#i say likely because there could still be some exceptions to this i feel

[dilf-docs]

Light Up My Life (So Blind I Can't See)

pedro pascal x younger fem!reader

summary: pedro pascal in cannes breaks the internet, only rivaled by the mystery figure next to him at the airport. oh, that's you. oh. well, that wasn't part of the plan. oops.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, begging kink, lwk praise kink, choking, fingering, creampie, hurt/comfort, fluff, cannes!pedro (yes that's a warning)

word count: 5,984 words

side note: not to be that bitch but i think pedro in cannes 2025 will be my roman empire. shot out to secret dating, love that shit!!!! based on this request by my lovely fren :)

A few days ago, you had been watching a movie marathon in the comfort of your home.

"I can't believe it, you said you liked it!"

"I never said that. I said it looked interesting" he yawns. You narrow your eyes. "Sleep deprivation" he clarifies, as if reading your mind. "But, you chose it"

"Yes, because you let me" you're quick to counter.

"Yes, because we always do what you want"

Even in the distance, he finds ways to tease you.

"Not true. If it was, I would be there, with you. You know I love Marvel"

He laughs. "It's rare to hear that nowadays, less sounding so sure. You're an endangered species, baby"

You gasp. "I'm not that much of a fan"

"Not a lot of people watch a six hour livestream of chairs"

"Five" you correct, "and I did just to see if you'd show up!"

As if, gut feeling aside, he hadn't told you before.

"Alright, my bad. Five. Still, my point stands"

"So does mine. If Coco is there, why can't I be?"

"Do you happen to know hairstyling? I thought your thing was marketing"

"Oh, shut up"

Stanley Tucci briefly shows up on screen. Not that you already know, given the amount of times you've watched it.

"Are you sure it doesn't bother you?" he asks. Could refer to a lot of things.

It's the crack of dawn.

"It's the only time you can give me" you answer instead.

He makes a little pout, making you giggle. The movie keeps playing in your laptop.

"I'm sorry you have to meet me like this"

"Please, stop" at his bad joke. "The lack of sleep is showing"

He just laughs. "I can't wait for you to come"

(Texted you places of London you wouldn't be able to visit. It's just a stopover, you said, yet he insisted on sending links of London's best attractions for tourists)

"I know" you admit, softer. "Me either"

You yawn. So much for a movie you aren't watching.

"Won't it be too tiring?"

Your amazing boyfriend, ever so caring.

"Pedrito" he sighs at his name on your lips, little and a warning. "I'll be fine. Besides, I already dowloaded the movie's soundtrack to keep me company"

Pedro rolls his eyes. "You really enjoy this movie, don't you?"

You take a brief glimpse at the forgotten movie, playing on your shared screen, then back at his face.

A bit tired, eye bags more pronounced. The sleep thing was true. Still, he was the same in many other ways. His broad frame, sharp jawline, grey hair now dyed yet stubborn enough to show in some edges and over his face, in a beard that would scratch against your face when he kissed you, because he liked being close. Too close. You can still smell him, even if he hasn't been in your apartment for over a month now. As if his smell, him being intoxicantingly close, had impregnated on your skin. Another part of his to be yours.

"It's Madonna" like that's enough of a reason.

It shouldn't be this distracting. Singing Who's That Girl after arriving in France isn't a special thing, but to you, lyrics blasting through your airbuds that Pedro hates except when you offer a song and he listens, because he always listens, holds something sacred the moment your feet stretch and you're back on land again, yet people speak French instead of English and time has warped your sense of reality again.

Pedro had checked on you all the time. That was distracting. Some texts during the flight, insisting on buying Wi-Fi on the plane as if he was a millennial who couldn't survive without internet, saying what he couldn't live without was writing to you. That's a lie. You caught him on TikTok sometimes. Over his shoulder, because you couldn't sit together. Liar, you sent. You know he saw it by the way his shoulders wiggled and he covered his mouth to stiffle a giggle over the silence in the cabin. Nevertheless, he continued his little check-ups on you, as if you were a kid.

(Him: in a way, you are. You: Pedro, I'm almost thirty. Him: That's as ambiguous as me coming to Cannes. You: Your fans already suspect. Him: They're smart. You: They are. Him: Listening to the soundtrack? You: Tenth round. Him: You're insane. Insufferable too. You: It's only about forty minutes. This is a seven hour flight. Besides, you love me. Him: I do. Now stop peeking over my shoulder. You: Stop watching TikToks then, you addict!)

Somehow, lost in the music and happy feet struting towards movies, bright sun and the close yet faraway sea, you take too many of those. That wasn't the plan. Don't sit together, don't look in his direction. Over and over again. Precautions. To you, rules. Memorized them. It's not every day you board a plane, but the others are similar, in a way. It was a small price to pay for dating him.

Sometimes you mind.

(You: I miss my personal pillow. Him: I ain't got a belly anymore. You: I'm aware. I was talking about other huge things. Your biceps. HUGE. The one's Julie will show to the world in a day. Those HUGE biceps. I want to bite them. Him: You're a freak. You: Blame Kevin Feige. Him: Not the guy who lost 25 pounds?)

Sometimes you don't.

(You: Come to think of it, you do snore a bit. Him: But I thought you missed me? You break my heart, y/n)

Bump.

The defeaning sound. Coco and his bodyguard glance. But Pedro? he looks. At you.

The internet has rules too. They're both, funnily, f-rules: never forgive, never forget.

His expression is of surprise. They don't forget. His wide eyes. No, that's beyond a surprised face. That's a knowing face. They don't forgive. The subtle difference. He knows you.

Seconds, probably. He goes back to stoic mode. You hear his voice as he chats with Coco. His voice is tight, barely noticeable to anyone but you; know him better than you know yourself. But not today, when he's a supposed stranger and you're another passenger of this plane. An insignificant dot in a crowd. You walk further and avoid his gaze, pretending to search for imaginary stains in your passport, as if you hadn't make the worst mistake of your life.

Days ago, sitting in your bed, you were just another light in the vast Californian sea of houses and salt air. Now, everyone knows he's your something.

Makes sense.

The slip-ups on interviews, his comments about Materialists, his behavior on that interview with Dakota, the mysterious silhoutte that ressembled a woman but was always too blurry and far yet close to identify.

Unrecognizable.

Because you were a nobody. Made a line to get coffee, nothing about you guaranteeing any special treatment. Worked in a publicity agency from Mondays to Fridays, Saturdays if someone called in sick. Took your dog, who complained when the LA sun hit his tiny paws too much, out on walks: Toto, the little cairn terrier who was now under the care of your brother and his girlfriend because of your trip. Was photographed because you wanted and not because they had to, the hidden cameras capturing every move of yours.

That was the privilege of anonymity.

But that luck, like everything else in the world, seemed to have run out.

Now you sit on the hotel room, phone blowing up with messages, mentions, and emails. Funny thing is, despite already having your Instagram account leaked, you were still a ghost. A who?. Just a face Pedro had looked too much for it to be a simple passerby.

You sniffle as Coco brushes your hair, more to calm you than to fix it for the event.

You look through the mirror, not at you, but at the bag dangling from it, and sniffle again. The dress hangs on the closet as Coco gives you a sympathetic look and Lux squeezes your shoulder gently.

"Maybe we can still work it out" you manage to choke up, hoarse from useless crying. So hopeful, as Pedro would say.

The original plan, before the little "bump" on the road, was to attend Cannes while disguised, which meant sneaking as a guest, skipping the whole red carpet.

But now people knew who you were. Or how you looked, at least.

"Not to be a killjoy, but even if the French press is oblivious, I'm sure the internet will catch up as soon as the live stream for Eddington's red carpet starts broadcasting" Lux comments.

"They don't know your name, yet I'm sure they've already memorized your face. You're all over my Instagram" Coco adds, smiling sadly. "Your face is not to be forgotten"

You smile weakly, still feeling bad.

"I don't know what to do" you sniffle, looking back at the dress, one your budget could've bought but leave you on a tightrope for the rest of the month. To your boyfriend, it was barely a tickle on his finances. He insisted on buying it after your bright, unable to hide, smile. Wear it on a special day, and that is today.

Was.

"I'm sure we can come up with something" Lux offers.

"Come with me"

The three of your turn around. You'd recognize that voice even if you were deaf.

"¿Te volviste loco?" Lux asks, perplexed. (have you gone crazy?)

"Un poco" he replies in a Spanish that needs to be practiced a tad bit more, "por ella, sí" (a bit, yes. for her)

"What's going on?" you ask, wiping your tears.

Pedro kneels down in front of you, already dressed in an all black suit. If you weren't on the verge of sobbing for the umpteenth time, you'd tear that suit in two.

"You look good" you sniffle.

He smiles, softly. "I know"

"I love those glasses. They're my favorites"

He smiles again, adjusting them. "I know"

"Se acabó el tiempo, tortolitos" Lux jokes. (time's up, lovebirds)

"Yeah. Are we going to ignore the elephant in the room?" Coco asks, eyes widened in exasperation.

"I'm taking her with me"

"To the red carpet?" his sister asks, surprised.

"No, to fucking Wendy's. Of course, Lux. I'm taking her to the red carpet" he then gives his sister a glance. "You look gorgeous, by the way"

"I know" she flips her hair.

"Yeah, she's beautiful and so are you" Coco interrupts, then points to you. "Is that how you plan on solving this?"

Pedro nods, solemly.

"Listen, it's just a matter of hours before people connect the dots. They already have your Instagram and name. What's next? Your job, your dog?"

