

"Mina sent me that picture of you."

The car lurches as he slams on the brakes. "She gave you her phone number?! Noo she's gonna show you how much of a loser I am!" He whines, putting his head into the steering wheel.

"Izu, my love, you are a bonafide prohero who's about to hit the top 30 barely two years out of highschool, you are not a loser."

Izuku turns to you with a wobbly smile, forehead still lying on the steering wheel. "U-Uhm no, I totally am. Hero work aside."

You giggle, his heart stutters again.

"Well you're my loser then."

"Yours?" Izuku flushes.

"Mine."

And well, being a loser isn't so bad if it means he gets to be yours. Your boyfriend. Your guard dog. Your puppy. Your loser. Your anything. He can be anything, as long as he's yours.

Love men who are losers and very smitten for their sweethearts, what can I say

｡⁠☆Requests open

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wordsofwhimsy · 1 month ago

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did somebody ask which version of mark is puttin it down best?

guess i'll give my analysis 😮‍💨

main!mark is all about pleasing you, sooo he's definitely giving the other boys a run for their money. his oral & finger game? UNMATCHED. he's not dumb and aggressive about it like the majority of the others. he keeps it slow, intentional, so dedicated, living in your pleasure. the more praise you give him the better. his sex game tho takes awhile to come up to par - he's so scared of hurting you for soo long that he just takes it too easy, or doesn't take the lead at all. once he learns the fine art of blowing your back out without killing you tho? 😏

mohawk!mark is soo aggressively fun, but he's really only in it for his own pleasure. he kinda just assumes (rightly so) that you're gonna feel good either way but he never bothers to actually check in with you, see how you're doing lol it's probably also a MUST for you to suck his dick every time, forcing your head down and then mocking you when you gag or gasp for air. he doesn't care to return the favor too often but if you whine too much he will. it's not really that great tho - he's rushing and careless, just trying to move on to the main event

viltrumite!mark takes some teaching. he's of the mindset that sex is just for procreation, and if this is a scenario where he's taken you back to viltrum he's not going to really feel the need to view it any other way. but if he's staying on earth with you? well, sex sells baby and the influence is all around. he starts noticing things in movies and in songs, stuff on the internet--hell even billboards and magazines. don't be fooled his dickin is good even when it's boring missionary but once he starts coming around to trying all the other fun things? oh lawd have mercy

omni!mark is an interesting mix of dominance without aggression, no dirty talk. all business, really but this man IS in the business of pleasure - for you at least. he struggles to let you take the lead though which is kinda boring sometimes, and anything kinky? like spanking or choking? absolutely not. you're not some scallywag hoodlum (LMFAO) and he's definitely not going to treat you like one. buuut if you start talking dirty and cussing? he might be flustered, and maybe even a little more turned on than usual (he'd never admit it)

sinister!mark is all about HIM HIM HIM. but the caveat of this is he needs to know he's GOOD at what he's doing - which means you need to feel good too. he's so unbelievably aggressive and doesn't do missionary. you are not coming away without bruises and marks every single time. i think he likes to make you dance for him too beforehand. that's his idea of foreplay - something that reminds you both who's in charge and who it's all for. you better hope he's not in the mood to go down on you cause that bitch bites 😭

no goggles/lensless!mark is probably my fav 🤭 is literally 100% about whatever it is you're into. i guess except missionary whoops. like he's fine throwing it in there occasionally but not a chance he's opening or ending in that position. in fact switching positions is HIS personal favorite thing. honestly his oral is so-so. he's just too damn talkative and can't focus on the task at hand. he also doesn't take it well either - the man's LOUD. and honeestly busts pretty quick but that's okay! he bounces back quicker. viltrumite stamina is crazy and his libido just adds to it

shiesty!mark has probably fucked more people than all of them combined so, yeah, he's got the practice and experience. he KNOWS his dick is phenomenal and tbh if he's not really into you he's letting you do most of the work. he thinks he's doing YOU favor by letting you ride it. but if you were hard to get? ohhh he's got something to prove now, and trust he will. this man reaches spots none of the others even knows exist, uses his strength in a way that is just chefs kiss - pinning you without hurting you, playing with your nipples and the other sensitive parts with expert care. and probably my fav thing about him is that he's the only one (except maybe main!mark) who ever thinks to put on musiccc

moustache!mark is 😛 father dearest. TOTALLY showing you what it feels like to be owneddd - unquestionably, but not in the way sinister does. he does it with affection. you know, like a 'pet' and all that jazz. he's got this way of making you feel simultaneously small and like the most important person in the world. and when he goes down on youuu? THE TICKLE?? biiitch stop. he also is the one who appreciates the thickies the most ughh like he NEEDS all that ass in his hands, in his lap, on his dick. the love handles? the tummy? give him alllat - trust ☝️ he can handle it

prisoner!mark is an interesting one. if we're talking straight out the pen? he's an ANIMAL. i'm talking y'all are going at it aaall night long, him painfully impatient through every little break you insist he gives you. he's also physically the strongest of them all, and, yeah, it shows. all that body pressed into you? those arms? 🥴 idk how anatomically that would even work but for some reason i feel like he'd have a thicker cock too. he'd be so deep and guttural with his groans, all in your ear with it. no holding back. after some time though i think he'd be focused on you and learning what you like - buuut at the end of the day, he still is the most deprived and wants it ALWAYS

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https-lvesick · 10 months ago

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CAUGHT ON CAMERA — starring f!reader x na jaemin (ft. jeno and haechan, the perverts)

jeno and haechan know they can always count on their best friend, jaemin, and that's why they borrow his camera for a project. they just didn't expect to get the wrong camera... and enjoy every second of it.

content 𖹭 jaem!big dick, sex tape (size diff, breeding, stomach bulge, fingering, slight nipple sucking, m!oral + cum eating), m!masturbation

notes 𖹭 another big thanks for my baby @sinisxtea for proofreading this!

it wasn't unusual to see na jaemin walking around the campus carrying a camera and photographing everything he found cool. the devoted photography student had an unique artistic view, in his mind, anything could be turned into art. ordinary objects, situations and even some students were his objects of art, but there was only one thing, precious enough to worth his devotion: you. jaemin's object of adoration. he was so committed to you and to show the beauty of every single thing you'd do, he bought a camera exclusively for you.

that camera was special. It could only support videos and photos of you. you could be doing anything. playing with stray cats, eating, painting your nails, putting on some makeup, but his favourite moments were the intimate ones.

jaemin just... he couldn't handle your preciousness. in every aspect, he felt the need, the urge to capture and keep your beauty. especially when you put on a little show just to show him your new lingerie set. or maybe when you were choking with his cock down your throat, your makeup smudged all over your face. fuck... he could list every video that the camera had ever captured.

and knowing how committed, na jaemin, a third-year photography student, was to his major, donghyeok, his roommate, thought he could borrow one of his cameras for a project.

“did you even ask him for it, you dumbass? what if he took his camera with him?” jeno comments, leaning on the door frame, watching his friend search for one of the most valuable items for jaemin.

“wasn't he just driving his girl home? why does he need a camera for that?” the younger cusses, messing with jaemin's drawer.

“sure, but you know how in love he is and how he just keeps anything she does.” jeno rolls his eyes, almost giving up on convincing his friend to find an object he didn't even ask permission to use.

“finally!” donghyeok laid his eyes on something deep in the closet. he takes the camera and closes the doors.

“i still think that's the worst idea you've ever had. what if jaemin sees a picture of you there? especially if it's on the camera that, again, was deep in his closet.” jeno emphasizes his last words, trying to knock some sense into his friend, but knowing he wouldn't listen, he just adds: “at least check to see if it's charged.”

“that's what i'm trying to do...” donghyeok says focused. the two guys were already sitting in the corner of jaemin's bed. he turned the camera on and you are the first thing they saw, wearing a flowy light blue dress. jaemin and you were on a date and you were showing how to make your boyfriend's favourite sandwich. “how can someone be so pretty...” he murmurs, sighing.

“i don't know...” jeno says, letting himself get lost at the sound of your voice and how your beaming smile could lighten up his whole day. honestly, they can get where all of jaemin's adoration comes from. if he had a girlfriend like you, he'd also keep every single moment to himself. then he realized what he was thinking. “but she's our best friend's girlfriend, right? the camera is fully charged, we can see it, then c'mon.” he stands up, but donghyeok immediately pulls him to sit again.

“c'mon jen, we're already here. this might be the camera he dedicated to her. don't you wanna see more of this... damn sculpture? you sure?” the younger lee skips some photos and videos, stopping at a video where you're wearing a bikini. you were laughing with jaemin while taking off your sundress, talking about going to the water. the focus goes all to your ass, while you walk to the water and they can hear jaemin's mischievous laugh along with a perverted comment.

they knew it wasn't cool to desire their best friend's girlfriend, but were they the ones to blame when you looked that pretty? you looked like some fancy masterpiece sculpted by michelangelo in his peak of inspiration. are they the ones to blame when you looked like aprodithe's daughter yourself, being allowed to live among those poor and useless human beings, gifting them your graciousness? you must be the girl of every guy's dream and they're lucky to have a best friend good enough to win a lotto. at least they get to see you often.

as donghyeok passed the videos, the two guys found themselves more and more immersed in you. and jaemin is completely right to be obsessed with you.

“holy fuck...” haechan whispers, licking his lips before biting his lower lip. jeno comes closer, eyes wide open when he notices what's happening on the video.

“come here.” Jaemin's voice is heard and you comply. you crawl to the corner of the bed, where your boyfriend was, and sit still.

you were wearing an expensive lingerie set that was driving not only one, but three men crazy. the bra hugged your breasts so prettily that they wondered if they'd fit that good in their hands.

“nana... your cock...” you let out a whiny plea. almost purring like a cat. your sparkling eyes, begging your boyfriend to stop flauting you to the camera and to let you suck on him.

it's not that hard to deduce that jaemin may have been lowering his pants.

“haechan, enough.” jeno warns, trying to be rational, but yet his eyes were glued on the little screen that was showing you, kitty licking jaemin's tip, teasing him. you were even rubbing his cock between your breasts, slobbering on it.

“fuck it, he's not here to see what we're doing.” donghyeok says in a low voice, holding the camera in one hand, as the other was lowering his shorts.

“haechan, what the fuck!” the older lee exclaims, completely shocked with his friend's attitude.

“jeno, if you don't wanna stay, then leave. and you better don't open that fucking mouth of yours to jaemin.” he spits on his palm, before dragging it along his shaft, lubricating his length. “but you can't deny the obvious.” haechan laughs, looking at jeno’s pants, before turning his full attention to the video.

jaemin's hand was guiding your head, sucking him off as if it was your life goal. you sucked his tip, forcing your tongue on his slit, making your boyfriend cuss, and squeeze lightly his full balls. he's so fucking good at what he's doing, and so are you. shortly after, he's pulling your hair, prying you off of his cock.

“open that pretty mouth of yours, huh?” he asks, jerking off right on your mouth. In a matter of few seconds, you can taste his salty cum on your tongue and you swallow when he spills more on your boobs.

jeno was standing, thinking about this whole situation. he looked at his friend having fun and looks at his own problem, getting more uncomfortable. the way donghyeok looked so satisfied watching whatever was happening on the screen awakened his interest and desire. fuck, she was his best friend's girlfriend, but... she was fucking pretty and when would he get any opportunity like that again?

“this might be harassment or something like that…” he mumbles, retaking his place beside his friend and frees his cock out of his pants. jeno could see haechan's mischievous smile, so he said first: “don't you even get started, you nasty dog.” even with that said, donghyeok didn't seem very offended, after all, who is he to say anything?

by this time you were already laying in bed, your legs spread for jaemin and the camera, consequently, the two perverts watching that. your glistening cunt gushing your juices, while your boyfriend collected every drop of it with his long fingers, teasing your slit.

“how many?” jaemin asks, threatening to insert the tip of two of his fingers, but never doing it.

“three, nana…” you whine, biting your lower lip, watching your boyfriend smile and tease you, the same way you'd do to him. that's until he inserts the three fingers you requested, all at once.

haechan was sure that sweet, languid, moan would linger in his mind forever. jeno, on the other hand, was sure he will never be able to look at his friend and his girlfriend again. he'd rather throw himself off of the window. as soon as he cums.

with each movement of jaemin's fingers, the wet squelching sound could be heard. it made your eyes roll while jeno and haechan make it an opportunity to fasten their own movements. jeno gulps, looking straight at your wet hole, salivating. fuck, he imagines how good it must be to feel you. he's sure you're tight and nice to be inside of. he tighten his grip, forcing his cock on a tighter hole. haechan also salivates, watching how good you take jaemin's fingers. he stops his hand's movements, thrusting his hips up, imagining it was your pussy he was fucking.

jaemin takes his fingers out of you and the boys could suppose what he was doing. he was tasting you on his own fingers. haechan curses, caressing his balls, and closes his eyes, catching his lower lip between his teeth. jeno slows his rhythm, tracing his fingers along his abs.

your boyfriend hovers over you and kisses you. his free hand traces your body, searching for your bra's clasp, undoing it. you discard the piece, feeling jaemin's wet kisses on your skin, and then you feel his plump lips wrapping around your nipple. you shiver feeling your boyfriend's warm tongue, hugging him.

“jaem…” you call, almost like crying, and jaemin smiles against your skin, understanding well your wish. he pulls the mound of flesh between his teeth making you hiss.

“how could i deny you?” he mocks and stands up, taking off his pants. when he resumes his position above you, he rests his cock on your tummy.

and that's when they realize how smaller than jaemin you are.

“no fucking way! this won't fit, no shit.” donghyeok smiled, clearly having fun. “this might be better than some cheap ass porn i've ever watched in my life.” his eyes lighten up with excitement. jeno only nods, lost in pleasure.

jaemin rubs his tip on your slit, forcing himself slowly. “no matter how many times i fuck you... will you ever open enough for me, darling?” he growls, getting even further inside you.

“jaem, it's too big!” you whine, gripping the bed sheets and closing your eyes, arching your back.

for a moment, your boobs shake and donghyeok loves it, almost losing it. he considers replay that part, but maybe another time, when he's alone.

when jaemin is fully inside you and the bulge is perfectly visible, jeno cums with a grunt. haechan laughs, teasing his friend. “good job, jen! hit it that fast?”

“shut the fuck up, lee donghyeok.” jeno grits his teeth. the truth is, jeno has a thing for bulge. it was the first thing he searched for when he was trying to relieve some stress. it was the first thing he thought when getting laid and now... knowing you were so small that a bulge was surely made on your belly made him see stars.

jaemin moves. starts slow, helping you get used to his size, even if you had done it plenty of times before, he was too big for you, no matter how many times when you were fucked by him, but then he picks up his pace. his hand presses the bulge on your stomach for a while, before gripping your thigh. his rhythm is rough, intense, so much that it makes your breasts move at each snap of his hips. and haechan felt like he was in heaven.

your moans starts to get more desperate and high-pitched. you call your boyfriend's name like a mantra while resting one of your hands on his stomach. jaemin doesn't stop, only picking up his pace, getting even rougher. he feels your pussy gripping his cock, identifying your orgasm. your eyes roll to the back of your skull and your mouth remains wide open for a while until you feel it dry, feeling jaemin squirting all of his seed inside of you.

“you fine, love?” he asks, slowing down his pace, only so you can come down off your high. you can just nod.

jaemin finally turns his camera, focusing right where your bodies meet. he thrusts a few more times, before getting out of you. the moment his cum is seen dripping out of you like a cascade is when haechan loses it, cumming with a whiny moan.

jaemin says something else, but the boys could care less, so donghyeok turns off the camera, putting it on the bed. jeno and haechan remain in silence for a moment.

“this might be the best thing my eyes have ever seen.” “that must be the gayest thing i've ever done.” they say at the same time.

“what?” haechan says.

“c'mon, i saw your cock. plus, i had to hear you moan like a whore. i'm getting insane…” jeno stands up angry, covering his dick again.

“oh, right, 'cause you moan like an alpha, huh?” the younger lee also stands up, bringing the camera with him.

“where do you think you're going with this, haechan?” jeno questions, watching his friend walk past him with the camera in hands.

“if you think i'm not enjoying this pretty little thing right here while i can, you're stupid. and you better not to try and jerk off with me. once was enough.” he says, leaving the room and an astonished jeno behind.

poor jeno, little does he know that haechan won't only watch. maybe he can upload some videos too. seeing jaemin's cock was a little price to pay when he was able to see all of you, spread and wet again.

#nct fanfic #nct imagines #nct smut #nct dream imagines #jaemin fanfic #jaemin smut

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omniphilic · 1 month ago

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i need to prep ur brain for when i slide into ur inbox w my milf!reader fanfic... instead of mark and a hot mom, let me raise u REX and a hot mom.

walk w/ me: rex is a DOG, and so is mark, but rex is so proud of that fact that he practically wears it on his sleeve like a badge of honor. he does not bother hiding the fact that he wants you. semantics, shemantics— so what if he's too young for you? or that you're recently divorced? or, better yet, you’re recently separated— it's just that the divorce hasn't gone through yet. all that means is that you're basically single, and age is just a number, so why are you getting caught up on the details?? let the handsome and charming superhero who’s started to patrol your neighborhood a little more frequently help you with your groceries, and fix the leak under your sink, and, i don't know, blow ur back out while the kids are at school until you're shaking like a leaf w/ your eyes rolled back and his cum leaking out of you? 🫣

wow, i am so excited to write this.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀18+ content below / MDNI

There’s just something so charming about his ham-fistedness, I think. His forwardness might’ve seemed try-hardy in any other instance, but the truth is you’re lonely :( you and your husband were separated long before you made him sign the papers, and when you served them he hardly batted an eye. Twenty years of marriage and you’ve only got two kids (one 8, the other 16) and sexual frustration to show for it. You don’t often burden others with your own issues but you wear it on your sleeve—dressed in mourning colors while mowing the lawn, expression forlorn, almost longing.

Rex bumbles in without respect to any of those things. He’s blunt, brash, trying to flirt with you as he saves you from a crush on the highway that him and his damn guardians caused. Takes one look at your big wet eyes and then decides to make it his personal mission to see you to your destination—make sure you’re safe. It’s just an excuse to carry you, feel the tension of the muscle beneath your skin and the soft backs of your knees, staring at your tits as they rise and fall with each breath.

You notice, but don’t do anything to stop him. It’s been so long since you’ve felt appreciated. Wanted.

So yes, you invite him over for dinner under the guise of paying kindnesses forward. It's fun watching your kids rave as you introduce them to an honest to god superhero. They’re more excited about him than you are, asking him question after question about the job; any near-death experiences? Daring rescues and brave escapes? They want to hear it all over seconds & dessert. If you didn’t excuse your new friend from the table, the rabble would’ve gone on all night, but Rex doesn’t mind, he’s great with kids (if it means it’ll get him laid) and impresses them easily with flashy stories and backyard demonstrations of his explosive tendencies.

You’re a little harder of a nut to crack, but his persistence adds to his charm. He’s oddly punctual, always patrolling around the same time every afternoon and evening to catch you on your way to or from work, or the store. He heaves your things along no problem and it’s already unmistakably clear what Rex is vying for, so to speak. His eyes tell you a lot. His mask is a crutch more than cover because the boy has wandering eyes; when they’re capped by yellow lenses he can stare all he like, as if you can’t feel him.

But he isn’t the type to leave you in suspense about what he’s thinking, he’ll tell it to you and the witnesses, he’s that shameless.

“Those look heavy,” he says, gesturing to what you think are the bags in your hand, “Let me hold em for you.”

The thanks Rex you were intending slips away as he cups firmly under your breasts, peering at you to gauge how close you are to smacking the shit out of him, but you are stunned to silence for a moment. Then you laugh, “You’re a pervert, Rex. Did your mother never teach you manners? The right way to treat a woman?”

He gets oddly quiet at that. Then he says, “Clearly not, ‘swhy don’t you teach me then, huh? What’s a good boy look like to you?”

I think the dynamic between divorcee MILF and Rex would be abhorrently cute, back breaking aside. I think Rex has more finesse than Mark because he has more experience with women and knows how to give you what you need while also being quite selfish incredibly nonchalantly. He's very open about liking you, it's breathing, to him. He is unapologetically monopolizing you and your time so much so he very rapidly becomes a steady addition to your life- your kids know about him, the neighbors definitely know about him, and your ex???

He facetimes you to talk about the kids coming over for the weekend and Rex picks up the phone. Hair mussed, eyes narrowed to fine points, he's focused on something. Faint sounds of leather creasing in the background.

R: "She's busy."

X: "Who the fuck is this??? Busy? Busy doing what?"

Rex doesn't say anything, just flips the camera.

He's got you over the couch, zooming in on where he's got you split open, fat cock stuffed in pretty pussy; you got this man soaked to the bone!

You're a little too cock drunk to notice quickly, moving back to meet Rex's hips with a vigor yet to be matched by your mind.

R: "I think she's good where she's at, man. Let's put a raincheck on that."

—click!

#rex sloan #invincible #invincible x reader #rex sloan x reader #rex splode x reader #☆ mommymaxxed rex #☆ sun writes!#sorry i was yappin #☆ star pals!

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lostbookmark · 17 days ago

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MNDI 🔞

Main Masterlist here

Game Masterlist here

Summary: After the death of your brother and his wife. You find yourself adjusting to a new role in your life. A single parent to your teenage nephew. How do you help him heal? How do you help yourself heal? You're not sure. You don't think you can, until an annoying basketball coach enters your life and turns everything around.

Pairing: Basketball Coach Yoongi x Single Aunt F. Reader

Genre: Romance, Angst, Smut, Strangers to Lovers,

Warnings: Death Of Parents / Brother/ Family, Car Accident (Cause), Swearing, Explicit Sex, Arguments, Physical Fighting, Past Abusive Relationship, Talks Of Domestic Violence, mentions of sex work

A/N: So, this is just a random filler chapter that came out of nowhere during my time of writers blockage. I know what my next 'big ticket' is going to be, but these damn in between chapters are killing me! Enjoy!

SMUT!

Bangtan Ravens

Undefeated

7-0

“You didn't have to bring anything,” you say, pulling into your parents' driveway.

It felt like a successful week for you. Ara was quiet when she came back from her suspension, effectively leaving you alone. In fact, you don't think that she even made eye contact with you. Nicky asked if he could talk to the school counselor. You were so proud of him taking that step all on his own. You even felt a little lighter. Not much, but you found yourself breathing easier. Yoongi still looked at you with something that you couldn't put your finger on. He knew you still had secrets that you weren't ready to let him in on yet and you weren't ready yet. Those ones were still locked away. Your ugly scars that you didn't want to expose him to. No, you weren't ready for that yet.

“It's my first time going to your parents,” he says from your passenger seat. “It would be rude to show up empty-handed.”

“Fuck, you're perfect,” you grumble, turning your car off. “Ready to get this over with?”

“Don't sound so excited,” he jokes.

“I'm …. not responding,” you say, climbing out of your car with him following close behind. Wiggling your fingers nervously, you walk up the steps leading Yoongi up to the door. Placing your hand on the door knob you turn to him with a serious expression. “We can turn back and run right now?”

“I have already met your family,” he says. “It's going to be fine.”

“But we will be outnumbered,” you tell him, and he nods at the door handle. Sighing, you turn the knob and open the door. “We're here.”

“You actually made it on time,” your mom says, looking at her watch. “Early, even.”

“His fault,” you comment. “He's trying to impress you.”

Yoongi looks at you quickly before lightly elbowing you.

“Or he just has manners,” she argues back and walks over to greet the two of you. “You didn't have to bring anything.”

“It's no problem,” he replied politely while handing her a tupperware container full of smoked brisket. “My friends and I barbecued a bunch of meat before we had to put the grill and smoker away for the year.”

“Oh, you cook,” you mom comments, ushering in toward the dining room while looking back at you and winking. “You'll have to teach my husband a thing or two. I don't think he can even work a can opener.”

“So, sunshine gets it from grandpa?” Nicky jokes as the three of you make it to the table.

“Very funny,” you and your dad say at the same time.

“Good win today for the both of you,” your dad congratulates.

“We are untouchable,” Nicky says, taking a plate from your mom, who was passing them out to everyone.

“Absolutely not,” Yoongi disagrees. “The moment you start to think like that is the moment you will start making little mistakes, and those little mistakes will add up.”

“Listen to him, Nicks,” your dad says as he places dishes of food on the table. “Winning is a great high, but you need to keep that focus. Always focus on that next win because it's not guaranteed.”

“I know, but it’s fun,” he whines.

“Everyone dig in,” your mom cuts in. “Tell us about this camp you mentioned.”

“NBA players have gone to this camp,” Nicky explains. “And sunshine has to sell feet pictures for me to go. I don't know why someone would want to buy a picture of her feet.”

Both you and Yoongi practically choke on your food while Chris and Elly, who were across from you, were trying not to laugh. Your mom reaches over the table to slap you gently on the arm.

“It was a joke,” you defend yourself.

“How much is it?” Your dad asks, and you shake your head no.

“No,” you shut him down. “I want to do this on my own. I might have to get a second job, but I can do it. I need to start to be more independent.”

“Get a second job where?” Elly asks, and you smirk at her.

“I think that massage parlor off the highway gives happy endings…,” you joke.

“Y/N!” Your mom snaps.

Everyone besides your mom and Nicky laugh.

“What's a happy ending?” Nicky asks.

“Nothing…. Don't worry about…What?...Eat your food,” came several replies to the teenager's question.

“I'll just google it,” he threatens, making your mom slap his arm lightly.

“Look at what you did,” she says, pointing her fork at you.

“Oh, come on,” you roll your eyes. “He has parental controls on his devices.”

“So, it has something to do with THAT,” he comments while looking at his plate while nodding to himself.

“Everybody just eat your food,” your mom grumbles, making you and your brother laugh silently.

“Welcome to the family,” you whisper to Yoongi, and he shakes his head at you doing as your mom asks.

“What made him change his mind about the pictures?” Chris asks as he looks at Nicky going through your parents' photo albums.

“I don't know,” you play dumb. “Maybe he decided that it was just time.”