You gasp. "I have a whole dump of Toto on my feed!"

"Your account is private though" Lux drops.

"Still!" you panic. "What do I do?"

"Come with me" Pedro insists. "Harm's already done. What would change if we walked down a piece of red clothing?"

"Not even Rooney Mara will walk along Joaquin"

"So? We're not them" he kneels in front of your face again. Wipes a stray tear and grabs your hand. Squeezes it, like fresh oranges for a juice, because he knows you like the gesture. Need it. "And Emma is taking her husband, so"

You only sigh, unconvinced.

"Come with me" he repeats again, like a mantra. Or a prayer. Maybe hoping you'd accept.

"And let the whole world know?"

"Precisely" he smiles, cheeky. "They know some things already. We're just advancing the process for them"

Coco sighs. "At the speed of a bullet train"

"Whatever" Pedro drops. Then, looks at you. "We like it fast, don't we, baby?"

You can only blush in response.

"She'll come with me, then. We'll ride in the car behind" Ullrich sentences.

"No" his grip on your arm is strong but not brusing. Firm, as his position. He gives you a little tug, as to pull you in. Needless to say, you felt like a ragdoll. "She'll come with me"

Fighting Pedro was like trying to tame a tide.

In the end, somehow, he'd managed to rope you into the chaos of the red carpet, black limusines and flashing cameras and inside his car.

You weren't sure. Back in school, you weren't disliked or bullied, but it's not like you were popular either. You had friends, but would rather be alone at times, be it at the library or just sketching at a lonely bench in the park. There was something precious in the silence most people didn't appreciate; you did.

So, to say you where overwhelmed at the bright lights and constant yelling for Pedro was an understatement.

But, if your boyfriend dressed in an all black suit didn't scream Look at me! energy enough, there was you.

It was quick. Everything seemed to be so as of late. The cameras and press, waiting fans, yelled for Pedro, only to then find out he wasn't only here with his sister, but another woman. The airport woman. A loud point of a finger and the whole world knows you're back.

That he isn't your something. No, Pedro is more.

He's your fucking partner.

And it's so obvious, by the way he looks at you fondly. It different from his sister. This isn't that type of unconditional supporting love, but a stronger one. Consuming. One that speaks of devotion. He looks at you. Admires you. Like a painting. As if you had all the answers in the world.

You say hi to his co-stars, maybe a bit too excited to greet Austin Butler. Pedro isn't happy but he's not putting a jealous fit for the cameras. Not when he's busy throwing charming smiles and flexing that body he's worked so hard for under the summer sun.

The world talks. It's all over the news. Your smile, growing only wider when Pedro is near you, hand on the small of your back, right where the dress leaves inviting skin for the rest to see. He introduces you to anyone who wants to listen, always talking, because he's such a yapper. A loud laugher too, and even if it's not with you, you laugh with him, too contagious for you to question it. Posing with the rest of the cast as you wait by the sidelines, taking some pictures for yourself. You see the bee, trying to meddle, imposing and nosy, and feel a little sorry for it, despite Emma's face and the guys' laugh. In a way, you see yourself in the poor insect: taking space where it shouldn't, captured under the lights.

Comments are deceiving, yet there's a movie playing and then an awkward, way too long, standing ovation for you to care. You do. But you try not to, rather focusing on the event and feeling proud of Pedro. You clap and do a little too loud sound that vagely resembles a cheer. Flustered, you find out later on that the video made it out to Twitter. Strangely, even if your sudden appearance in Pedro's life, or rather public life, is well received under that post. Maybe life wasn't so cruel.

"You're not wearing that"

Life is cruel.

"Why not? You knew it beforehand. Said it was your favorite"

"I changed my mind. It's too revealing"

"What are you? Seventy?"

"The age gap is the other way around, grandpa"

And then the fucker flexes his arms. Worst, not even on purpose. Putting on glasses and a pink soft sweater shouldn't be this hot.

"Don't worry, baby. Don't break a sweat. I'll take the grandma sweater off when we get there"

Your cheeks heat up. "That was on purpose"

He offers a cheeky grin.

"Maybe"

Today is the photocall, and if yesterday's outfit put you in your knees, this one sends you straight to the ground. Full force. In a tank top and black pants paired with spiky shoes, his purpose was to serve and to kill you.

He goes again for the round of photos and such, you trailing behind like a lost puppy. Everyone assumes, yet no one asks.

She, the airport woman, now y/n.

(Can't say it out loud either. Not even you, yet, as if the knowing smiles and stolen not so subtle glances hadn't given you away)

You enjoyed this limbo. Of belonging not more inside closed doors and ambiguous coincidences, but on tabloids and loud shutters of camera. You liked the attention but not the label. It was good to see them scrambling, begging for details. Your social media had filled with requests, and even at times, your phone crashed.

You sat in a corner, watching the press. A few clicks here and there, Pedro drinking water and making it sexy (the size difference of his hand and the tiny bottle? You need to be locked up), questions, some about the movie, others about working with Ari Aster and then, awkward ones Pedro handled with grace. He spoke with such reverence, care and thoughtfulness, you can't help but feel your legs weak. You knew he was smart, well read and opinionated, but hearing him was another thing. So lost in this, you don't hear the next question.

"I know no one else is brave enough to ask" the reporter laughs nervously, "but I need to know"

Pedro senses immediately. When he glances briefly at you, hidden on a corner, you know this is about you.

"I don't think you do" he laughs, but there's a certain edge on his tone.

"It's fine if you don't want to answer, but me and everyone else on this room, hell, world!, wants to know who the woman at the airport is"

Before he adds about your quiet but strong presence on both days, Pedro cuts in:

"Is that how you call my girlfriend?"

The uproar is so loud, even Joaquin, who seemed to be on a separate train of thought, jumps on his seat. More questions follow, ones he doesn't answer. Out of boredom or to keep. Some things are meant to be like this.

Tabloids go crazy with the news. You haven't even left the place and phone blows up even more. It will explode at this point. Worse, it's only been minutes. An hour later, it's still as bad. Well, bad is a way of saying it: what you mean is nosy press and the promise of a quiet vacation ruined.

"I don't think it'll ever be quiet again"

You sigh softly, leaning on the door of the car taking you to the hotel.

"It's an opportunity" you reply just to feel the silence.

"Ever the marketer, you bussiness woman"

Even then, he manages to rob from you a faint smile.

At least they don't know where you're staying. That would be awful. You can't imagine having troubles to get out of a car.

"Something's in your mind" as your heels click against cold marble floors.

A shit ton.

You. The fast changes. Impending. Privacy gone. Scrapes of your life out in the open for the world to see. Your relationship and this new stage you're in.

Him. His warm eyes. Firm hand to secure you. Those circles on your back that calmed you down. It's a quiet I love you. Reassurance you don't say but need. I'm here. Pedro won't let you take the fall alone.

But, also, him.

With his body that had been driving you wild. Intoxicating cologne. A small cut abov his beard, still fresh. Thick glasses. Long legs. Strong arms. His charisma. Confidence. A killer smile. Warm eyes. Kind. He laughed too much and filled the gap of your stolen breaths, waiting.

"Want me to tell you?"

Smug grin you could wipe off his face.

"I'm all ears"

He too has noticed you. Short glances. Parted lips. So plump he can still taste them. The lipstick inside his cheek, over his white pristine smile if he hadn't licked it off. A part of you in him. Another. Your body, always so perfect, but in that dress he bought? He steals a look now. He definitely pictured you in it, yet this is better. How you own it. The cameras aren't flashing your way, but their eyes trail your every move. You had that in you: a beauty that wasn't loud, but made sure to be noticed. Like the air: not seen, just felt. Sometimes light, others heavy. He feels light-headed. Today you chose another set he bought you. In away, Pedro feels as if he owns you. But a tender belonging, of soul to soul, possessive, yet not as an object; he was raised right. Although, after your giggles with Austin...

"Pedro..." all sweet voice. He likes his name a lot. More if it's from you.

Your silence is both punishing and teasing.

"Tell me what you want" he insists.

"You know me" you play coy.

"I wanna hear it" desperate.

You cave in. Then, lean. His hairs raise in a prickly trepidation.

"They know too much" he feels your pressure, fears. But also, he feels your hot breath and short gasps, as if you can't hold this any longer.

"I'm sorry"

You shake your head with parted lips and hooded eyes, blood rushing to your cheeks.

"Show me something only I'll know"

Pedro's control shatteres at your words, a low, animalistic growl rumbling up from his chest.

"You're gonna make me fuck you in here" he spills the lewd confession.

"You're going to get us kicked out of this hotel"

"Can I at least kiss you on the elevator?" he pleads. Puppy sad brown eyes and all.

"Maybe"

In an instant, he takes your wrist in his grip, pulling you stumbling to the dinging door.

"Be patient" you mumble as his lips ghost over your neck. You glance at the numbers.

"We're on the thirty-two floor"

"Patience is a virtue"

"I don't care"

As soon as the door opens, he strides out with desperate, urgent steps.

"This isn't our floor"

"Fuck!"

The short time from the twenty-four to your actual floor felt interminable, every second stretching into an eternity as the weight of your shared desire hung heavy in the air.

"Jesus" you mutter.

"That good or bad?" he asks, mouth busy and voice sort of muffled against the flush skin of your neck.

"Good" you manage to mumble, hands on his hair.

Alright, you miss the messy curls but you can see them insist on the top of his hair, now starting to get sweaty, Coco's work going to waste.