Yoongi's thumb gently drags across your shoulder with his arm slung around the back of your chair.

“I think it's great,” Elly comments. “I want to put their pictures out on a table at the reception, but I didn't want to upset anyone.”

“Dessert?” Your mom asks, coming into the room with some pie.

“No thank you,” Yoongi says.

“Are you full?” She asks, slicing the pie for everyone else.

“I'm…uh….” he fumbles a bit.

“He's not a fan of sweets,” you say, speaking up for him. “You're not going to offend her. It's fine.”

“That explains why you're with my sister,” Chris jokes. “You like bitter and sour.”

“Oh, ha ha,” you laugh an obnoxiously fake laugh. “Fuck off.”

“You both need to knock it off,” your mother chides, placing the dessert in front of everyone except Yoongi and your dad, who was with Nicky.

“Anyway, I went into the office today to check my voicemails,” Elly tells everyone before side-eyeing your brother and giving you a look of pure disgust. “Guess who I had an inquiry from?”

“Let me guess,” you smile. “Dated someone we all know and has crazy eyes.”

“Did Chris's ex-girlfriend call?” Your dad asks, coming back to the table.

“She wasn't crazy?” Your mom argues. “She was just a little … off.”

“She was worse than Ara,” you whisper to Yoongi, making him laugh.

“Please tell me you didn't call her back?” You father questions, sitting down and cutting himself a slice of pie. “I won't work for her. She was weird. Remember when we caught her watching him when he was sleeping.”

“Whatever happened to her?” You mom asks, and you look away trying to look innocent.

“I don't know,” your brother answers. “It's almost like someone hit her with a hockey stick and chased her down the street.”

“Y/N!” Your mom exclaims. “Did you hit her with a hockey stick?”

“I believe it,” Yoongi says, nodding.

“Y/N, did you hit Yoongi with a hockey stick?” She asks next.

“NO!” You proclaim and then point your finger at your brother. “You little snitch. She literally broke into the house when you were gone and tried to attack Elly. She had her by the hair and everything.”

“That's true,” Elly speaks up, agreeing with you.

“I love Elly. I wasn't going to let her get hurt,” you explain. “So, I … you know…” You swung your hands in a swinging motion. “I didn't hit her on the head or anything.”

“Sunshine is a badass,” Nicky calls from where he was settled on the couch.

“Language,” you all call back.

“And what about Yoongi?” She asks.

“Oh, she didn't hit me, and I scared her,” he explained quickly. “It was super late. It was my fault.”

“Is there anything else I should know since we're spilling secrets?” Your mom asks, looking between you and your brother.

You glare at Chris, making a subtle stabbing motion with your fork until he finds his pie rather interesting.

“Nope,” he answers, and you shake your head no, agreeing with his lie.

Your mother jabs your pie with her fork, not believing the two of you. Smiling innocently, you feed Yoongi a small piece of the sweet apple pie, and the look he gives you tells you everything you need to know. He doesn't believe you either, and all it does make you shrug.

“How much is the camp?” Your mom asks as the two of you do the dishes.

“Twelve thousand dollars,” you answer. “Possibly more. It was twelve thousand years ago, so it's probably more now.”

“Nicky seems to think he can get in,” she says.

“Yoongi has a lot of faith in him,” you answer, drying your hands off on a towel and looking out the window above the sink. Yoongi and Nicky were playing basketball against your dad and brother. You could hear Elly cheering Nicky on and Chris bitching at her about not cheering him on. “They have come up with a whole training schedule.”

“You know he told me, right?” She questions softly, and you look at her confused. “He told me that he was rude to Yoongi and that he felt bad.”

“He apologized,” you tell her and she nodded.

“I'm glad that the both of you have someone to open up to,” she sniffles. “Does he know… everything?”

“No,” you answer, turning away to wipe down the counter.

“You should tell him,” she suggests. “You don't have to be scared. He won't run.”

“He'll look at me differently,” you say, shaking your head.

“No,” she argues.

“Yes,” you argue back. “He'll pity me. I don't want him to see me as some idiot weak person who stayed….”

“Stop,” your mom says, grabbing your shoulders. “He would never see you like that. None of us see you like that.”

“I'm scared,” you whisper as she hugs you.

“That's understandable,” she says, smoothing your hair much like she did when you were young. “But he's still going to love you.”

“He doesn't love me,” you laugh and sniffle.

“I would beg to differ,” she says, pulling away and hitting you lightly with the towel you had a minute ago.

Turning, you look back out the window and watch him talk with your dad. Your dad, who was always so quiet and stoic around your exes, was patting Yoongi on the back and laughing with him. You shake your head. You think your mom is nuts.

There is no way Yoongi is in love with you.

….. is he?

“Well other than finding out, you're a pro at wielding a hockey stick. I think it went well,” Yoongi jokes, as you pull into his driveway.

“Did you really hit her?” Nicky asks from the backseat.

“Yes,” you answer. “She was crazy.”

A knock on your window has you turning to look out your window to see Coach Jeon…errr maybe you should say Jungkook standing outside your car waving happily. Hitting your button, you roll your window down, and he immediately reaches in and over you to give Nicky a high five.

“Have you asked her?” He asks Yoongi.

“Ask me what?” You ask back, and the tattooed man shakes his head.

“Of course he didn't. We think he's embarrassed of us,” he says.

“Of course I'm embarrassed of you,” Yoongi agrees. “You're going to scare her off.”

“Can someone fill me in?” You question looking between the two friends and roommates.

“My friend and his wife are having a bonfire tomorrow night,” Yoongi informs you. “Everyone wants to meet you and Nicky.”

“Tomorrow?” You ask, suddenly scared.

“Cool. Can we go?” Nicky asks, looking at you.

“I wasn't planning on going,” he glares at Jungkook, who just smiles.

“They're okay with Nicky tagging along?” You question looking at your nephew and the two men.

”Yeah,” Jungkook confirms. “Yoongi doesn't shut up about the two of you.”

“Shut up!” Yoongi hisses, making you slightly red and Nicky laugh. “Nicky will fit right in. In fact, I think he is probably more mature than some of them.”

“I think I should be offended, but it's true,” Jungkook says and taps your car door lightly. “Hope to see you there.”

“It will be less stressful than tonight's dinner,” he promises. “We don't have to stay long. I know it's last minute, but I figured you wouldn't want to go. So, I wasn't going to bring it up.”

“Are you nervous, sunshine?” Nicky asks.

“Yes, I'm nervous,” you say. “I'm not going to fit in with your friends. I barely fit with you.”

“That's not true,” he says.

“I'm used to bikers, not frat boys,” you joke, making him roll his eyes at you.

“He came to dinner with us because it's important to our family,” Nicky comments. “This is obviously important to them.”

Why the fuck is he so wise?

“Okay,” you say. “Just a bonfire, right?”

“Yeah,” he answers. “There will be ten of us, including the two of you.”

“Sorely outnumbered,” you mumble to yourself. “Nothing fancy?”

“Nothing fancy,” he promises.

“Will there be s'mores there?” Nicky asks.

“I'll make sure of it,” Yoongi answers and looks back at you.

“Okay,” you agree, with a pounding heart. “Let's meet your friends.”

With a devastating smile, he squeezes your hand, and for once, you think you made the right choice.

It was fancy.

The large house sat back far off the road in the middle of nowhere. Almost too far back for your comfort in your opinion. You think the closest neighbor was at least ten minutes down the road, and that was kind of scary since you don't know these people.

“Are you okay?” Yoongi asks, as the three of you walk up the long gravel driveway, making your way around to the back of the house.

“Yeah, why?” You ask back, eyes scanning the darkness of the area.

“Because, you're squeezing my hand so hard that I can barely feel it,” he says.

“Sorry,” you apologize, trying to let go, but he holds on, not letting you let go. Trying to loosen up, you suddenly freeze mid step, making both males look at you. “I didn't bring anything. You brought something to my parents. I didn't bring anything.”

“You didn't need to,” he assures you. “You being here is enough.”

“If you want to leave early, I can fake sick,” Nicky offers.

“You shouldn't offer that in front of him,” you tell him as you nod discreetly at Yoongi, who knocks your shoulder with his own.

“Oh, good point,” your nephew says.

“You both are being ridiculous,” Yoongi comments. “Once you get to know them, I promise they are not intimidating.”

“What's taking so long?” Jungkook asks, running up to your little group as the gravel crunches underneath his feet. “We heard your car pull up a bit ago. Some of them are taking bets that you chickened out.”

“That's rude,” Yoongi replies.

“Come on,” he urges, throwing an arm Nicky's shoulders and directing the three of you around to the back of the house. Yoongi's hand molds around your hip, as the two of you follow silently toward the dancing shadows in the backyard. “Look who I found. I told you they would show.”

“I knew they would show,” a new voice pops up as a beautiful blonde with a stunning smile comes to a running halt in front of you. “No wonder Yoongi kept you to himself. You're too beautiful for the old grandpa. I'm Jimin.”

“Back off,” Yoongi sniffs in annoyance.

“Yeah, back off, Jimin,” another man with dark floppy hair says. “We both know she would pick me. I'm dark and mysterious. Hello, I'm Taehyung.”

“Both of you back off. I told you to behave tonight,” a deep voice cuts in. “Yeri, worked hard on everything, so Y/N and Nicky will feel comfortable. Don't ruin it.”

“Sorry, Joon,” they both say.

“Do you like fireworks, Nicky?” Taehyung asks.

“Ummm,” You say, suddenly nervous again.

“It's okay,” Jungkook assures you. “We all still have all our limbs intact.”

Before you can object, the three men drag your nephew off into the darkness.

“Don't worry. We will watch the children,”another new voice calls out as two new men walk after the group who were with Nicky.

“I don't know if I like that,” you say, pointing to the retreating group.

“It's okay,” Yoongi tells you. “Jin and Hobi won't let anything happen. They will keep Nicky away from anything dangerous. Sorry, Y/N, this is Namjoon. He and his wife Yeri invited us tonight.”

“I didn't bring anything,” you blurt out, causing the much taller man to give you an inquisitive stare before laughing.

“It's just a bonfire,” he says. “Don't worry about it.”

“Told you,” Yoongi whispers against your hair.

“Joon help,” a very pretty and very pregnant woman says as she steps out of the house with a tray of food in her hands. “Oh Yoongi’s here. Never mind, Yoongi, help, please.”

“I wouldn’t drop it,” Namjoon argues, looking put out.

“Of course you wouldn't,” she laughs nervously and looks at you. “Hello, I'm so happy you came. I've been telling Yoongi to bring you over for weeks now.”

“Thanks for inviting us,” you say, giving her an awkward smile.

Several booms and crackles fill the night air, causing the four of you to jump in surprise as the fireworks explode in the sky above. Yeri grabs her stomach in surprise and laughs while shaking her head.

“I told them not to bring those damn things, but do they listen? No,” she grumbles. “No, they never listen to me.”

“Everyone is fine,” someone yells out.

“Why don't you two go off and play with the rest of the boys and leave us alone,” Namjoon's wife suggests, and Yoongi gives you a look. Yeri sighs and pushes him gently. “She's fine.”

“Are you okay?” He asks, ignoring his friend's wife, and you nod.

“See, she's good,” Yeri answers, taking your hand in hers, guiding you to a wicker couch where Yoongi had placed a tray of food in front of on a table with several other covered dishes. “Give us a head start on the food before you come back. You know how they eat everything.” She waves them off with much of a second glance before focusing on you. “You don't have to be nervous.”

“I'm not,” you lie.

“As much as he talks about you, I feel like I should know you already,” she laughs.

“And what exactly does he say about me?” You ask, suddenly on alert, and you think that she can sense it.

“Everything and nothing at the same time,” she says cryptically.

“That isn't confusing at all,” you tell her.

“He said he pretty much knew you were the one when he almost had to kick you out of practice for swearing at him that first week of basketball,” she laughs recounting his tale of one of his first encounters with you. “He never really talked about any of the parents, but boy, did he talk about you.”

“Yeah, I don't make the best choices,” you admit.

“It's amazing,” she said, filling two plates for the two of you. “Yoongi hasn't really dated since his bitch of an ex broke up with him. When he has gone on dates he wasn't … excited about any of them. You've brought back a light to his eyes.”

“He hasn't talked about an ex,” you say, accepting the plate of food. “He mentioned a breakup once, but that's all.”

“I'm not surprised,” she says. “None of us liked her. She was demanding and rude. Yoongi is really great. We watched him give his all to her, and she took and took, but she never gave anything in return. All she did was bitch about him coaching basketball and she wanted him to quit to spend more time with her. She bitched about how he wasted her weekends during the season. He would beg her to come to the games but she always said she had better things to do.”

Your heart stops, and you take a bite of the cheese and crackers that you assembled from your plate as her words echo in your head. His ex hated basketball. His ex hated basketball. His ex hated basketball. You didn't hate basketball. Not like that. You hated the competitiveness of it all. You hated the parents. You didn't hate that he coached it. Were you just as bad as her?

“Is that why they broke up?” You question.

“Surprisingly, no,” she scoffs. “He was running himself ragged, trying to please her. He stressed himself out so much he wasn't eating or sleeping. The guys finally held an intervention of some sort and actually got through to him. He told her things had to change, and she dumped right on the spot.”