"Then let's give them more to talk"

As soon as you crossed the hallway, Pedro kicks the door shut behind both of you. He's got your back pressed against it, roughly, as if he couldn't wait a bit longer, mouth taking yours in a hungry kiss.

His hands roam your body, gripping, squeezing, tugging at any little space of honeyed skin he can, taking off the buttons with a feverish desperation. You swear one of them pops, if your ears don't deceive you.

"You bought that dress. I liked it"

He rolls his eyes. "I can buy you a new one. A whole closet"

"But I liked this one" you pout.

He kisses your pouty lips. "Then I shall move the earth to get the same one again for you. Now... where were we?"

He's back to kissing you roughly, and soon, your brain is too fuzzy and lost in the force of his lips on yours, that the cameras and late interview are soon forgotten in the back of your mind.

"I'm going to ruin you" he says against your mouth, voice ragged with lust. You let out a little moan as you squirm under his insistent touch. "So hard, so deep, you won't forget who you belong to. Never"

You should feel threatened. Scared, even. But no, down there? You're a wet mess.

The dress falls to the floor with a soft thud. At least he didn't rip it.

"No bra, baby?" he asks, voice thick. You swallow harshly and nod. "Bad girl. Such'a tease"

His mouth drops then to your chest, lips kissing and teeth grazing the soft swell of your breasts. His tongue runs cold through a shiver, moving to your nipples, taking the hardened bud into his mouth and sucking hard. You feel his hands then over the rosy flesh, grabbing what he can, which, given the size of his hands, it's a lot.

"All this for me?"

You nod, lost in the grunts, sweat, his mouth and touch.

"That's right. Mine. You're mine, baby. Just mine. Say it. Tell me you are"

"Yes!" you gasp. "I'm yours, Pedro. All yours. Only yours"

He groans into your mouth as your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. There's too a low sound coming from his throat, probably an approval sound of some sorts. His hands now slide down to your hips, gripping the free skin until he lifts you up. It's always like this. Now, you wrap your legs around his waist, tiny ankles locking at the small of his broad back.

Finally, he takes you to the bed in the middle of the room, all while never breaking the kiss or stopping his greedy hands from touching you. You whine and squirm, weak under his spell.

"So antsy" he softly says.

"I think you meant your hands"

With a little laugh, he lays you down on the bed, body hovering over you, pinning you to the mattress. Before, he'd take his time to let go of the shirt, undressing slowly and almost reluctantly. Now, he takes no time in stripping off his shirt, revealing the toned body under an already revealing shirt. You love Pedro, in all of his forms and shapes, but weren't you incredibly turned on like a horny teenager for this new body? Maybe it was his new energy, how it oozed off of him in the form of flexing biceps, slim figure, toned chest and stomach and disarming smile. He was a menace and knew it, by the smirk visible even through the soft moonlight filtering through the window.

"We should've turned the lights"

"I like you like this" needy fingers now turn tender as he traces soft hearts on your face, the rough skin brushing your soft flushed own.

"At least the nightstand one. It's yellow"

"No"

He leans down to claim your mouth again, or just shut you up. It's helpful, anyway, as he kisses you until you're breathless, lips swollen and tingling.

"Someone's insatiable today" you croak out.

"For you? Always" he replies, fingers finding the damp patch in your panties, rubbing over it, thick fingers pressing against your clothed pussy. "It's never enough, baby"

He lets out a little grunt.

"Fuck, you're so wet" voice rough with lust and surprise. "Julie's outfit turned you on that much?"

"Even the hideous ones did" you whimper. "Imagine this one"

"I chose some of those, you know" he sounds a bit offended.

"Whatever. I'm happy with this Cannes run. I'll send some flowers or take her to lunch"

"So caring" he mocks.

"For dressing my man like a complete eye candy? Hell, yes"

"No one uses that term nowadays" Pedro interjects.

"Here you go again. You're my biggest hater. Shut up and just-"

You turn desperate at the pressure his fingers apply on your clothed slit. He smirks at that, eyes dark.

"You want this, don't you? You want me inside, filling you, stretching you around my cock?"

"Yes" you whimper again.

"Say it" he demands.

Never would you beg for something, but goddamn, didn't this man reduce you to a puddle of moans and pleasure? Your common sense, no, normal functioning, basic even, flew out of the window with just a kiss.

"I need you"

His fingers press even deeper, and the pulsing light pain sensation drives you wild, making you whimper again.

"Pedro-" you whine, hips rocking up against his hand, seeking more of that delicious friction.

He clicks his tongue. "Manners, baby"

You squirm, violently and desperate. He really was going to make you beg for it.

"Please, Pedro"

"That better" fingers slightly more insistent. "One last time?"

Fuck dignity, man.

"Please, Pedro. I need you. I need you so badly" you choke out.

He grins like a schoolboy, eyes dark. "Good girl"

He rewards you by making a quick work of your panties, practically tearing them off and tossing them aside. His fingers then were on your bare skin, drumming on sensitive thighs.

"Don't tease" you plead through gritted teeth.

"So impatient" he tsks. "Want it now, baby?"

You nod, feverish.

"Because you asked"

"Because we always do what I want" you choke.

His eyes shine dark. "Easy, brat"

He strokes through the slick folds of your, pussy, pushing two long, thick fingers deep inside you, curling them just right, hitting that well known spot that made you see stars.

"So tight" his voice comes out strained. "So fucking tight and hot and perfect"

Pedro pumps his fingers in and out, thumb rubbing tight circles over your clit. His mouth drops to your breast again, suckling hard, biting just on the edge and then licking to soothe the sting. You feel heat building, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter in your core. Your hands scrabble at his back, nails digging into his skin, as to urge him.

And then he pulls away, leaving you empty and aching. You whimper at the loss, making him chuckle a bit.

"Calm down, baby. I ain't going anywhere"

He starts undressing what's left of his clothes, and if you liked the outfit, him naked takes the win. His cock springs free, long and hard, the thick head already glistening.

"See?"

He settles himself between your thighs, the thick length of his cock nudging against your slick folds. He looks down at you, eyes intense under the moonlight. His large, calloused hands slid under your hips, gripping them hard enough to leave bruises.

If spilling it in the interview wasn't enough, he was going to mark you, claim you, make you his.

"I'm going to fuck you now" Pedro announces, voice low with lust. "I'm going to fuck you hard and deep, just like you need. Like we both do"

With that, he thrust forward, pushing past your entrance. You gasp at the intrusion, feeling your pussy stretch around him, accommodating his size. It always happens; he's just big like that. He pauses, letting you adjust to the stretch, before pushing forward again, sinking deeper inside.

So thoughtful.

"Fuck, you're so tight " he said through gritted teeth. "So fucking tight and hot and perfect. You feel incredible, y/n"

He starts to move then, pulling out slowly before thrusting back in. Each push brings him deeper, until he was buried to the hilt inside. He sets a hard, fast pace, the bed creaking beneath with the force of his thrusts. The room filled with the sound of their mingled moans and gasps, sweat pooling like a second skin.

And if things couldn't get any better...

One hand came up to your throat, long fingers wrapping around it. He didn't squeeze, not yet, just rested them there, feeling the flutter of your pulse.

"Nervous?" his thumb brushes over your racing heartbeat, a teasing promise of what was to come. "C'mon. Don't get shy on me, baby. I know you like that"

(You did. He was new to this, mainly going off some spaking and dirty talk. Now, he seemed to be into it, if not more, as you. It was always exciting when he did it, never telling you before. If you didn't want to, he stopped. You know he would, at least, because so far, you've never told him to)

You nod, walls clench around him.

"As much as you like feeling my cock stretching you open? Filling you up? You like knowing I'm the only man to be inside this perfect little cunt?"

"Yes" you gasp. "God, yes. No one else, but you, Pedro. Only you."

A wicked grin spreads across his face and he tightens his grip on your throat, just a little. Enough to make you feel it.

"That's right, baby. This cunt belong to me now. Your body. You. You belong to me"

He starts to thrust harder, faster, headboard slamming against the wall with each snap.

Pedro feels you starting to tighten around him, breath coming in short, sharp, desperate gasps.

He knew you were close.

He leans down then, his rough stubble rasping against the smooth skin of your neck as he growled in your ear.

"Be a good girl and come for me" he urges. "Let me feel this pretty pussy spasm around my cock. Feel it come undone on my dick"

His hips never slow, pounding into you with deep, powerful thrusts. The grip on your throat tightened just a touch more, fingers pressing into the soft flesh. Not enough to cut off your air, but enough to make you light-headed.

"I'm going to fill this cunt with my cum. I'm going to pump you so full of it, you'll be dripping for days"

You let out a choked moan at his filthy promise, back arching off the bed. He could feel her starting to convulse around him, her slick walls fluttering and clenching. He was so close too, his balls drawing up tight against his body as the pressure built.

"Come now. Let me feel you scream my name as I fill you up. Let the whole damn city know who you belong to"

With a final, brutal thrust, he buries himself to the hilt inside you. At the same time, his fingers tightened around your throat, squeezing just as your orgasm crashes over. You let out a strangled cry, body shaking and shuddering beneath him as you come apart.

"Fuck, y/n. Fuck"

With a load groan, he comes too, cock pulsing and jerking inside you as he pumps you full of his hot seed. Spurt after spurt, until he sees your stomach bloat lightly and you feel it sloshing inside you like the distant waves on the beach.

He collapses on top of you with a loud sigh, weight pressing you into the mattress, his cock still buried deep inside your fluttering heat; it's still dripping.

You both lay there for a long moment, chests heaving, bodies slick with sweat, as you catch your breaths. Finally, he lifted his head to look at you, his eyes soft.

"You're incredible" voice raw. "I can't believe you're mine"

You giggle, feeling his arms wrap around you, pulling you close as you snuggle against his neck. He can feel your soft, warm breath tickling on his skin. A sense of peace and contentment settles over him, and he sighs happily.

"Yours" and a quick tired sloppy kiss. "You drained me, thought"

"If you weren't such a tease..."

You playfully swat him, weakly.

"Shh, just relax" he murmurs, one hand stroking slowly up and down your back. "You did so good, baby. So fucking perfect. As always"

You can't helo but say: "And now the whole world knows it"

He captures your lips in a slow, deep kiss. It was different from the hungry, desperate kisses before. This one was tender, almost sweet. Full of a quiet, growing affection.

"It's okay" so quiet you would miss it. "I've got you, baby. And I'm not going anywhere"

You make a soft, contented lazy sound as you snuggle even closer, fingers playing with the short hairs at the nape of his neck. He feels your body starting to give up.

"Promise?"

He tightens his arms around you, holding you like he means it. You are the most precious thing in the world to him, but he doesn't want to tell you. He wants you to know. So he holds you tightly, like a vow. Something to keep. Something worth.

"Promise"

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif: @a7estrellas / dts: @io12n

[ladystardustinblackjeans]

This is also how politics work! If someone says "well yes why don't we just print more money, you will all have more money because of me, everyone is making things so complicated". That is a grifter and they aren't going to do shit except line their own pockets. If someone says "So i am going to change the zoning permits so that every parking zone bigger than regulation 3.65 needs to install shading with solar panels via solar energy regulation 15, with financial assistance from my parties green energy bill for small and middle class businesses. That way we will produce an estimated 7% more federally subventioned sustainable electricity in the next 5 years and lower energy prices by at least 13% over then next 3 years. We will also couple this with adjustments to the energy usage statutes and preferential charging times for electric cars so we can avoid an overload of the energy network." Well this second person is a competent politician but if you say it like that, many people have checked out by the third half sentence. (Fictional example, i made up something that sounds plausible to me)

Another example, and that this isn't divided by party lines: In my city, we had a public referendum to shut down the coal plant. There were posters, everyone got an invite for the vote, it was a whole thing. Well, me being very excited for my first public referendum i could vote in and dedicated to being a good responsible citizen, i read the short statements of both sides of the referendum that were given in practical flyer format along with the invite. The side for shutting down the coal plant was all "we need to shut it down Now, the pollution, our children deserve to breathe safe air, those evil coal plant people want to keep using it in this day and age". The statement from the public worker responsible for the coal plant was even shorter than that, it explained in very simple and seemingly frustrated terms: "the coal plant is already on the plan to shut down, it has been for years. It will shut down in 5 years, in fact. If we shut it down now, it will cost a lot to accelerate those plans, and this will be paid for with your municipal tax money. Please, it will shut down in literally 5 years anyway." I explained this to my parents and we all voted no to the referendum. Well, the referendum passed, and the coal plant shut down earlier, and we paid for it in our tax money. Because obviously "we made them shut down the evil coal plant" feels a hell of a lot better than reading what it says in the flyer. I still have no idea why the people who made the referendum did it at all, maybe they had some ulterior motive, maybe they were just stubborn and unwilling to back down, maybe they thought it would be worth it to saddle citizens with extra costs that now lacked somewhere else to accelerate the plan by 2 whole long years. Idk. But it was an impactful experience for me, and i keep it with me ever since.

Ok now do NYT columnists

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° it was like slow motion

( sae itoshi x fem! reader )

♡ a/n — go listen to the moment i knew by taylor swift right now

♡ word count — 1.5k

♡ content — sae x fem! reader, all characters 18+, made sae friends with most characters, mention of smoking (once), bad bf! sae, it's readers birthday, reader having no "real" friends, sae forgets readers birthday AND party, angst

♡ synopsis — you looked beautiful for someone who was abandoned on their birthday by the one person you wanted there. and you weren't sure if you could take any more.

── .✦ what do you do when the one who means the most to you is the one who didn't show?

You were never someone who asked for much.

Especially not from him.

You knew who Sae Itoshi was when you fell in love with him. 

You understood what came with dating someone whose eyes were always trained forward—on the goal, on the next game, on some impossible version of greatness only he could see.

But still, you thought you’d earned today.

Just today.

Not even all of it. Just the evening. 

Just one promise he made this morning, murmured through sleepy lips while tugging his sweatshirt on, half-focused and half-yours.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

You believed him.

You always do.

The party starts at 7:00.

By 7:40, most of the people are here.

Except him.

The apartment fills with a kind of hum—music, laughter, clinking glasses—and none of it sounds like yours. 

You weave through bodies carrying trays of food and half-wilted party favors, your smile fixed and tight like a ribbon pulled too hard.

You barely hear the “Happy Birthday!”s anymore. They don’t mean much when they come from strangers—strangers who know you only as Sae’s girlfriend. 

They come because he invited them weeks ago, told them “she’s planning something chill, just show up.”

And they did.

And he didn’t.

By 8:00, you’ve checked your phone seven times.

No messages. No missed calls. No “I’m on my way.” Not even a “Sorry, I’ll be late.”

The screen dies in your hand, finally surrendering to all the anxious flicks of your thumb. You put it face-down on the kitchen counter and open a bottle of wine you were saving.

It’s a celebration, right?

It’s supposed to be.

You keep yourself busy—refilling snack bowls, cleaning up spills before they stain the rug, making small talk about games you only half-understand. 

Your dress is starting to choke you, the shoes pinching by now, but you keep moving.

If you sit down, you’ll think. 

If you think, you’ll feel. 

And if you feel…

No. Not yet.

The cake stays on the dining table.

Untouched. Intact. Like you.

Three candles, one for each year you’ve spent together. 

You thought it’d be poetic. Sweet. Maybe even romantic. 

You imagined him lighting them with that quiet smirk of his, teasing you for getting sentimental. 

You imagined him singing—badly, off-key—while holding your hand under the table.

Instead, Otoya lights a joint in your bathroom, and Karasu sings something loud and off-beat from the hallway while someone throws popcorn at him.

Your birthday is a blur of people trying their best. And none of them are him.

You laugh at jokes that don’t land. You accept hugs that feel like bandages. You nod along to stories that aren’t about you.

And still, every time someone walks in late, your heart leaps.

Maybe this time.

But the door never opens for him.

At 9:23, Rin appears beside you.

You didn’t expect him to come. He’s not the social type. But he hovers near you now, quiet and heavy like an unspoken truth.

“You okay?” he asks eventually.

You nod. It’s a lie, but it’s an easy one.

Rin doesn’t press. Just looks at the cake and then back at you.

“You want to light them now? People are waiting.”

You shake your head. “He’s not here yet.”

Rin’s eyes linger on you for a moment. You can tell he wants to say something. 

Maybe He’s not coming. 

Maybe You deserve better. 

But he doesn’t. He just steps back and lets the silence do the talking.

You wish someone would say it out loud. Just rip the bandage off.

He’s not coming.

He forgot.

He chose something else over you.

Again.

At 10:08, the party dies naturally.

Karasu helps gather the trash. 

Otoya kisses your cheek and says you still look hot for someone abandoned on her birthday. 

You laugh. It sounds hollow, but it passes for humor.

Someone tells you to save them a slice of cake. You nod, though you know you won’t. 

You can’t imagine cutting it without Sae here.

And when the last person leaves, when the apartment door finally clicks shut behind them—

You are alone.

Utterly, achingly alone.

The cake is still there. The candles, still unlit.

Your dress crumples as you sit down on the couch, arms wrapped around yourself, trying to hold something in—tears, hope, the sharp sting of understanding.

This was the one thing you asked for.

The one day.

I wouldn’t miss it for the world

You lean your head back and stare at the ceiling.

Maybe the world called louder.

At 11:43, the door opens.

You don’t look up. Not right away. You know that sound too well.

The key in the lock. The soft scrape of shoes on the mat. The sigh.

You turn your head slowly.

There he is.

Sae, in his training jacket, hair damp from a shower, duffel bag slung over his shoulder like this is any other day. Like he’s just coming back from work. Like this is normal.

His eyes sweep the room—over the mess, the balloons, the faint outline of people who were once here but are gone now.

His gaze stops on you.

Then the cake.

And you can see it. 

The moment he realizes. 

The way his shoulders fall slightly, the regret that flickers too late.

“I tried to make it,” he says.

You don’t move.

“I got held up—”

“Don’t,” you say, voice quiet, steady. “Please don’t.”

He stops mid-sentence. You can hear him swallow it down.

You stand up, slowly, the hem of your dress brushing your ankles as you do.

“I told everyone you were probably just stuck in traffic. That you’d be here. That you’d walk in at the last second like in the movies.”

You laugh under your breath, and it sounds more like a sob.

“I kept looking at the door like an idiot.”

Sae says nothing.

You look at him now—really look at him—and all you can see is a promise broken so gently it almost doesn’t leave a scar. But it does.

It will.

“I didn’t need a grand gesture,” you whisper. “I didn’t need flowers or surprises. I just… needed you to show up.”

And he didn’t.

And that’s the thing, isn’t it?

You can’t keep loving someone who keeps making you feel like this. 

Like your needs are unreasonable. 

Like your expectations are weight. 

Like your love is something optional.

You don’t cry.

Because this is the moment.

The exact moment you knew:

You’ll always be the one waiting.