“Oh,” you mumble quietly, wondering if he was wandering down the same path that he did before.

Fuck, man! He was just willing to give up coaching for you.

“What's wrong?” She asks, munching away at her food.

“Nothing,” you lie. “I'm happy he never quit. I think he's done wonders for Nicky.”

“And you have done wonders for my little grumpy friend,” she laughs, making you smile.

Loud booms echo through the night, causing you both to jump once more. You have to quickly steady the plate in your lap so it doesn't fall to the ground. Looking over your shoulder, you see a burst of bright colors as they whirl into the dark sky until they fizzle out into nothingness.

“I really, really don't like that,” you say, looking into the darkness to see if you can see any sign of your nephew. “I don't know when I turned into my mother. I did worse stuff than play with fireworks at his age.”

“Yoongi will keep him safe,” she says with a laugh. “Can I let you in on another little secret?”

“Sure,” you say warily.

“Yoongi and the guys are like brothers. They tell each other everything, and Joon is a little gossip, who tells me everything,” she explains with a smile. “He told the guys about you right away, like I said. He also told them that he clocked right away that you didn't have a ring on your finger.”

“What?” You laugh.

“Yeah,” she confirms. “When he found out that you were his aunt and not mom, the guys were literally trying to give him ideas on how to approach you, but his damn pride in his stupid handbook wouldn't let him.”

“His handbook,” you shake your head. “I hate that thing.”

“He's always trying to do the right thing. That's why he's so great,” she says, and then she suddenly sits a bit straighter. “Here they come. Joon was there that night at the bar when Yoongi left with you, and let's just say. He said when you walked in, Yoongi's eyes lit up like a kid's on Christmas morning.”

“He played it so cool when he approached me,” you tell her.

“Yeah, but I bet he was a nervous wreck on the inside,” she smiles and looks past your shoulder and points at them with a serious expression. “Let Nicky eat first. Have whatever you want, Nicky.”

“Thanks!” He says as his eyes light up with delight, looking at the food spread out before him.

Your eyes wander from your nephew to Yoongi, who was talking to either Jin or Hobi. You're not sure who it was, but it was one of the men who volunteered to look after the “children”. Yoongi was laughing with him and looking completely relaxed. As he should be. These are his friends, his family. You've been so caught up in your life, in your own issues. You didn't really even stop to think about his life that didn't include you or…. Ara.

You didn't even ask.

You really were selfish.

“Hey, Nicky,” the other Jin or Hobi says, coming up to your nephew. “What do you call a bear with no teeth?”

Everyone, but you groans at the question.

“A gummy bear,” he answers, never breaking his concentration on his food.

“No, no, a gumm….wait,” the man said, looking shocked.

“Nice try, Jin,” Jungkook laughs.

“Don't eat too much,” Yeri tells Nicky as he stocks his plate full. “I got us stuff for s'mores.”

“You don't have to get them just for him,” you say, shaking your head.

“Baby and I wanted them too,” she said. “Now I have the perfect excuse to have a couple or four.”

Nicky laughs and holds his hand out for a high five, which Yeri gladly accepts. You throw a look at him. He must only give high fives to everyone but you.

Fuck!

You really have turned into your mom.

The fire was toasty, and the heat emitting from Yoongi was slowly making you tired. With you perched in his lap and his thumb rubbing circles on your hip, you felt an overwhelming peacefulness. Even around his friends, who you didn't know, or you didn't have anything in common with, made you feel completely welcome and at ease. It was just friends sitting around talking and eating, enjoying each other's company.

It wasn't a booze filled party where you were doing body shots off your friend’s cleavage where guys were hooting and hollering. It wasn't a drug den where your ex's dragged you to be a look out just in case the cops showed up because you looked ‘innocent enough’ to help them get out of trouble.

No.

This was… wholesome.

“If he's having trouble with his stamina. Jimin and I have a dance studio and can really work with him on breathing and cardio,” Hoseok aka Hobi as he tells you to call him, tells you.

“Dance?” Nicky asks, making a face from where he sits with Jungkook by the fire.

“I do it,” Jungkook tells him. “It's great exercise.”

“Oh,” your nephew says, contemplating his coach's words. “Can I do it, sunshine?”

“Sure,” you answer, still soaking up Yoongi's warmth.

“Great!” Hobi exclaims. “We can work around your schedule. I can get your number later or Yoongi can give it to me.”

“You know what else Hobi can give you?” Jimin asks, squatting next to the chair where you were curled up in Yoongi's lap.

“What's that?” You ask back, raising an eyebrow.

“A picture of a certain someone in a french maid…” Jimin was cut off as Yoongi reaches over and pushes his friend over, causing him to land on his ass.

“I'm sorry, what?” You ask, more alert.

“Don't worry about it,” Yoongi answers, making most everyone laugh. “It was college… it was stupid.”

“And Hobi isn't the only one with the pictures,” Taehyung teases, shaking his phone.

“And unless you want to see if your phone will melt in the fire, I would put it away,” Yoongi threatens.

You watch Taehyung visibly gulp and pocket his phone. You don't know what to think right now. Yoongi… a …. french maid costume ??? You're intrigued, but at the same time, you're not sure if you want to know if you want to know.

“Ummm…” you start, but he shakes his head, and you laugh silently.

Laying your head back against him, you watch Nicky make another s'more for Yeri. You could feel your heart clench at how they all accepted him. How they all accepted you, and it was all because of Yoongi. With his thumb resuming the circles on your hip, you make a promise to yourself to try harder. You are not going to be his ex. You are going to dig in and find that better version of you. The version he deserves.

“Did you have fun?” Yoongi asks, coming out of your bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist as he towel dries his hair.

“Yeah, your friends are interesting, and Yeri was really nice,” you reply, staring up at the ceiling from where you lie on the bed.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “She's a gem.”

“You should find someone like her,” you comment, poking his hip with your foot. “She seems really … stable.”

Yoongi grabs your ankles, pulling you down the mattress just a bit. Climbing over you, he settles on his elbows to hover over your body. Pressing his lips against yours. your hands sink into the still dewy skin of his back.

“I already found the one I want,” he mumbles against your lips. “And I will keep reminding you as many times as I need to.”

Slithering down your body, Yoongi sinks down onto the floor until his knees hit the carpet. Curling his fingers into your shorts, he pulls them down your legs, exposing you to his gaze. With a kiss to your inner knee, he works his way up your inner thighs as you lie there watching his every move. Soon, his warm breath hits your center as his tongue licks right up the middle of your core with his eyes never leaving yours.

Your hand shoots down into his hair, holding him to you. Moaning, he swirls tongue around your sensitive bud, causing your hips to jerk and your back to arch. Yoongi takes the opportunity to run his hands up your body and under your old concert tee to grab your breasts. Fingers magically plucking at your nipples before soothingly running his palms over them, calming the pleasurable ache.

“Yoongi,” you whisper as quietly as you can, not knowing if Nicky was sleeping or not. “We don't have to…”

“Shhh,” he shushes you as he pulls away a little bit. “You promise to be quiet for me, doll?” You nod your head and bite your bottom lip. “Get on your bean bag.”

“What?” You ask, unsure if you heard him correctly.

“You heard me,” he tells you and nods his head to the corner of your room where your pink corduroy chair sits. “Go.”

You scramble up the bed to the nightstand for the condom before making it to your bean bag chair in record time. You swear you can hear him laugh at you as he locks the bedroom door. As Yoongi walks over to you, he's not shy at all about what the towel around his waist isn't hiding.

“Yoongi…” you try again.

“Shhh,” he says once more, kneeling down before you and running his thumb across your bottom lip. “Quiet doll. You promised me last time I could take my time tasting you.”

“Don't cash in on that now,” you plead, pulling him face to face and pressing your lips to his as your hands make your way into his towel.

“I should,” he groans as your hand grips him. “I should make you squirm under my tongue for an hour.”

“No,” you shake your head and place his hand between your legs, making him feel your wetness. “I'm too desperate.” His eyes darken as they lock with yours. “I. NEED. YOU.”

You watch as his mouth twitches in a small smirk. So small, that if you would have blinked in that exact moment, you would have missed it.

“Why can't I deny you?” He questions, cupping the back of your head to capture your lips as he simultaneously lays you back, covering your body with his. Your hands grab the towel at his waist and pull it off his body, tossing it off to the side. “You know that, don't you? I'll do anything you ask.”

Yoongi's hands slowly bring the hem of your old shirt up and over your head, leaving you both bare. Burying his face into your neck, his teeth nip at the column of smooth skin, making your breath hitch before he moves to the other side and sucking right below your ear.

“Fuck,” you breath out, squirming beneath his warmth.

“I will,” he chuckles, deeply in your ear. “I will.”

Reaching up blindly, he grabs the condom you tossed by your head. As he pulls away, you shiver from the lack of warmth as you watch him open the packet and roll the latex down his hardness. Your head feels a little foggy, and you try to shake it clear to gain control of the situation. To throw him down and show him how much you needed him, but before you could move, his body pinned you back against your chair.

“Shhh,” he reminds you as you open your mouth to protest.

Covering your mouth with his own, Yoongi slips his tongue into your mouth, tongue dancing insync with your own as his cock slips into you. Whimpering, he swallows your sounds as he seems to need to take a moment himself once he is completely buried in you.

“Yoongi, move, please,” you beg, softly pressing your head back into the pick fabric.

Leaning on his elbow by your head and a hand by your ribs, he slowly rolls his hips up into you. Taking his time withdrawing from you before thrusting back into you at a languid pace. He wasn't in a hurry, and the scrunched look of pure concentration tells you that he wasn't going to rush it tonight.

“Fuck, doll,” he whispers against your cheek. “You're everything I could ever want.”

Whimpering, his long strokes barely pick up in pace as his lips kiss a random trail on the skin of your neck. Bringing your hands up to his shoulder blades, you pull him down, flush against your naked front, and tighten your thighs around his sides. Using what strength you had, you move underneath him the best you could. Meeting his leisurely thrusts with your own as the two of you move together almost as one.

Dropping your head onto his shoulder, you bite your lip and sink your fingertips into the skin of his back. The ever so familiar tingle starts to take over deep within you. As your breathing picks up, your head drops back, and Yoongi's lips are everywhere. Under your jaw, your chest, anywhere they could reach.

“Oh fuck,” you say, blinking rapidly at him trying to hold off on letting the tight winding coil of pleasure snap. “I can't, I can't…”

“Let it go,” he grunts. “I'm right with you.”

Taking your lips, he shoves himself deep inside of you. His long strokes turn shallow, grinding himself against your clit. Your hands come down to slap the material beneath you before grabbing the back of his head and kissing him deeper. Moaning into his mouth, the fireworks, much like earlier tonight burst all over your body as his arms wrap around you to hold you close to him.

Lost in your haze, you feel your body jostle with a couple of sloppy thrusts before Yoongi completely slumps over you with a stuttered moan. Dropping your arms from around the back of his head, you lay tired, splayed under him, trying to catch your breath. As your fog clears, you can feel his heartbeat against your naked body as you stare up at the ceiling. Your eyes trace along the pattern in the tiles.

It was odd.

Truly odd.

It was something you have never done before.

You think… but you're not sure.

But, you think.

He just made love to you.

Shit!

《Chapter 15》

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biancasaidstfu · 3 months ago

Note

I haven't seen the yungblood pics you guys are talking about and I know a lot of us are getting tired of this. Everything. Or maybe it was me kinda expecting A's repeated appearances but also it made me realized something.

If there is one thing Luke is really consistent with his appearances with A is that, he cannot act like an actual boyfriend in love with his girlfriend, and he cannot act like he is genuinely enjoying her company. And we cannot see Luke's smiling whenever he is making physical contanct with A.

And the consistent Luke's off body language.

I'm so glad I have a relative who studies Kinesics and I showed her Luke's all public appearances with A. And she pointed out really interesting things.

● If there is a repeated physical signs of discomfort or like a monotonous facial expression, something massively is WRONG behind the scenes. (She was talking about how off putting Luke's facial expression is. And I haven't told her about them being alleged couple.)

● I know a lot of people misinterpret body language, but if you want to know how comfortable someone is with other people, just see how much of distance their body is with others. If the distance between is like, not even a tiny insect or an air can separate them, not even a single gap, that's when you can tell the level of comfort two people have. (I showed my relative the vid of Luke and A at the water in Italy and she was gagged by how much of that screams stress all over.)

● Look how his body is always, like always facing away from her. That's a clear sign of someone being forced to keep somebody who is he not comfortable with. (She's talking about the BOSS event here)

● The nervous energy he was exhibiting in all events(that I showed my relative) is not normal when he is with her company.

And then I told her they are apparently a couple and this is her response.