And he’ll always be the one chasing something else.

The silence stretches, thick with all the things you wish he’d say but know he won’t.

Sae steps further into the room, slowly, like he knows he doesn’t belong here anymore. 

His gaze flickers again to the cake—still untouched, still waiting—and he opens his mouth.

“Traffic—”

Your eyes close.

“Training ran late—”

A breath escapes you, heavy and trembling.

“Coach just—”

“Sae.”

Your voice stops him like a wall.

You lift your head and meet his eyes, mascara slightly smudged beneath your lashes, your gaze glassy, distant, and unbearably tired.

“I just want the truth.”

For a moment, he looks at you like he wants to give it.

And then, quietly—so softly you almost miss it—he says:

“...I forgot.”

And your world splits open.

You don’t flinch, don’t scream. 

There’s no dramatic breakdown. Just the softest, stillest silence—so loud it rings in your ears. 

Because you knew, didn’t you? 

Somewhere deep down, buried beneath all your hopeful excuses and quiet reassurances.

You knew.

But hearing it—hearing him say it, standing in the wreckage of your birthday, the only day you asked for—

It guts you.

Like a knife twisted slowly.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he breathes out, reaching toward you like that means something now.

You shake your head.

“No,” you whisper. “It’s fine, just… just—”

Your voice catches, and you swallow it down.

You look at him then, really look.

For a split second, it’s like the years rewind. 

Like you see the boy who used to text you after every game, who kissed your forehead before long flights, who held your pinky like it was sacred.

Apologetic.

Meaning it.

In love with you too.

But it’s not enough.

Not anymore.

You step back.

“I’ll sleep in the guest room.”

He stares at you, eyes wide. “What—?”

“And in the morning…” Your voice cracks, a choked whisper. “I’m leaving.”

Something in him breaks. 

You see it. You feel it. 

He moves forward again, reaching like he could hold you here with his hands alone.

“No. Please, I—”

“I can’t…” you say, tears finally slipping down your cheeks. “I can’t keep waiting for you, Sae. I won’t.”

It’s not just about tonight.

It’s about every time he made you feel like you were asking for too much when all you wanted was him.

You step past him, slow and quiet, and disappear down the hall, leaving him in the soft wreckage of what could’ve been.

He stays in the kitchen for a long time, unmoving, staring at the cake with three unlit candles.

Outside, the city keeps moving.

Inside, all that’s left is a silence that tastes like regret.

airy write sae a happy fic for once challenge GO!

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated

❀ tags: ❀ @kenyuukissme ❀ @irethepotato ❀ @kiyy0mei ❀ @x3nafix ❀ @sugacor3 ❀ @ohagiyoo ❀ @reigensuperstar ❀ @nevvynevnev ❀ join the taglist here !

⋆.˚✮ 2025 ©airybcby ✮˚.⋆

[cheriedivine]

𝐀𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 | chapter 5

previous | chapter 5 | next

꩜ synopsis: you’re best friends. just best friends. except when she lingers a little too long at your door. except when she calls you her favorite, and it doesn’t feel like a joke. except when her fingers graze yours and neither of you pull away. except when you start to wonder if she’s wondering, too…

꩜ Pairing: Ellie Williams x fem reader (no use of y/n)

꩜ CW: your usual swearing.

꩜ WC: 6.2K

꩜ A/N: I’m back my loves, (finally) and i’m terrified and excited about this chapter, it took me a bit to get it right so i hope u like it<3 (also this is NOT the end ok, i have some more tricks under my sleeve wink wink)

୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧

Blind. That’s what Ellie was. Blind.

How the hell hadn’t she seen it sooner?

All the lingering glances, the racing pulse whenever you smiled at her, the way her fingers twitched when yours brushed hers—God, even platonically. The way your voice settled in her chest like it belonged there. How everything—every sound, every thought, every corner of her mind—always came back to you.

She should’ve known.

But maybe she did know. Somewhere, deep down, in that place she never let herself go. She was just good at burying it. Smothering the feelings before they could fully form. Drowning them in sarcasm, in excuses, in "we’re just friends" and "don’t be stupid, Ellie."

But how could she bury something that bloomed every time you looked at her like that?

Like she was your person. Like no one else mattered.

Maybe she imagined it. Maybe you didn’t know. Maybe you didn’t feel it too. But that night—God, that night—you leaned in. Almost. Just enough to drive her insane replaying the moment ever since.

She cursed the goddamn event coordinator since then.

What if she hadn’t said her name?

Would you have kissed her? Pulled away? Laughed? Would you still be speaking to her now?

It was all one big what if, hanging heavy over her chest.

She hadn’t been able to look at her phone without her stomach flipping. There was still so much left unsaid, and Ellie didn’t know if she was ready to say any of it. But Jesse, as always, wasn’t about to let her hide.

She was pacing her studio, camera lenses scattered like thoughts. This place used to be her safe space—somewhere to escape. But now, even here, she couldn’t get you out of her head.

“That’s what you’re doing, y’know,” Jesse said, casually flipping through an old photography zine on the couch. “You’re spiraling.”

“I’m not spiraling,” Ellie muttered, dragging her hands down her face. “I’m just… stuck.”

Jesse raised an eyebrow. “Ellie, you’re pacing a hole into the floor.”

Ellie dropped into her chair, elbows on her knees, fidgeting with the frayed hem of her shirt. “She didn’t back off when I leaned in,” she said, voice quiet. “She didn’t move. I swear to God, Jesse, we were right there.”

“Yeah. Until that lady came in—Eva?” Jesse tilted his head. “She’s the villain now?”

“Public enemy number one,” Ellie muttered. “She burst in right at the worst fucking moment.”

“You sure that’s a bad thing?”

Ellie hesitated. “I don’t know. I’m not even sure what would’ve happened if she didn’t.” She leaned back with a groan. “I probably would’ve panicked. Or kissed her. Or both.”

Jesse set the zine aside. His expression softened. “You really care about her, huh?”

Ellie’s jaw clenched. “She’s my best friend, man. But it’s not just that. It hasn’t been just that for a long time. I didn’t even realize it until the gala, and now it’s like… I can’t breathe without thinking about her. I don’t even know if she wants the same thing. What if I ruin it?”

Jesse was quiet for a second. Then he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “What if you don’t? What if she’s waiting for you to say something because she’s scared to lose you too?”

Ellie swallowed, chest aching. “I hate this.”

“I know. But you hate not knowing more.”

Ellie leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling. Her throat felt tight. Her fingers curled into fists on her lap.

“I can’t fuck this one up,” she whispered. “Especially not her.”

The diner was packed, as usual. Maria had asked you to cover for Jasmine—who’d called in sick, though you were almost certain she was just nursing a hangover. Either way, here you were, caught in the middle of the lunch rush chaos—juggling orders, wiping down sticky syrup-coated tables, and trying not to lose your mind. That’s when the soft chime of the bell above the door caught your attention.

You didn’t even need to look up to know it was Dina. She always came around this time on Wednesdays—part routine, part check-in.

You slid a menu across the counter without saying a word, and Dina gave you a look. “You’re doing the thing again.”

“What thing?”

“The thing where you act all chill but you’re obviously losing your shit.”

You exhaled through your nose, pouring coffee on the mug that sat in front of Dina as if the act alone could ground you. “I told you everything already.”

“Yeah, at one in the morning,” she said, stirring cream into her coffee. “You called me mid-panic. I need details now that we’re both functioning humans.”

You chewed your bottom lip, glancing around before leaning in a little. “We almost kissed.”

Dina blinked, then leaned forward with a sharp whisper. “What?! You didn’t say that part!”

“I didn’t?” You frowned. “Shit—my bad.”

“Don’t you think, that’s like—vital information. What do you mean ‘almost’?”

You set the coffee pot down and grabbed a fresh order from the kitchen window, heart pounding. “We were close. Like, close close. I swear if that woman hadn’t called Ellie’s name, I think we might’ve—” You stopped. “But I don’t know. What if I imagined it? What if she wasn’t going to kiss me at all?”

Dina raised her brows. “Did you want to kiss her?”

You paused for a beat too long.

“…Yeah.”

And it wasn’t just a little want—it was the past two years of built-up something. Longing. Fear. Yearning. You had felt it that night like a wave, about to crash.

“She looked at me like she wanted to kiss me too,” you added, quieter now. “But then she left. And when she came back, it was like it didn’t even happen. Like we didn’t almost change everything.”

Dina leaned back in the counter, arms crossed. “Okay. First of all, I’m like 90% sure she’s just scared. I mean, it’s Ellie. Her idea of confronting a situation is to run away from it.”

You cracked a tired smile, heart still aching under the surface.

“We haven't texted much,” you admitted. “I mean we have been pretty busy too but, I don’t know if she’s avoiding me or if I should just pretend none of it happened.”

Dina’s voice was softer now. “What do you want to happen?”

You didn’t answer immediately. You picked up the empty coffee pot again, refilled someone’s mug, then came back to lean against the counter.

“I want her to kiss me,” you said finally. “I want it to mean something. I just… I’m scared, Di. What if I lose her?”

Dina gave you a look that was both sympathetic and knowing. “You’re already halfway gone, sweetheart. So is she. You’re both just too stubborn to admit it.”

You stared out at the diner, its quiet hum a stark contrast to the storm inside your chest.

You hadn’t said it out loud to Ellie, and maybe you wouldn’t for a while. But still—it was there, gnawing at your ribs like a secret too big to keep.

You were in love with her. And it was terrifying.