My relative also said, "You don't need to be an expert to know if someone is genuinely feeling discomfort at the company of someone they don't want to be around. Say, I can tell from the things you showed me, it seems like the guy(Luke) was really trying his best to keep that uneasiness under wraps whenever he was with her. And it starting to show, because his body is start to fidget whenever it can now. And the forced posture, and the distance is loud. He is leaning his body away from her, through pics or vids you can see it. Even while they are walking despite the attempt to conceal it via physical contact. He may be holding her hand but the distance between their interlock hands and his body is so visible. Whoever is this people may be, people needs to realize that his facial expression is like a cry for help. And I'm not even kidding. That vid of them sitting in a table? The silence and the reduced participation with each other? That's a clear sign of a forced. That alone should tell you that something is incredibly wrong, despite you telling me they are couple. In my truest opinion, they are not."

I tried to asked somebody to know if we are just being delusional or not. And I'm glad to know at least I am not the only one seeing that consistent uneasiness with Luke's face whenever he is with Antonia.

Let me know your thoughts B. Thanks!

First off, I love posts like this with opinions from outsiders. It's refreshing and helpful to get a temp check for what most of us (on this blog at least) are currently thinking.

I agree with all of this, too. This is what most of us have picked up on and why we're all tired af right now 🤣

But it's nice to see it from the perspective of someone who studies this because it shows how damn noticeable it is.

It's VERY easy to glance at pics of them and believe them to be a couple. That's fine if that's the case and all people choose to do. However, when you take the time to look back at all these appearances just this year alone? It really doesn't speak to two people in a relationship at all. Add in everything since June 2024 and it paints a really different picture than what the current surface level view provides.

Thank you so much for sharing anon ♥️

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oddygaul · 3 months ago

Text

the REDLINE manifesto

In honor of my second DIY screening of Redline, here is, at long last, a prettied-up version of my most popular reddit post, an unabashed love letter to my favorite movie. Most of this is probably less groundbreaking than it was when I first posted it a decade(!) ago, but whatever, the internet needs more Redline content anyway.

REDLINE Trivia

–JP stands for Joshua Punkhead, and in the very first draft he had 26 children and raced to pay off his child support. Also, the catchy moniker ‘Sweet JP’? English-only… the original Japanese gets the mouthful ‘very sweet weaponless prince’.

–You'd be hard-pressed to tell without looking into the lore a bit, but Miki & Todoroki are damn near the only actual humans in the movie; everyone else is some species of alien. Some are obvious, like Shinkai (Oceanic/Chikulun hybrid) and Trava (Anista tribe), but even the most human-like characters are some other race. Sonoshee, for example, is listed as being half human, half Oceanic tribe (海洋族).

The most curious case, though, is JP. While it'd be easy to assume he's human, there's a lot of details that don't add up: his unique elf ears, his super-lanky-even-for-a-Koike-character-design physique, the fact that his race is conspicuously redacted on his bail sheet… and his seeming immunity to death. Seriously, bro crashes every single thing he drives in the whole movie, then emerges unscathed with just a fiery flash of the eyes – that ain’t normal. If I had to wildly speculate, and I do, I’d put money that he’s somehow linked to Mikuru and the Giant species, as seen in Trava: Fist Planet. The physique matches, the Giants have displayed some preternatural healing abilities, and Trava lays the groundwork for a few other threads in Redline (namely, the existence of bioweapons and Shinkai & Trava’s past military experience), so there’s precedence. Maybe one day we’ll find out for sure…

–We all know and love Funky Boy thanks to the Roboworld president’s endless tirades. But the giant data-motivated crocodile monster Volton fuses with to engage Funky Boy in thrilling combat? She is a lady, and her name is Wire Girl.

–All of Redline’s vehicle and mechanical designs are nuts – they’re insanely complicated and filled with organic curves and details. Despite the immense difficulty of keeping such complex designs consistent, every mechanical shot is hand-drawn, without the aid of any CG. To help the animators stay on-target while drawing, the team made some sweet-ass production models for them to reference. What I wouldn’t give to own one of these…

–Before deciding on Redline being a film, writer Katsuhito Ishii and director Takeshi Koike considered making a TV series. Initial writers’ meetings saw the team fleshing out a comprehensive story bible about the setting: it included not only a wide-scope view of the universe and its history, but also detailed backstories for each racer. Even after deciding to make a feature film, Redline’s initial script gave each racer as much time and focus as the final cut gives to JP & Sonoshee; all of this was, unfortunately, cut for time. According to Ishii, though, much of this ancillary information made it into the novelization…

one day my Japanese will be good enough to read you ;_;

–Confused about why the movie ends with that sparkly, PowerPoint-ass ~LOVE~? Well, you shouldn’t be – Redline is ‘unabashedly dumb’, after all, per Ishii – but there is a little context. Over the course of the movie’s 7-year production, Koike and Yukiko (a producer on the film) fell in love, tying the knot in Switzerland just before Redline’s world premiere. If that doesn’t justify the ending for you, I don’t know what could.

–This isn't trivia but idk where else to put this stupid-ass Lynchman meme I made

Subtext you may have missed on first watch

–Machine Head is Sonoshee's estranged father?!

Crazy, I know, but hear me out.

First of all, Redline unambiguously shows the viewer that Sonoshee and Machine Head have some sort of pre-existing relationship, the nature of which isn’t explicitly clarified.

At the Oasis restaurant, Sonoshee tells JP she's waiting for someone; it may sound like she's simply brushing him off, but the moment Machine Head enters the scene, Sonoshee perks up and waves to him. When the Crab Sonoshee is flipped by missile fire during the Redline race, we get exactly two (2) Dramatic Anime Freezeframes: JP and Machine Head, implying those two, out of everyone, care the most about Sonoshee. During the final stretch of the race, as Machine Head prepares to pop his steamlight, he is not only aware that Sonoshee also has one, he taunts her about it:

“I see you still have your steamlight – got the guts to use it this time?”

JP even draws attention to the fact that Sonoshee’s looks identical to Tetsujin’s. Finally, though this is certainly ancillary, it is interesting to note that the exact moment Godwing loses its structural stability is right after JP declares he’s going to win because he, not Machine Head, has Sonoshee at his side.

So let’s line this up with what backstory we definitively know. As stated above, Sonoshee is a human / Oceanic hybrid; Machine Head, though his body has been modified beyond recognition, is referred to the same way. While talking to JP about the steamlight, Sonoshee says her father is the one that gave it to her, then describes him as a skilled racer who ran a junk joint. In that same conversation, when JP suggests she’s too focused on racing at the expense of personal relationships, she bristles and tries to end the conversation. During the flashback of young Sonoshee racing, her reaction to crashing is intense: she’s clearly holding herself to a higher standard, and is already dead set on racing in the Redline someday.

Now, there’s other plausible explanations for all this; maybe there’s just a romantic entanglement between Sonoshee and Machine Head, with JP barging in as the third vertex of a love triangle. But is that the most likely scenario for two people constantly characterized as putting racing before any personal matters?

No, I think Machine Head is Sonoshee’s father.

Picture it: Machine Head raised Sonoshee at his junk joint, so she grew up around racing and car modification. After seeing success on the circuits, Machine Head stopped being content with mere victory, and started spending all his time and energy modifying his body, pushing himself farther and farther. Sonoshee, feeling neglected and cast aside, turned to racing, seeing it as the only way to get her father’s attention. This lead to her perfectionism complex; if she’s not the very best, why would the King of Kings ever look her way?

Anyway, while it’s not confirmed in the text, I think there’s so many hints it might as well be. It makes JP and Sonoshee’s romance a lot more interesting, too. Their arc isn’t just two people falling in love, it’s about Sonoshee moving past the trauma of her father’s emotional abandonment and opening up to someone new. After JP explains his match fixing history in the climax, Sonoshee isn’t placated because he told the truth, she’s fired up seeing the strength of JP and Frisbee’s friendship: she sees the folly of chasing approval from her absent father, and that she could instead be forming bonds with friends who support her unconditionally. She can race for herself.

Koike and Ishii said Redline is about adult friendships, after all!

pictured: the most romantic kiss in cinema history

–The Redline race is, in fact, underhanded political maneuvering

Now, this one is sorta just The Plot Of The Movie, but I feel like there’s so much going on in Redline people often don’t connect these dots.

We all laugh at the Roboworld president’s hammy word salad:

“I wonder if this might be some kind of ploy by our enemies to infiltrate our borders. If that’s true, do you realize Roboworld’s military secrets could be at risk here? We’d be exposed!!”

…but he’s… kinda right, though?

At the time of the movie, the M3 Nebula has just emerged from two devastating interplanetary wars. The galaxy’s superpowers are under a tenuous peace agreement – one of the most important stipulations of which is a ban on the use and development of “bioweapons”, which in the Redline universe are less ‘weaponized bacterial strains’ and more ‘gargantuan synthetic monsters that can be deployed to wreak unthinkable destruction’. Despite this ban, the government of Roboworld has been continuing with bioweapon development unabated… and not only does Planet Supergrass seem to be aware of these violations, it really seems like they’re leveraging all their soft power to expose them.

Now, we know Supergrass is generally involved with the Redline final. As a member of the Redline Committee, they have a reason to be involved; they’re helping out with nuts & bolts logistical stuff, like transporting the racers to the course and prepping the finish line. But when you consider the significant, tangible political blows dealt to Roboworld by the race – Funky Boy and Wire Girl’s presumed destruction, Roboworld’s violation of the bioweapon treaty being broadly exposed to the public, the decimation of Roboworld’s military – the long string of coincidences that got us to that point start to seem a little suspicious.

Who pushed for the Redline final to be held on such a hostile planet? Who knew about Roboworld’s experimental orbital laser cannon – a project so tightly under wraps even their president only learns about it during the race – and hired contractors to sabotage it? Who organized a group of malcontents to attack both Roboworld’s power relay station and Funky Boy’s containment creche, right when such disruptions would be the most impactful? And who decided the race’s crucial middle stretch should go right over the restricted military zone housing said creche?

Supergrass has the motive and the means – plus, the race is already illegal, so what can Roboworld do, sue them about it? No sir, that Princess is on some subterfuge shit, and Secretary Titan, that shady fuck, is her inside man. And you can take that to the bank.

Craving more REDLINE?

Unfortunately, due to the movie’s commercial failure, there’s not much else in the franchise. The Redline production pilot is fucking sick, though, and there’s Trava: Fist Planet, an OVA by Koike & Ishii that predates Redline and focuses on Trava and Shinkai’s misadventures. While Trava never got the continuation it deserved, they did make a trailer for season 2... ahh, what could have been.

youtube

If you’re just after more of Takeshi Koike’s mind-blowing animation, there’s only a scant few projects in his trademark black-filled style. His most well-known work is probably the Samurai Champloo OP, or maybe World Record from The Animatrix (can’t find a link for that one, but y’know, do your thing). Koike also contributed animation to two other Ishii films: an extended intro for Party 7, and this aggressively horny dance sequence for Funky Forest. Back at Madhouse, it seems the studio liked to use Koike as a bait-and-switch, letting him direct lavish production pilots to secure adaptation rights then switching the staff up for the full production. Feels kind of scummy, but we got the immense Afro Samurai Pilot and Iron Man Pilot out of it. Finally, he made the series of Love shorts for SMAPxSMAP, the SMAP variety show, which are as dope as they are low-res.

dailymotion

I really wanna know if Koike was the one ballin out to CYNE and Gang Starr for this

—

And finally, as I threatened in my last post about Redline: let’s talk thematic depth.

~Thematic Depth~

In conversations online, Redline is often given this caveat of just being ‘eye candy’, or hit with the classic ‘style over substance’ cliche. Now, the phrase ‘style over substance’ has always bothered me, generally – it feels like it comes from folks who have never tried to make art before, who make light of the painstaking work and dedication that goes into creating anything – but it particularly frustrates me in animation. The process of animation is such an absurd, masochistic timesink that it’s a wonder anything ever gets finished at all; something this ambitious being finished, with this level of consistency and polish, is nothing short of a miracle, and to simply call that ‘style’ massively undervalues the whole endeavor.

Because, make no mistake, Redline is ambitious as hell from a visual standpoint. The consistent focus on kinetic motion and speed, buoyed by Koike’s masterful use of exaggerated perspective, spatial distortion, and dynamic camera work; lots of moving, hand-drawn backgrounds instead of matte pans; lively crowd animation in most scenes; remarkably expressive, constant character animation that imbues personality to every character and never settles for industry standard lip flap dialogue… and all of this using incredibly complex character & mechanical designs, many of which feature distinct alien physiology, and a rendering style with bold, detailed shadows that would be more at home in illustration than animation. It is truly a singular work.

And the thing is, that wild ambition and unfailing dedication to the craft is the message.

The very first moments of Redline, before we see a single car or alien, are a brief series of title cards. I think most first-time viewers, and even many repeat viewers, immediately forget these words seconds after reading them due to the famously high-octane opening act. They read:

“In the far distant future, when cars are giving up their wheels in the changeover to air-cars, there still exist stubborn fools who carry on a vanishing spirit of racing…”

It’s easy to pass over this narration because, well, Redline simply isn’t about this conflict. We don’t see a single air-car racer, and there is no on-screen depiction of this purported old-school / new-school racing divide. So why is it here?

Because it’s the thesis of the whole damn project. Redline is about a group of old-school animation industry vets coming to terms with a changed industry that doesn’t support the type of art they want to create anymore, and their determination to pour their hearts into one last, stupid, beautiful swan song.

Madhouse was founded in 1972 by a group of ex-Mushi Pro staff, including Masao Maruyama and Yoshiaki Kawajiri. A response to Mushi Pro’s shoestring budgets and spartan timelines, the goal of studio Madhouse was to create production schedules where animators could flourish, rather than choosing the cheaper route; as Maruyama puts it, their mission statement was to ‘create animation other people aren’t interested in creating’. And, well, for decades, that’s what they did – Madhouse consistently gave a platform to idiosyncratic creators and produced incredible results. Their film canon includes pivotal productions like Kawajiri’s Ninja Scroll and Vampire Hunter D Bloodlust, Rintaro’s Metropolis, every single Satoshi Kon production from Perfect Blue to Paprika, and The Girl Who Leapt Through Time, the film that launched Mamoru Hosoda into stardom. While their TV output might be seen as more workmanlike, they were still dedicated to creating original stories. For example, despite his proven track record, Masaaki Yuasa was unable to secure funding and creative freedom anywhere else but Madhouse, with whom he produced Kemonozume, Kaiba, and The Tatami Galaxy prior to the establishment of Science Saru.

Takeshi Koike’s formative years as an animator were during this golden era of Madhouse. Poached directly out of high school by Yoshiaki Kawajiri himself, Koike was taken under his wing – his first job as a professional animator was inbetweening for Wicked City, and he’d moved up to key animation roles just one year later. I think Kawajiri’s intent was for Koike to be his protege; in this boom era of animation, with high-budget feature films and OVAs as the de facto standard, creative vision and a unique style is what you’d look for in an up-and-coming director, and Koike had both of these in spades. For a time, this pathway seemed almost assured; Koike’s big-league directing debut on The Animatrix produced one of its most well-received shorts, even amidst an anthology stacked with superstar creative talent.

Unfortunately, the turn of the millennium brought a lot of change for Madhouse and the industry at large. Budgets shrank, and production schedules started trending towards today’s unsustainable nightmare grind. CGI became ubiquitous not for the unique shots and compositions it allows for, but as a corner-cutting method for complicated actors like vehicles or mechas. A certain homogeneity and tendency toward ‘safe’, appealing designs and premises took hold; what good is your off-the-wall, creative worldbuilding idea when the anime industry revolves around merch sales, and generic moe waifus are outselling your original IP ten-to-one? All these industry vets could see the writing on the wall: animation would survive, but things were changing, and the ideals they’d founded their studio around were becoming untenable.

So I genuinely believe Redline is a parting shot from the old guard, a celebration of the era of the industry they cut their teeth on, one last lush, extravagant farewell before they passed the torch to the next generation. Maybe not from the start, sure, but after years of troubled development, progressing slowly due to the team’s meticulous vision, I think they rallied around the cause, dead set on making a masterwork, no matter what. Just look at the talent they attracted, the staff list reads like a best-of: Shinya Ohira, Hiroyuki Imaishi, Sushio, Yoshiaki Kawajiri, Sayo Yamamoto, Katsuya Yamada, Takafumi Hori.

And that’s where we come back to that opening message, about those stubborn fools. Suddenly, that movie chock-full of characters putting everything on the line for their passions feels a lot more personal. Koike is JP, the traditional [animation / racing ] purist who’s become an anachronism and just wants to be able to do things his way; Kawajiri as the God of Racing, who JP’s looked up to since he was younger, giving him one last thumbs as he achieves his goals; and Maruyama as Frisbee, putting his livelihood in danger to buy his team the time and money they need for one last gig, who wants to see his friend finish the damn thing on his own terms, just this once.

In a way, it makes it heartbreaking that Redline performed financially as poorly as it did; Japan’s frosty reception to the movie is at such odds with the fervor of its creators. But you know what? Redline exists, and it exists without compromises. They did what they set out to do. They made it across that finish line.

—

#will's media thoughts / virtual brain repository #redline #redline anime #takeshi koike #madhouse #long post #anime #redline 2009 #movies

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dinogoofymutated · 5 months ago

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Okay, since requests are open, I wanted to ask for something, especially after seeing that you are comfortable with most male characters.

I present:

Scott Summers x fem!reader who's just a little too rebelious and annoying for his taste but he still can't help but love her? Like, enemies to lovers kind of style?

If you want to do a oneshot or headcanons is up to you, I'm just starving for Scott content.

Don't know, if you wanna do is, especially since he's not everyone's cup of tea, but I thought "hey, give it a try, maybe she wants to try someting different" so here I go

Anyway, love your work, you#re amazing <3

Cyclops/GN!Reader I've had this prompt saved in my drafts for SO LONG. Basically since the moment it came in!! I was so happy you sent this in bc i had been thinking about writing for Scott, but then I couldn't think of a good enough way to carry this out so I waited on it for a good bit until I had it down to a science!! Hope you enjoy!! Man, I started writing this and then realised I had to make a banner for him too 😭 I did this to myself tho Most of the characters I write for are written as combinations from different x-men media, but I'm still figuring out how I want to characterise Scott since he's a new character for me. Just wanted to put this out there in case I change how I write for him in future fics. (also, let me know how you feel about him in this one! Tell me if yall think I should tweak his attitude a bit :) ) Edit from the future: I started this draft so long ago and damn did it turn out long. TWs: Idk at the moment, will add if I think of any! Reader has a specific power that is kinda vague at first. I've written them out at the very bottom BUT if u read u will spoil the surprise of the fic so fair warning

Scott does not like you. At least, not anymore.

You've known each other for a long time, both coming to Xavier's school within weeks of each other. You used to be friends- or at least friendly. But as you both grew and learned more about yourselves and your powers, a gap began to form, and then continued to grow once both of you became members of the x-men.

It's not like he didn't notice your tendency for rebellious behavior before, but on the field? the two of you clashed more than ever. He's doing his best out here, and the last thing he needs as a leader is both you and Logan going out of your way to put yourselves in dangerous situations because you think you know better.

And the moment you get back to the mansion? You clash all over again- and over the dumbest things. You practically avoid him all of the time, refuse to spar with him unless you're forced, will scoot away from him if he has to sit next to you on game nights. It's like the very thought of brushing against him is enough to get under your skin.

The moment the blackbird lands, you should have known what to expect. But you're in such a good mood, with the mission having gone well despite all odds. Sure, you didn't exactly follow Cyclops' foolproof plan, but when did you ever?

Scott is standing at the end of the ramp when the doors open, watching with a rather sour look on his face as you laugh with Jubilee, the others trailing shortly behind. He crosses his arms, and you barely stop short of him, acting like you had never seen him in the first place as you sigh, nodding at the others to go ahead before finally turning to him and crossing your own arms.

"Go ahead. Say your piece." You say. It only stokes the irritation in him, and he scowls.

"You can't go one, single mission and actually listen to what I say, can you?" He snaps. You roll your eyes, knowing that if he had it his way, you'd never have gone on the mission at all. Still, you stand defiantly, unwilling to back down.

"Look, you weren't even there, you can't expect me to-"

"It would be different if I was there, but I wasn't." Scott interrupts you, and the aggravation it lights in you is practically all-consuming. You can't hold back your scowl. "You were the only senior member of the team on that plane, do you understand how detrimental it could have been if you had gotten hurt, or worse?!" Oh, what a load of horseshit. It's alway the boy scout schtick with him- I'm the leader, do what I say, If I was there none of this would have happened- what an asshole! Hell, in the second half you might have actually thought he was concerned for you and the team, but you knew better.

"Don't act like you actually give a damn, Summers." You snap. "Everyone is fine, no one got hurt, I don't see your problem." You're done with this. You're tired, sweaty, exhausted, and the last thing you want to be doing right now is talking with him. You knock shoulders with him as you brush past, but he reaches out and grabs you by the arm. You feel a mix of strong emotions- anger, concern, frustration- and thoughts swim in your head, before snatching your arm away from him like you'd been burned. He pauses for a second as you whip around and look at him, a rage in your eyes. He still looks at you with that stupid, stubborn look on his face.

"I get that you think I'm just some stuck-up asshole, but there's a reason I get angry when you do something reckless." His voice has lost the smallest a bit of fire. You scoff at him immediately, before turning away to storm out.

"Eat shit."

So no. things weren't exactly cool between you two.

It's not like you weren't friends at some point though, back when you were kids. You didn't know what happened to cause this rift, but he only really thought of you as some reckless idiot as of late, and you didn't care to learn anything else about what was going on in his brain.

Unfortunately, that didn't mean you could avoid him forever. Not when the both of you are on a team.

You only realise how much pain you're in when the blackbird's autopilot clicks on. Your suit was scuffed and worn in some areas, starting to burn at the edges of your sleeves as the protective coating started to wear away. You noticed it in the midst of battle, trying to focus on manipulating debri to a colder temperature rather than a hot one, but sometimes you can't afford to be picky in fights. Your suit may have been temperature resistant, but you were temperature invulnerable. Besides, heat did the most damage anyway.

You frown a bit at the sight of your burnt sleeves. Normally, you'd be worried that Hank would be mad at having to make a new suit again, but if anything you were sure he'd be grateful for the challenge of improving it. Scott was really the only one who would scold you for it, always coming back to the same arguments of being too reckless, ect, ect... and speaking of Scott, he was being awfully quiet right now.

The cockpit is empty exempt for the two of you, being the only two assigned to the mission. Scott is sat in the pilot's chair, and you can't really see much of him besides the top of his head. He's silent, and it makes you worried.

When you stand and walk. over to him, his face looks pained. You're sure his eyes are closed under his signature visor, his head leaning back limply in the chair, hair tussled. You furrow your eyebrows. You knew he'd be tired, but he's not usually this burned out.

"Scott? You alright?" You ask. he only hums in response. It's then when you realise what's wrong.

"Migraine?" You ask, and he hums in the affirmative. You wince at the thought. You knew he got migraines often, especially when using his mutation more than usual, and having migraines yourself, you knew he was hurting. You take a look at where the emergency aid box usually is, knowing it had painkillers, but the space is empty, and you sigh to yourself when you remember you used it on a local- Scott agreeing with you for once when you wanted to leave it with them for any more emergencies. You look back at Scott, and think for a moment more.

Scott jumps when you place a cold hand on his forehead, having settled your weight on the back of the chair behind him. It sparks a feeling of surprise.

"What are you doing?" Scott asks, and instead of his usual accusatory tone, he just sounds tired.

"Don't be a baby." You respond, chilling both hands and combing through his hair gently. Scott is confused as all hell. Why were you doing this? You go out of your way to avoid him at any cost, and then... this? What even was this?

But... he'd be lying if it didn't feel nice. Scott begins to relax underneath you as you continue to comb through his scalp, pressing gentle touches to his forehead as you do so. It's... it feels good.

"My mom used to do this when I was little." You say softly, after a long moment of silence. "Whenever I had a migraine, she'd run her hands under cold water for a long time, lay my head in her lap, and run her hands through my hair. The cold usually helped." Scott's shoulder's are sagging now, and he sighs every once in a while. Although he doesn't say anything, you don't need to ask. There's a question beginning to brim, but you answer it before he can even speak- saving him the effort of talking in the midst of his pain.

"...And it just felt nice to feel her play with my hair, I guess. 'figured it might help you, too."

You try not to dwell on whatever thoughts begin to swirl after that.

It's hard to tell when things shift after that. Even harder for Scott to understand why.

Eventually you go from avoiding him at any given chance, stiff and petty with your actions, to casual. Not quite friendly, but almost.

"And... Right hand red!" Jubilee calls from the couch, having entirely too much fun for someone who isn't even playing this game. Everyone who's already lost has dispersed, either playing a different game or having good conversation. The game of twister had started with four? Maybe five of you? But at the moment, it was just down to you and Scott. -The two of you being way too competitive to let the other win. At the moment, both of you were in a bit of a strange position, with Scott managing to crawl over you at some point. Aside from that, the game had been going on for uncomfortably long- long enough for the pizza to get here.

The doorbell rings and it's pretty instantaneous when people start to flock to the kitchen for the feast, Jubilee included. There's a flicker of panic in both of you as she quickly leaves.

"Hey!-"

"Jubilee! Wait!"

"You'll be fine, you big babies!" She calls out, giggling in her pursuit of the cheesy goodness. That just leaves you and Scott on the matt, pressed together in some places and a but uncomfortable, but awkwardly? Still competeting.

"God, that pizza smells good." Scott groans from above you, the smell of food becoming more and more tempting. You think about it, for a half a second maybe, but that competitive little devil on your shoulder gets to you before your stomach can.

"You know what? why don't you go ahead and grab a piece!" You say, causing Scott to cock an eyebrow at you.

"What, and let you win? Not a chance." He huffs. You shrug best you can, it was worth a shot! Neither of you were going to budge any time soon, determined not to let the other win. But the longer you stayed pressed together...

It's not like you hadn't noticed how handsome Scott was. Hell, who wouldn't? Even Logan isn't immune to his good looks, but obviously you weren't going to be... wierd, about it. You're just playing a game, right? But the sight of him above you, slightly flushed, shifting every once in a while while keeping his balance? It was... tempting.

It doesn't take long for other thoughts to begin swimming around, worming their way into your mind. The two of you in various states of undress... gasping, gripping onto one another... marks on his neck, your lips swollen and stained by the lipstick your wearing tonight.