“Yeah, well—speaking of,” you said, shifting subject with a knowing grin. “What about you and Jesse?”

Dina froze mid-sip, eyes narrowing at the sudden ambush. “What about him?” she replied coolly, taking a longer gulp of her coffee like it might wash the question away.

You raised your brows, giving her your best you’re-not-getting-away-with-that look. “Don’t bullshit me, Di. I’m over here spiraling about my best-friends-who-almost-kissed disaster, and you’re gonna pretend you and Jesse haven’t kissed a couple of times?”

Dina nearly choked. She set her mug down with a thunk. “Three times,” she muttered under her breath, like she hoped you wouldn’t catch it.

But you did.

“Three—Dina what the fuck?!” you gasped, practically leaping across the counter to sit beside her. “Explain. Now.”

The chatter with Dina had flowed easily, a welcome distraction from the mess in your chest. Eventually, she left for her afternoon class, and you were left behind to wrangle the chaos of the diner. You wrapped up orders, wiped down greasy tables, and made sure everything ran smoothly for the rest of the evening.

It was better that way—keeping your hands busy so your thoughts wouldn’t wander back to her.

To her smile, her freckles, those green eyes you could get lost in forever. To the way she’d so obviously gotten jealous when you were talking to Abby.

You needed to talk to Ellie. You wanted to. But it scared the living shit out of you, the thought of her not reciprocating those feelings made your stomach twist with nausea. Losing her would mean losing a part of you.

But how were you even supposed to bring it up? It’s not like that kind of thing just comes up in casual conversation. Hey, did you want to kiss me too, or was I just drunk on sparkling apple cider?

Not exactly Wednesday small talk.

You hadn’t seen her in four days. That alone was strange—Ellie usually dropped by the diner just to say hi, sometimes to grab a coffee she didn’t even want. Her absence sat heavy on your bones. The uncertainty was eating you alive.

And then, as if summoned by your spiraling thoughts, your phone buzzed in your pocket. A new message.

It was from her.

Ellie had sent you one of the photos she’d taken at the gala. It was stunning—you, captured mid-laugh, the soft lighting curling around you like something out of a dream. Ellie always made you feel like a princess, or something out of a renaissance painting. She didn’t just take photos—she saw you.

You smiled without realizing it, fingers hovering over your screen before finally typing:

“Omg Ellie, you made me look like I have my shit together.”

Meanwhile, Ellie let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She hadn’t texted you in days, and it had been killing her. Not knowing how you were. Not hearing your voice.

She felt guilty—half avoiding you, half drowning herself in work. Telling herself she was too busy. Which she was. But she was scared. Scared that if she saw you, all the feelings she’d buried would come spilling out, no longer willing to be ignored. So instead, she hid.

Your message made her chest ache in the best way.

“The magic of photography, babe.”

She hesitated before sending it, then threw her phone across the couch like it was radioactive.

Your reply came quickly, “I miss ur stupid face. Wanna hang out soon?”

You nearly threw your phone across the diner the moment you hit send. It wasn’t even a risky text. A normal thing. Something friends said. Right?

Ellie read it three times, heart pounding. You wanted to see her. You missed her. And she—god—she missed you too. So much.

She just needed to keep it together. To not lose her mind.

“I miss u too. Sorry I’ve been busy w work. But u should come over so I can show u the gala pics ;)”

She almost hid her phone under a pillow after that one. Like a teenager. Like an idiot.

“I would love that. I’ll see u tomorrow then?”

“I’ll be waiting here for you with your favorite Thai food.”

You smiled at the screen. Of course she remembered.

“You’re an angel.”

And with that, you tucked your phone back into your apron pocket, heart fluttering quietly.

You finished closing up the diner, but the quiet didn’t bring relief. If anything, it made your mind louder. You lingered at the counter longer than necessary, pretending to wipe down an already clean surface. The warm buzz from texting Ellie had begun to fade, replaced by something heavier.

Doubt.

What if things felt different when you saw her? What if you couldn’t fall back into your usual rhythm? What if she looked at you and everything that almost happened hung in the air like fog, thick and unspoken?

You tried to shake it off, but it clung to you. Even as you left the diner and walked home under the soft glow of streetlights, the air felt heavy. Like the moment you’d been both longing for and dreading was finally catching up to you.

At the same time, Ellie lay on her bed with her arm flung over her eyes, heart stuttering like it didn’t know what to do with itself.

She’d texted you. She’d invited you. She was going to see you tomorrow.

What the hell were you gonna say to each other?

Would you bring it up? Would she? Would you both pretend that nothing almost happened? Would it hurt if you did?

She turned onto her side and stared at the old camera sitting on her desk. She’d found it while cleaning—an impulsive attempt to distract herself from how much she missed you. Ellie had scrubbed every inch of her place, unpacked boxes she forgot she even had. And there it was. Her first camera. An old instax fuji. It was the first one she ever owned. Joel gave it to her on her seventeenth birthday, and it was the reason she fell in love with photography in the first place. Her fingers twitched with the memory of it. How heavy it felt in her hands back then. How lighter it felt now.

She stared at it like it might blink back at her.

You were her muse, not that she’d ever say it out loud. Not yet. But there was something about you that fascinated her endlessly, like the light always hit you just right.

She could practically hear Jesse’s voice in her head, teasing her, urging her not to be a coward.

But it wasn’t that simple. Because this was you.

And you were everything.

She closed her eyes and let the weight of that settle deep into her bones.

The next day crept in quietly. Your shift at the diner was slow, save for one entitled Karen who nearly ruined your mood—but didn’t. Not really. Maria let you clock out early since the place was practically empty, and you thanked her with a tired smile before heading home.

You used the extra time to shower. The hot water melted the day off your skin, steaming the ache from your muscles. Wrapped in your towel, you stood in front of your closet like it was some impossible puzzle.

Three outfits in, and nothing felt right—too casual, too try-hard, too boring.

Finally, you settled on your favorite jeans and a soft shirt Ellie once said she liked, though you pretended you didn’t notice at the time. But of course you did.

You tugged it on, paused at the mirror and stared at your reflection, trying to figure what could be missing. Makeup. Just a little. Enough to look like you slept more than five hours. Concealer for the bags. A bit of blush. Chapstick.

Then you paused. Looked again.

Was this okay? Did you look like yourself? Did you look like someone she’d maybe want to kiss?

The thought made your stomach twist. You busied yourself brushing your hair, then reapplying chapstick, then pacing your room in slow, nervous loops.

Across town, Ellie was going through it.

She changed shirts at least ten times. Maybe more. She lost count.

Graphic tee? Too Ellie. Button-up? Too formal.

Now she stood in the mirror in a plain white tank and an open flannel she couldn’t bring herself to button. God, why did she care so much?

Her hair was messy, framing her features just right, she didn’t think too much about it.

She sat on the edge of her bed, buried her face in her hands.

“It’s just her,” she whispered.

But it wasn’t just you.

It was you.

Her eyes flicked to the camera on the desk.

“Okay,” she muttered to herself, standing again. “Jesus, what's wrong with me? It 's just her.”

You were already on your way. Fidgeting with your phone on the bus, rehearsing how to act casual even though your chest felt like it was hosting a four-piece marching band.

This was fine. Totally fine. Best friends hang out all the time.

Even if they almost kiss. Even if neither of you had stopped thinking about it since.

Totally. Fine.

There was a knock on Ellie’s door, she sprang from the couch, almost tripping on her feet. She cleared her throat, running a hand through her hair, and opened the door with what she hoped was a casual, ‘I definitely didn’t almost trip just now’ expression.

But it wasn’t you. It was the delivery girl.

Mid-twenties, eye liner so sharp it could cut heads and a smirk like she knew something Ellie didn’t, holding the brown paper bag like it was a bouquet of roses.

“Thai food for…” she double checked the receipt taped to the bag, meeting Ellie’s eyes this time, “Ellie?”

“Yeah that’s me,” she said awkwardly, tattooed arm reaching for the bag.

But the girl didn’t let go just yet.

“You know,” she said, cocking her head, tone slightly seductive, “you have that like… tortured artist vibe. It’s pretty hot.”

Ellie blinked. Did she hear that right?

“Umm thanks?” She took the bag and stepped back, her voice mixed with confusion and politeness. “Tip’s already in the app.”

“Oh…” The girl looked disappointed, she hadn’t got what she wanted, a reaction from Ellie.

“Alright then, have a good one” Ellie forced a smile, then closed the door with a soft click. She stood there for a second, blinking at the door. Usually–normally, she would’ve flirted back, get the girl’s hopes up… But now, it felt wrong, not because the girl wasn’t cute or whatever, but she felt like she was betraying you, somehow.

She exhaled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and went to set the food on the coffee table. Everything was in its place–blankets, laptop, dim lamps lit, just enough to make it feel cozy without screaming date night.

She started to doubt, was it too much? Not enough?

Her thoughts were dissolved by the knock on the door. This time she knew it was you, and her stomach did a backflip.

You stood on the other side of the door, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, trying not to fix your hair again. It was fine. You looked fine. Normal. Friendly.

The door swung open almost immediately, Ellie’s cheeks flushed like she had ran a marathon.

“Hey stranger,” you said, smiling.

“Hey,” Ellie echoed, stepping aside to let you in.

You were wearing her favorite shirt, the one she mentioned months ago that looked good on you, and on top of that a jacket Joel had given you last year for christmas. You looked warm. Beautiful.

The silence stretched—not awkward, but heavy.

You looked at Ellie, green eyes meeting yours. God. You could die right now.