Each and every thought leaves you more flustered than before, slipping on the plastic mat and accidentally knocking into one of Scott's weight bearing arms and sending the two of you colliding into the floor. You hear Scott let out a noise of pain and you're not down there for long before you shove him off of you, face burning as you grumble about his win. You stalk off without much fanfare, leaving Scott a bit befuddled.

"What was that all about?"

But regardless of how aggravated you made eachother sometimes, everyone has their breaking point...

You're surprised when Scott kisses you in the hall some weeks later, less than a second after a heated spat started to take a bit of a turn, but to be honest? You were into it.

His lips are soft, if a little chapped, heated kisses full of force and urgency before they soften just a little. You kiss him back in a similar manner his hands falling to your waist as you grab him by the collar and pull him even closer. You're quick to start moving the two of you backwards fumbling for a closet door you could have sworn was right... there.

As soon as the door swings open, you pull him inside, pushing him against the wall once it closes again and cupping the back of his neck as you pull him into another kiss. An unfamiliar feeling of warmth shoots through you as you do, and you almost giggle as his thoughts start to flood with more and more tempting situations for the two of you to be in.

After each and every dirty thought he has, you start to wonder if he even remembered your touch telepathy after having known you for so long- but hell, even if he didn't, you weren't complaining.

If u made it this far, I wanna give u details about the Reader's powers some more!! Specifically, the powers are temperature manipulation/temperature invulnerability/touch telepathy! They get a bit complicated bc reader can't light shit on fire or make ice out of the air, but they can melt shit and freeze existing water though! As long as reader touches it in some way! Due to this they're invulnerable to heat/cold for obvious reasons. Touch telepathy was added bc i love mutations with unnecessary layers (Emma frost) and... u really think I was gonna let scott get away without banging another telepath? wrONG

#goofyspeaks #x men #x men comics #x men 97 #x men headcannons #x men 97 x reader #x men x reader #scott summers x reader #scott summers #cyclops x reader #x men cyclops #cyclops #x men headcanons

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motheroffeline · 5 months ago

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Come to me

Incubus Aaron Pierre x black obsessive witchy female reader, fingering (f receiving), oral (f receiving), dominant Aaron Pierre, reader is a Tumblr girlie, plot is basically the reader does a love spell on Aaron Pierre, masturbation, and p in d. 18+!!!! DO NOT ENTER!!!!

Your friends made it a point to tell you constantly to delete Tumblr which was literally your therapy at this point. Besides, why would you? Every single piece of smut ever made was literally on the app. Currently, you were laying in your bed, hand pushed waist deep below the elastic of your tights as you stared at the man of your wet dreams: Aaron Pierre. The way he danced through that spirit tunnel sent a surge of wetness through you every time you looked at him. Something was sure and it was that you had to have him. Wife or girlfriend be damned because it was clear that his eyes were looking at you.

There were multiple women on the internet lusting after him yet none of their desires were so compulsive like yours. After you discovered who he was you began to delve into love arts or "spirituality" because in your mind it would beckon him towards you. Begrudgingly, you even downloaded Facebook to collect more pictures of him to add to your online collage. Every night, you would look at his picture and resight the psalms you began to know like the back of your hand. Each night the dreams began to become more vivid.

Your friends began to show great concern for the sudden infatuation you seemed to have with Aaron Pierre. Even Michelle, a long-time childhood friend of yours, was disturbed by the crazed look in your eyes and the way you gestured that all in short words said: I have him. Who needs a fucking friend? You thought to yourself as the women you loved since girlhood expressed their concerns.

Michelle with her light brown eyes furrowing with sadness at your current state said, "girl even if it's a small break just take a little break from the internet. I'm not trying to be mean, but this shit is borderline obsessive. Remember when we used to laugh at them crazy girls on those Tubi movies? You are turning into them girls!" Then, Myah who you had met last year while clubbing wanted to speak some morals into you. "Don't ever obsess over a man that'll never know you. Yeah, a crush itself isn't bad but what you've got going on..." There was a brief silence and an exchange without words between her and Michelle.

You got up without looking at either of them or took a bus home. Who needs a fucking friend?

...

Aaron Pierre's face was plastered over every single social media platform. He came into your dreams with those alluring eyes and the image of him lay so heavy on you that you would think about him while at your job which was a good thing that it was online. You logged out of your computer and masturbated in the shower to the thought of his multicolored eyes. That innocent but sexy way he smiled was nearly enough to send you over the edge every time you saw it.

After shaving and moisturizing your rich, brown skin you saw that Aaron Pierre was doing a livestream on YouTube. Something debauched ran through you and you decided to join the live stream. Every word that formed from his lips were ignored by you as the arousal you felt began to build. At the touch of your clit, his words were cut short as his eyes seemed to stare into yours through the camera. Everybody in the livestream were typing things like "?", "A A ron you good?", "Tf happen", and " Not my babyyy". It was obvious that his eyes were fucking yours with their intensity, something that should be considered supernatural because of how suddenly he was disrupted. The live ended abruptly as you reached the peak of your orgasm and that's how you knew that your calls to him were slowly being answered one ring at a time.

At the beginning of a new morning, you began to work your way through your mundane job when your doorbell rang. Who could it be at this time in the morning? You thought to yourself. And when you opened the door, it was the man himself standing before you. It was something that people could only dream would happen to them but here he was in the flesh, standing before you with that small smile on his face as though he had spawned out of thin air.

"I know what're you're doing... Getting into my head with the subliminal shit. Won't be the first girl to do some crazy shit like this but I guess I'll bite. You didn't even know we lived in the same state. What kind of fan are you?" Somehow his voice was deeper than you've ever heard it before, and it set off something you. Every instinct was screaming not to let this man in, yes, he was Aaron Pierre, but he was a still a stranger at the end of the day.

You decided to let him in.

You finally find the words to say to him, "how do you even know where I live? I started doing the shit because I just knew it wouldn't work yet... here you are! If this is a dream then I can only hope that I'm in a coma right now because..." You pushed your fingers through your afro in frustration.

He finally let out a laugh that was so loud that it shook you to your feet.

"I'm fucking around, I'm visiting all of my top earning contributors. Bit expensive AND dangerous but it's a good marketing tactic. What's with the sullen look?" The cocky look on his face admittedly made you angry. Still, how the fuck did he find you? Life literally gave no answers when you needed them.

"Ok, you're here at my house what do you want?"

Aaron Pierre tapped his chin and then fixed those impossibly colored eyes on you: "I'll let you be the first one of my fans that I fuck. It seems like you want some dick and I'm willing to contribute." The situation would have rubbed anyone wrong, but it just made you wetter.

"Hold that thought." You went over to your cabinet and grabbed your bottle of stella rose and drank over half of it before coming back to him. "You want to fuck me of all people? Something really ain't right about this shit. Like, do you get how much legal trouble this could get you in? I mean I wanna fuck but still. You perfect all over, an actor, the world wants you and... me?" That lecherous grin stayed plastered on his face and seeing him in real life really showed you how ethereal the man was. Muscles rippled underneath his white shirt every time he gestured, his eyebrows were thick and full; but those damn lips are what you wanted the most.

"I'll go ahead and make it all easy for us ight?" In that instant, he snapped his fingers, and you were both on your bed.

"What the fuck?" None of this was making sense, only if it were a dream would it be possible for it to be true.

Aaron Pierre ran his tongue from your neck to jawline as his eyes surveyed the pained look in your eyes. "You smell so fucking good; I love a woman that moisturizes. His hands came up to massage your breasts through your night gown and you were moaning out before you knew it.

"Why are you doing this?" Tears sprang to your eyes at the gentle massage he gave to your breasts, pulling one chocolate nipple out to suck into his mouth. He pressed a finger to his mouth telling you to be quiet as he took his other hand and caressed you through your sweatpants. The arousal was like a liquid heat that was building to overflow.

"Wet ass... this pussy wet for me and nobody else... mmmmmm, I can't wait to eat it baby." His voice shook as he continued to press against you. After practically groping you, he laid on his stomach and pulled your sweatpants and underwear off in one fell motion. His tongue went from clit to ass hole as he licked you like a dehydrated dog. At this point, you were whining and mewling so loudly that somebody from three blocks down would be able to hear you. His pupils began to change into slits as he fucked you with his tongue and slipped a finger in to add damage to the equation.

"I'm gonna cum." You said as a warning, but he only smiled as he continued to eat you like it was his favorite food. High pitched squeals began to come from you and no matter how much you pushed his head, his lips and tongue never let up which led to you squirting all over his face.

"Damn, never had a meal that just kept on giving." He licked his lips in an exaggerated manner and crawled on top of you and began to sloppily kiss you. Spit was exchanged along with your arousal as his... wait a minute? His slit eyes stared back at you. You were enthralled so completely by him that you could neither run away nor scream.

His dick slipped into you so discreetly that it was like he was crafted out of velvet. You spread your legs further apart as he pounded into your wet pussy as though you were a toy. Those eyes dared you to look away as he made your fantasies, and your nightmares come true. You did believe in some supernatural things but really more for fun than anything else and now the proof was fucking you into oblivion. Of course, he had to be a demon, there was no man popular or otherwise that had garnered attention like this.

He moaned as he leaned his head back exposing his bobbing Adam's apple. His sweat dripped down on you as he took you in missionary. "This what you wanted though. I understand your fear but don't worry about the fear right now. Your biggest crush in the world is fucking you so good you can't say nothing." His words were both condescending and erotic in their own right as your arousal caused his dick to appear dripping with it. The roughness of his stubble pubic rubbed against your clit which caused you to babble incoherently.

"I wanna watch that ass bounce against it. Hol' up..." He snapped his fingers, and you were both were in doggystyle position. You wanted to cry because of how intense the pleasure that he was giving you. Every single thrust hit that spot inside of you.

He grabbed your waist and fucked himself with you. He let out a deep growl and came inside of you so much that it overflowed onto your clean, cashmere pink sheets. Now, a darkness firmly planted itself in the air within the silence of prior sex. But the quietness was suddenly disrupted by his beautiful voice:

"Loved every minute of this shit.... but you gotta close them pretty brown eyes of yours and forget." Tears sprang to your eyes as you lay completely limp as he towered above you, "nobody in the world can know about this which is why I'm making you forget what happened here. I'll be one of them men you want but can't get again. I'll be one of them men you'll never meet because we haven't met. But what I won't remove is the way you aching from me eating and fucking that pussy... you wouldn't wanna forget that, yeah?" His voice faded into the background as inky blackness started to fill your vision.

****************************************************************

Y'all I am so disgusting for this!!! I couldn't sleep so I was like lemme make a little smut for us tumblr girls who like Aaron Pierre but then I went overboard, and I was like eh I'm not deleting all of this lmao.

#aaron pierre #smut #rebel ridge #fine as fuck

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universalcas · 5 months ago

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Dean wakes up and it's the 24th of January. His 46 yo body aches in new parts that he knows were fine last year but it's nothing he really minds nowadays. Sometimes he can't even believe he made it that far, so if the punishment these days for defying Chuck and Death several times in the past is backpain and some aching joints, that's more than welcome. 24th of January it's like any other day for him. He hasn't celebrated his birthday in years, maybe since he was eight and just because he stole a biscuit and some candles that clearly didn't add up to the right number. A birthday celebration is something Sam always had because he damn well made sure of it. So this year, the 24th of January lands on a Friday that looks like every other Friday when you are (finally) retired from hunting and you live in a big house with your now husband that came back from the Empty and decided to stay for good after a very heart-touching reunion where everyone cried like a baby (including Sam). Said husband is now missing from the shared bed and his side is slightly cold but since he put all the cards (and his heart) on the table, a missing Cas isn't something that scares him anymore.

Sam's in the kitchen, drinking something that's doesn't look like coffee but fortunately isn't a smoothie either. The rays of morning sun that enter from the kitchen windows reflects on his face, his skin looks healthier as it does his own since all of them left the bunker, and Dean is so glad he got to live enough to see his little brother grow and become the man he is today.

"Hey! Where's everyone?" He asks, ruffling Sam's hair quickly enough to avoid retaliation.

Sam huffs and closes the book he's currently reading. Something on civil rights that probably has to do with the online degree he started to pursue a year ago but maybe it's Sam's morning lecture because that's what lawyers-to-be like to read. Dean prefers novels and fiction in general and his growing library is a testament to that.

"Cas and Eileen went grocery shopping" he says. "They took Miracle for a walk and Jack tagged along".

Jack has been spending some time in Heaven these days. There are a lot of things to be fixed and rebuilt under God's supervision but most days, when he isn't needed, he loves to stay in his room reading some comics, gardening with his Dad or going fishing with Dean (the first time he said "Dad! Look what I caught!" Dean cried so hard he couldn't stop for what felt like hours, scaring all the inhabitants of the lake and the poor boy in the process). So, yes, Jack has things to do Upstairs but he wanted to be at home when Uncle Sam and Uncle Eileen came visiting and decided to stay for the night.

He hears Baby's rumble accompanied by a happy bark soon followed by a soft crack of the main door. Both Cas and Eileen carry an excesive number of grocery bags for a single meal for today and Dean doesn't understand why since he know the pantry is more or less full but that feeling is quickly forgotten when Cas makes a beeline (bags and all) to put a kiss directly on his lips. It's quick and chaste, just a brush of lips on lips, but Earth-shattering anyways. Some form of a ritual between them, kissing the other one every time one of them come back from an errand or from just staying outside gardening or giving Baby some maintenance. The kiss means I love you, I'll always come back to you, and it hasn't lost his meaning after all these years.

Dean's voice comes as a squeak after that and he tries to mask it with a manly cough that fools exactly no one. Less alone Cas, whose big smile holds the brightness of a thousand lights.

"Do you need some help with that?"

"We are fine", Eileen says at the same time that Sam says "We should continue fixing the basement, don't you think?"

And that's a weird thing to say because the basement has been Dean's work in progress since he and Cas bought the house four years ago and the second thing Dean's hands love doing the most after touching Cas (out of the bedroom that means everywhere whenever he wants but inside most of the time there are rules) is fixing things. And Dean loves his brother's company, he really does, but he can't do jack shit in that regard so Dean works on it in his time alone. But he follows Sam anyways and lets Cas, Eileen and Jack do their thing since, after coming from the Empty, Cas discovered an interest in cooking (with varying degrees of success) and probably he wants to handle that today.

And ok, maybe being retired from active hunting (not from training new recruits, mind you) has softened Dean's instincts because he should have suspected that there was a plan behind everything because, when they go back to the house, the dining room has been decorated with birthday paraphernalia and the table is full of food and the people he loves the most are wearing a small party hat (even Miracle!) and matching smiles. He doesn't cry when a big pie is placed in front of him with two candles shaped in the form of a four and six and Jack proudly announces that all of it was made from scratch by he and Dad. He doesn't cry when Miracle comes with a box in her mouth that contains a ticket "to anywhere in the country, just you and me, Dean". He doesn't cry either when Sam and Eileen give him a gift of their own in the shape of an envelope that contains an ultrasound of who's going to be a future Bobby or Mary Ellen. And he definitely doesn't cry when he is suffocated in a big hug by his whole family and Cas whispers "I love you so much, Dean" and Jack says out loud "I love you, Dad!".

The question that has been trapped inside his chest the whole day escapes from his mouth only when he and Cas are alone in their room at night.

"Why all of this?"

Cas kisses him. Soft, languid and slowly, like the passage of time.

"I can remember you been proud of us everytime we achieve something" he says. "When Jack built a chair for his room without using his powers, the first time I changed Baby's oíl without your help, when Sam announced he wanted to study Law again, when Eileen got the job she wanted. You were so happy for all of us, Dean, but you should be celebrated too".

There are a lot of things Dean wants to say but none of them come to mind. He's also at lost for words when Cas produces a small box with a ribbon from a lingerie shop he recognises.

Cas's smirk and raised eyebrow are full of dirty promises and sexy rules he's more than happy to follow. But that's, well, that's a story for another time.

#destiel #enddverse-stuff #destiel ficlet #for dean's bday a little late i'm sorry love

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tan1shere · 11 months ago

Text

Bite It Lick It Spit It - where'd you put it (extra)

A/n: thought I'd add a lil smth smth since everyone's loving the previous story, enjoy you horny mfs MUAH 💋

Warnings - suggestiveness not really any smut. Still mdni just in case doe <3

The original - masterlist

After that blissed out night, you've been wearing that underwear. All. The. Time. And she loved it, it drove her mental. Whether you were just wearing a plain t-shirt with them around the house. You'd wear them with skirts in public. You were like an intoxicating drug in her eyes, mind and soul. She truly couldn't get enough.

So much so, you found them missing on occasion. Either they were in the wash, or Ms Eilish had them somewhere in her possession. Theyd tend to go missing when you take them off after a long day. Her fucking favorite. Once you eventually caught on it was her doing the abducting, you came to her. Justtt to ask. Even though you had all the idea on why she did.

"Bils." You say going over to her and patting her down. "Frisky much?" She replies. "Where on earth have you put them." She brings her finger up to her lips. " 's a secret." You roll your eyes. "Billieeee." "Fine fine, they're probably in my pants on the sofa in our room." Your eyebrow raises. "Probably?" She shrugs. "Orrr they could be in a few others- I can't remember which." You sigh at the response. "You're crazy." You say heading for the stairs. "For you? Fuck yeah baby!"

It had become a habit that she'd stick them in her Jean pants. She'd take it to work sometimes forgetting where she was, and the fact she still had them in there until Finneas embarrassed the shit out of her. Or more so herself.

"We could maybe do something like this-" He began to speak about the stuff they were working on, when he noticed something on the floor. He knew Clauds underwear and that was something she definitely didn't own. "What on earth." He bends slightly, picking it up. Billies eyes widen, so incredibly wide her eyes might've popped out. Her cheeks go so red, snatching them out of his hand. Fuck, you dumbass idiot. She swallows. There was an awkward silence wondering how he was going to react. When this dude, let's out the wheeziest laugh known to man.

Billies eyes rest, almost glearing at him. "That is not funny, I can't believe that just fucking happened." He tries to control his laughter. "You truly are a dumbass." She swats his arm but he just continues his giggles. "Back to work come on." She spits, having enough of the laughing. "I was like- hmm Claudia doesn't own anything this-" "FINNEAS." She groans. He just laughs some more, she was never living that down. But Billie being Billie she eventually joins in on the laughing, shaking her head at the silly situation.

Yet again you were on the search for them, looking through most of her pants. You gave up in the end, calling her.

"You have them as we speak don't you."

"Well damn, you caught me."

Even during she needed them. Just the fact such a tight slutty thing was on your body for the whole day drove her wild, she didn't care in the slightest how filthy any action may be. Sniffing them, so on and so on. One of her filthy fantasies was you having them in your mouth, as you rode her. Just dangling there between your teeth. You were a tad bit confused at why she requested that, but the way she'd moan under you. The way she'd say your name. The feeling of her fingertips on the skin of your thighs as you rode her. Mixed in with your tits bouncing in her face. It was foul, but she enjoyed every single bit of it.

She was so thankful you went into that shop that day. Blessing not only you with a pretty pair of new underwear. But her aswel, getting the pleasure of witnessing it first hand.

You're welcome

#billie eilish x reader smut #billie eilish x you #billie eilish smut #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish

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helloitstsyu · 2 months ago

Text

The Night We Met | Tom Cruise

Fantasize Series Chapter 6 | Previous Part | Fantasize Masterlist

You wait for him.

Day after day. Hour after hour. In all the quietest corners of your house-where he used to linger. The patio, where sunlight once kissed his skin. The poolside, where his eyes had once followed you like you were the only thing that moved. Near your father's study. By the breakfast table, where he'd pretend not to watch you but always did.

You wait.

But he never comes.

Not even a shadow down the hallway. Not a knock on your bedroom door. Not a missed call. Not a single text. No explanation. No goodbye.

Nothing.

And that hurts more than an ending ever could. Because at least endings are clean. At least endings give you something to hold, even if it's grief. This?

This is silence. This is erasure. This is being unchosen without the dignity of a word.

You're left with only the ghost of him. The way he looked at you in that dark closet. The way his voice cracked when he whispered, "You're mine." The way his hands trembled like they didn't know how to let go.

It replays like static. Over and over. Until you start to wonder if you imagined it all.

You spiral. Quietly. Shamefully.

Eventually, you cave.

"Dad," you ask one morning, like the question isn't everything. "Are you still making that movie with Cruise?"

Your father doesn't even look up from his phone. "Yeah, of course..... Why?"

Your heart jolts-hope, stupid and raw. "Oh. Just... You never had meetings with him again." You try to make it seamless.

"No, I still see him all the time," your father says casually. Then, like twisting a dull knife, he adds, "In fact, I'm meeting him now."

You blink. "N-Now? He's coming here?"

"No, not here. I'm heading to the office."

Right. Of course.

Not here.

Never here.

You force a nod. "Oh."

Like it's fine. Like it doesn't feel like being slapped. Like it doesn't carve something out of you.

He's still in L.A.

He just isn't in your L.A.

He's here-but not for you.

And that's worse than if he'd left. Because it means he's making the choice. Every day. To stay away.

You try to bury it. Bury him.

You tell yourself it was nothing. That you were nothing.

The janitor’s closet. The way he held you like prayer and punishment. The way he breathed you in like he'd never get the chance again.

Nothing.

The way his voice broke when he said, "You're mine, you're fucking mine."

A lie.

You tell yourself that lie so often, you start to almost believe it.

Almost.

But then night comes.

And he invades your dreams. Violently. Relentlessly. Starting from the night you met him. Like your subconscious doesn't give a damn about dignity.

You wake up breathless, clawing at sheets. Heart pounding. The phantom of his touch still burning on your skin. You hear his voice in the dark-low, possessive, ruined.

And when the silence creeps back in, it brings with it the truth: you miss him. In ways that don't feel survivable.

So you work.

You drown in it.

You throw yourself into building your brand-because it's the only thing you can control. You bury your grief in pigment swatches and marketing strategies. You spend hours refining formulas, sitting through back-to-back calls, overseeing packaging like your life depends on it.

Because maybe it does.

You haul boxes in your warehouse like a penance. You chase growth like it'll numb the ache. Like success can rewrite what he left behind.

And your company does flourish.

Your numbers climb. Your name spreads. And still-you're unraveling underneath all the glossy headlines.

You've built your empire on heartbreak. And no one knows.

---

You're about to head out when your father calls.

"Cupcake," he says. "Can you swing by and grab the blue folder from my study? The contract drafts—I need them at the office before noon."

You say yes without thinking. Just another task. Just another detour on the way to your warehouse.

You're met at the front desk by a few of your father's staff. They smile. You smile bigger. The performance is easy now. You've gotten good at pretending that you're fine.

You expect nothing.

You've learned not to.

He hasn't been here in a week. Why would today be different?

But then you turn the corner.

And the air leaves your lungs.

Because he's there.

Tom.

Standing in your father's office like he didn't ruin you. Like he didn't vanish without a word. Like he didn't touch you like it meant something and then never come back.

His back is to you, but your body knows him before your eyes can confirm it.

The slope of his shoulders. The way he stands—tense, still, like he's always seconds away from bolting or breaking.

He's wearing a black t-shirt and jeans. So simple. So effortless. So cruel.

Because how dare he look that good while you're still gasping for air?

Your throat tightens. Your body locks.

You hadn't realized how much of you had been curled around the absence of him until this very second—until the space is full again, and your body remembers.

It's like surfacing after drowning.

And then comes the ache.

The feral, pathetic ache of missing him.

God, you miss him.

You miss his voice. His mouth. The weight of his stare. You miss the way he made you feel like you were seen. Like you were wanted in a way that felt like ruin.

You miss him with a grief that doesn't make sense.

And he's right there.

So close. So real.

And still unreachable.

You don't say anything. Can't.

But something shifts.

He feels you.

You see it in the way his shoulders freeze. The pause. Like something ancient just cracked open in the space between you.

He turns. Slowly. Warily.

And then his eyes find yours.

And the world stutters.

You stare at each other.

One beat. Two.

He looks like hell. Like maybe he hasn't slept either. Like maybe your ghosts are the same.

Like maybe you still live in his head too.

That unbearable truth. That unsaid agony:

I want you, but I can't have you.

You whisper his name. "Tom..."

It slips out of you like a prayer you forgot you'd been saying.

And for one second—one brief, miraculous second—you swear he almost reaches for you.

You see it in his eyes. The tremble. The crack.

But he doesn't.

Instead, he shuts it all down. Locks it up. Shuts you out.

He turns into stone before your eyes.

And suddenly, he's not the man who touched you like salvation. He's not the man who said you were his like it broke him to mean it.

He's a stranger.

Cold. Detached.

Gone.

You step forward. Clutching the folder like armor. "So... we're pretending again?"

Your voice sounds braver than you feel.

He doesn't answer.

You try again. "Are you really not going to say anything?"

Nothing.

Your hands are shaking now. "You've been here all week," you whisper. "And you couldn't even look at me?"

He replies, clipped. "Meetings."

That's all he says.

Like it explains the agony.

Like it undoes the silence.

"Is it because of me?" you ask.

You know the answer. You see it in the set of his jaw. The way he can't meet your eyes.

You step forward anyway. "Tom—"

"Don't." He interjects.

His voice cuts through the room like a whip. Firm. Final.

And then he looks at you.

Not like he used to.

No hunger. No softness.

Just steel. Just control.

"I don't want to see you again, Y/N."

The words hit like a bullet.

You flinch.

You blink back tears, chest caving in.

"Was it a mistake again, Tom?"

He doesn't answer.

Just stares.

And somehow, that's worse than any cruelty.

Because if it was a mistake, he should say it. If it wasn't, he should fight.

But he just lets you drown in the silence.

You whisper, broken now, "I thought you cared."

And when he still doesn't speak—

You laugh, soft and bitter. More breath than sound.

"My mistake."

You turn before the tears fall.

You leave before you beg. Before you sob. Before you do something reckless like ask him to love you again.

You leave the room before he can destroy what's left of you.

Because he already knows how.

---

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