Her studio was dimly lit, warm in that quiet, lived-in type of way that made it feel safe. A few lamps were on, and she had set up her living room into a cozy almost picnic set up, blankets sprawled on the floor in front of the coffee table, with a few cushions adorning it. The place smelled like her—cedarwood soap, and something faintly citrus.

You kicked off your shoes and glanced around, eyes falling into the messy table near the kitchen, where all her camera gear sat down. A stack of freshly printed photos sat on the coffee table.

“Wow,” you said, crouching beside the prints, “You’ve been busy.”

Ellie scratched the back of her neck, shutting the door. “Yeah, trying to keep myself occupied.” She moved towards the couch, gesturing to the food. Two takeout boxes sat on the small coffee table, beside her laptop, which was connected to her camera.

“I already set it all up. Got your favorite.”

Your chest fluttered, “You remembered.”

“Of course I did, you never shut up about this pad thai.”

You huffed a soft laugh, the cozy silence settled easily between you, like a familiar blanket. You sat cross-legged on the rug, steam curling up from the takeout boxes, while Ellie clicked through the gala pics folder. The warm lighting from a single lamp painted soft shadows on her face. You couldn’t help watching her hands move on the keyboard—precise, fast, confident in a way that made your stomach flutter for entirely new reasons.

“So what’s up with all those empty boxes outside of your door?” you asked, breaking in half the pair of chopsticks that came inside the bag of takeout.

“Oh, It’s just garbage and shit. I got the urge to clean out my whole place. I was bored I guess.”

“Too bored without me I’d say” you said smiling, but you actually meant it.

Conversation with Ellie was always easy, natural. It was the best part of your day, and you truly had missed her. You updated each other on what had been going on with work and stuff over the last couple days (and of course Dina and Jesse gossip) as you both ate slowly, your chopsticks tapping the inside of the paper box occasionally. Ellie made an offhand comment about one of the photos, and you followed with one of your own, as well as updates on the last few days, the diner, her work. A few minutes passed. Then a few more. At some point, your legs stretched out, brushing against hers under the table. Neither of you moved them away.

“I missed this,” you said, voice low. “Us. Hanging out.”

She nodded. “Yeah me too.”

You were about to reach for another napkin when your fingers brushed hers. Neither of you had realized you were reaching out at the same time. A blush crept down Ellie’s neck, and you were so glad the room was almost too dark for her to notice the heat on your own cheeks.

“Okay so,” she broke the silence, “I edited these at like, three in the morning, so they’re not finished. If they look bad, it’s because I was sleep deprived—”

“Shut up, Ellie,” you cut in, nudging her elbow with yours. “You’re literally the most talented person I know.”

Ellie tried to hide the way her ears turned pink. She looked back at the screen, clicking through photos: Dr. Anderson mid-speech, guests caught mid-bite, posed shots, the venue decked out in fundraiser banners, some group photos of the donors—and then…

You.

You nearly choked on your noodles.

There you were—caught mid-laugh, the blurred twinkle of lights behind you, your head tilted slightly looking toward Ellie’s direction, like you were somehow looking straight through her lens.

Ellie clicked her laptop shut. Like she was trying to hide something.

“Hey… I was seeing that,” you said, feigning annoyance.

“They’re not even that good,” she muttered, not meeting your gaze.

“Oh shut up, let me see—come on…” You reached over, your fingers grazing hers as you pried the laptop open again. You clicked back through the folder, finding the shots she’d tried to hide.

And your breath caught.

Candid after candid of you at the gala: leaning against the bar, turning over your shoulder, your eyes glowing under golden lights. Your eyes widened.

“Holy shit, Ellie,” you whispered. “How—how are these even real?”

“That’s how I see you,” she said softly.

You turned to her. “What?”

She blinked, shook her head. “Huh? Nothing. I didn’t say anything.”

But she was still staring at the screen. Pretending to scroll. But her fingers weren’t moving.

The silence thickened, soft and heavy.

Your heart pounded loud and obvious in your chest. You were about to speak when Ellie abruptly stood.

“I wanna show you something I found. I’ll be right back.”

She walked down the short hallway to her room, disappearing for a second. You heard a soft clatter of something metal, then the quick shuffle of her feet as she returned, holding a small, older camera.

“Joel gave me this when I was seventeen,” she said. “First one I ever owned.”

Her fingers curled around it like it was sacred. “Still works,” she added. “Wanna see?”

Before you could answer, a soft click—the flash burst to life.

“Ellie!” you laughed, blinking spots out of your vision.

She grinned, camera still raised. “Nope. Nuh uh.”

You tried to cover your face.

Her hands trembled just slightly as she adjusted the lens, wiping her palms on her jeans.

“Come on, don’t be a party pooper,” she said, softer now. “You’re my favorite thing to shoot.”

You froze.

So did she.

“Just a few shots, I promise,” she said, giving you those puppy eyes you couldn’t say no to.

“Fine… but I’m burning them after.”

“You wish.” She started snapping pictures. Her voice wasn’t casual anymore—it was softer. Compliments slipping out in murmurs.

“Don’t move… yeah, like that. You always do that little smile when you’re unsure. It’s cute.”

Your breath caught.

She knelt on one knee, camera focused, trying a different angle, whispering again: “You’re fucking unreal.”

You looked away, flushed, brushing your hair behind your ear.

Ellie lowered the camera, inspecting the shots. Her cheeks pink, her smile soft.

“Okay,” she said, “these actually came out so good.”

You groaned and flopped onto the rug. “I can’t believe I let you take pictures of me while I’m full of pad thai.”

She laughed, setting the camera in her lap. “You look beautiful.”

You blinked. Sat up halfway. Heart tripping over that word.

She hadn’t even flinched when she said it.

After a beat, you reached toward her, with a mischievous glint in your eyes, grinning. “Okay, okay. My turn. You’re not escaping this.”

Ellie blinked. “What? No. No way.”

You grabbed the camera anyway. She clutched it to her chest like a teddy bear. “You don’t even know how to use it.”

“Ellie. Come on. Fair’s fair.”

“Nooo—”

“Yes.”

“I’m camera shy.”

You snorted. “You took twelve photos of me in a row. I get at least one.”

She hesitated, lips twitching. “…Fine. One.”

You beamed, taking the camera and fiddling with the buttons, while she muttered quiet instructions, blushing.

“Stay still, Williams,” you teased.

She stared up at you, completely frozen.

You lifted the camera and snapped a picture. “You’re, like, criminally photogenic,” you whispered.

Ellie groaned, hiding her face behind her hands. “Stop.”

“You look nervous,” you teased again. “Something you wanna admit to me?”

She rolled her eyes, voice softer. “I just… don’t like being on this side of the lens.”

“Well, lucky for you,” you said, lifting the camera again, “I’m great at making people feel comfortable.”

She sat cross-legged, glancing down. And you catch it—how unsure she looks. How soft.

“Ellie,” you whispered. “Look at me.”

She did.

You clicked.

Then again.

She gave a shy smile. You grinned. “You’re kind of adorable, you know that?”

Her nose scrunched. “Fuck off.”

“Never.”

You crouched down slightly, readjusting the lens. “Tilt your head. Yeah—like that.” She obeyed and you stepped in closer.

“Okay now, act like you’re not the coolest person I’ve ever met.”

“Shut up,” she muttered, covering her face again.

You laughed, gently pulling her hands away. “Come on. No one’s gonna see these. Just me.”

Your fingers lingered on her wrist a second too long. She noticed.

You lowered the camera, your voice dropping. “…Stay like that.”

And before she could ask why, you were hovering her, slowly, deliberately, you climbed into her lap, straddling her hips, pinning her gently to the floor. Legs caging her in. Her breath hitched. Your hands hovered over the camera adjusting the lens.

Her hands flinched against the rug.

“Wh—what are you doing?” she asked, voice uneven, her eyes flicking between yours. Propping up on her elbows.

“Making sure you don’t run away,” you murmured.

You raised the camera again. “Ellie. You’re so beautiful.”

She stared up at you—blushing. Breathless.

“You’re insane,” she whispered.

But she wasn’t pushing you away.

You rested the camera against your chest. Her eyes—green and wide—met yours.

“I mean it,” you said, barely audible.

She looked at you like she was unraveling. Every part of her, tight with tension, heat, want.

You leaned in.

The space between you shrinking.

“Why haven’t we talked about the gala?” you whispered. A sting of pain in your tone.

Ellie swallowed. “Because I’m a coward.” Her eyes never meeting yours, like she was too scared to even look at you.

You blinked. Your voice was soft. “You’re not.”

“I—I almost kissed you.”

“I know.”

Now she was looking at you. Raw. Scared. Hopeful.

“Are you…” she asked, voice trembling, “drunk? Or tired? Or…”

You shook your head. “No.”

Your voice was steady.

Your heart wasn’t.

She stared like you’d just said the most terrifying and beautiful thing she’d ever heard.

Ellie’s lips parted, but she didn’t say anything.

She just looked at you, like she was searching for something. A sign. Permission. Courage.

So you gave it to her.

You leaned in, just a little—enough that your noses brushed, your breaths mingled. Her hands hovered near your waist, uncertain. You reached up, slowly, cupping her jaw like you were afraid she might vanish if you moved too fast.

“Ellie,” you whispered, barely audible. “It’s okay.”

Then she leaned in—slowly, so slowly, like she was giving you every chance to pull away. You didn’t.

Her forehead rested against yours for a beat. She exhaled your name like a prayer.

And then—finally, finally—her lips found yours.

Soft. Tentative. Warm.

It wasn’t rushed, or clumsy, like you thought it might be. It was soft. Reverent. Like she’d been imagining it for a long time, and was finally brave enough to ask the question with her mouth. Her lips moved against yours like a secret, like she wanted to memorize the taste of you, learn you. Like she wanted to remember every second of this. One of her hands slid up your back, the other gently cradled the side of your face, grounding you both.

You kissed her back like your life depended on it.

Like all that heat, all that tension, all those almosts were finally allowed to become something real. You melted into her, one hand tangled in her hair, the other gripping her shoulder like she was the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth.

She pulled back just a little, foreheads pressed together, both of you breathless.

Her hand came up to cradle your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin like she couldn’t believe you were real. You were both holding your breath and breathing each other in at the same time.

Her voice was a whisper. “Fuck.”

You smiled. “Yeah.”

Ellie looked stunned—like the weight of all the what-ifs had finally lifted and left her with this. With you.

“Can we…” She swallowed. “Can we do that again?”

You didn’t answer. You just kissed her again.

Slower this time. Deeper.

You smile into the kiss. She sighs into it.

Like there was no going back.

Everything softens.

The camera, somewhere between you, quietly flashes once.

Click.

You didn’t pull away right away.

Neither did she.

Your lips hovered against hers, like both of you were scared to break whatever spell this moment held—like even blinking too hard might ruin it.

Ellie was still holding you like she couldn’t believe you were real. One hand braced on your waist, the other lightly fisted in your shirt like she needed something to hold on to. Her breath was shaky against your mouth.

You were the first to pull back—just barely. Just enough to look at her. Enough to breathe, your forehead still pressed to hers. Both of you grinning—dumb, breathless, shocked. Your heart— pounding like it was going to crawl out of your chest.

She was flushed. Stunned. Her lashes fluttered like she was still catching up to herself.

“…Hey,” you whispered.

Her eyes flicked open, wide and a little dazed. “Hi.”

You let out a breathless laugh, eyes crinkling.

Ellie laughed too, except it caught halfway, like it hurt a little. She tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, her fingers trembling just slightly. “Holy shit…”

“Yeah. Holy shit,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

She gave you this look—half awe, half disbelief. “I wanted to do that for so long.”

Your heart clenched. “Me too.”

You were both just looking at each other. Like the world had narrowed down to this little pocket of space between your faces. Everything else felt quiet. Blurry.

She brushed her thumb gently across your cheekbone, like she was trying to memorize it. “You kissed me.”

“You kissed me.”

“Not how I remember it.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Ellie smiled, and it was this small, crooked, completely undone kind of smile. The kind you’d only ever seen when she let her guard all the way down.

You shifted slightly in her lap, still close, still breathing the same air. “Is this gonna be weird now?” you asked quietly.

She shook her head. “No. I don’t think it could ever be weird with you.”

You leaned your forehead against hers. “Promise?”

She nodded. “Promise.”

There was a soft, comfortable silence. Her hands were still on you. Yours resting lightly on her collarbone. Neither of you moved to get up.

You looked at her again. Her lips were pink and kiss-bitten. Her eyes were glassy. You’d never seen her like this—open, vulnerable, glowing.

“You’re gonna be in my dreams tonight,” you said, half a joke, half truth.

“Dirty ones I hope,” she whispered, and you gave her a playful smack to her chest.

You swallowed around the tight feeling in your throat. “I should probably go. It’s getting late.”

Ellie nodded slowly, like her body agreed but her heart didn’t. She helped you off her lap, standing with you, both of you still quiet. Still stunned.

At the door, you lingered. So did she.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” you asked, voice soft.

Ellie smiled—warm, sure, “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

You stepped into the hallway. The door had barely begun to close behind you when she called out—

“Wait.”

You turned just in time for her to reach you. She kissed you again—this time messier, hungrier, like she couldn’t help herself. Like she wasn’t ready to let go. Like she needed to be sure this was real. That you were real.

And you were kissing her back, like it was the only thing that made sense.

When you finally pulled away, your breath caught somewhere in your throat. Lips glossy, a little swollen, you smiled—shy and stunned and glowing. Like you were in fucking highschool again and had just kissed someone in secret behind the bleachers.

“Goodnight, Ellie,” you whispered, the words almost getting lost in your smile.

Then you clicked the door shut.

Ellie was lying flat on her bed now, hands over her face, like if she stayed still enough she’d disappear.

She didn’t know how long she’d been there.

There was a camera lens digging into her side. Her tank top was riding up. She felt like she was vibrating out of her skin.

“Holy. Shit,” she muttered into her palms.

Her brain was looping like a broken record:

You kissed her. You fucking kissed her.

And she kissed you back.

She sat up too fast, ran a hand through her hair like it would knock some sense into her.

Was it stupid?

No.

It wasn’t stupid.

It was the most real thing she’d felt in years.

She let herself fall back down again, groaning.

“Fuuuck.”

You looked so pretty when you leaned in. So sure. Like you wanted her. Like maybe all those late nights and long stares and shared beds meant something after all.

Her fingers curled in her bedsheets. She felt insane.

And now you were gone. And she didn’t know what to do with herself. You said you’d see her tomorrow. But what if you changed your mind?

She almost got up three times to text you. Didn't.

What was she even supposed to say?

“Thanks for the kiss, save me my usual booth at the diner?”

She groaned again, grabbing a pillow and muffling a scream into it.

Then, a whisper to no one. “…I’m so fucked.”

But she was smiling when she said it.

And she already knew she’d wake up early tomorrow. Because you’d be at the diner. And maybe—if she didn’t completely combust—she’d get to kiss you again.

Meanwhile, you leaned back against your apartment door after it shut, keys still in hand, breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat. Your brain was still buffering.

You kissed Ellie.

Your best friend. Who you had been in love with for god knows how long. And she kissed you back. She kissed you like she meant it. Like she’d been waiting for that moment just as much as you had.

You slid down the door slowly, heart thudding out a whole rhythm section. Your fingers brushed over your lips, like you had to double-check they were still there.

Still tingling.

Still hers.

Then the questions came flooding in. Was it real? Was it a real kiss or a heat-of-the-moment kiss? Did she regret it? What if you just ruined everything?

You let your head thud gently against the door. “Oh my god.”

Your phone buzzed in your pocket and you jumped like it had caught you doing something illegal.

You pulled it out fast, breath hitching. It wasn’t her.

God, you wanted it to be her.

You stared at your screen like you could will her name to appear. She said she'd see you tomorrow.So why did that feel like an entire lifetime away?

You scrolled to her name.

Typed a message. Deleted it.

Typed again. Deleted again.

You ended up sending nothing.

Instead, you curled up in bed, fully clothed, heart thudding like it was too big for your ribs.

You couldn’t sleep. Because every time you closed your eyes, she was still there. And you didn’t want her to leave.

୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧─── ⋆୨୧⋆ ───୨୧

taglist ♡‧₊˚₊✧

@liasxeatt @80saturn @eleanorsghost @youusunshineyoutemptress @jazzyxox @lesoulew @fangirlinc @hitmehardmommy @liztreez @chwekriz00 @vahnilla @elliespotion @haithone @stwolfhardimaginez @thxtmarvelchick @purinukie @lavenderseedling @elliesfavwife @mikellie @iadorefineshyt @thebadwritersposts @gayandsuffering26 @flynnph0bias @adoreasellie @wwefan2002 @pinkcloudsmmr @ellliewilliamssgf @hufflepuffin92-blog

lmk if anyone else would like to be tagged!

[jjjjisun]

Karina’s Temptation

AESPA Karina X Male OC | 14283 words

TW: Incest

—

Buy me a Ko-Fi.

Book commissions here.

—

‘You can’t choose your family’ is a phrase that means different things to many people. For some, it’s good, and for others, it’s bad, and for Jae, it was a bit of both, especially when it came to his daughter.

There was simply no helping that at 18, Karina had the body that most women and men, for that matter, only dreamed about. Jae didn’t know her exact measurements, but Karina’s mother always said, 'The girl has the smallest waist she’s ever seen, and a bigger chest and hips than almost any woman in the family. She was an hourglass, albeit an incredibly slender one.

Karina had been pegged early by a talent scout for her beauty, and to his dismay, she’d been modeling since she was 10. Some girls blossom and come out of nowhere - Karina wasn’t one of them. Jae sometimes thought she had been born to marvel at.

She was smart as hell, too - smarter than he by far. She had attitude and composure and…The list continued; he loved every little thing about her.

Except…fuck… those pictures of her… She looked like something off the front page of a magazine, but no, that wasn’t even nearly doing her justice. Looking at the recent photos that had been taken of her, Karina seemed bound to travel the world posing for years to come. And why shouldn’t she?

Still… at 18… how did she convince him to let her do this shoot? She’d worn provocative clothing before, but this black bathing suit… it just wasn’t fair. The thing was hardly anything more revealing than an average bathing suit; Karina filled it out in a way that sent any viewer’s thoughts awry.

Jae wouldn’t have 'chosen’ anyone else to be his daughter, but he also wouldn’t have chosen to be so susceptible to the thoughts and dreams inspired by her. He’d tried to broach the subject in a way that didn’t reveal too much about how he felt. Today, he meant to stand his ground and tell her she couldn’t pose for photos like these anymore.

Of course, when he tried to do so, she was sweet as ever to him, naive as she was, and never meant to cause any harm.

“Karina, honey, this shoot is very…”

“Yes, daddy?”

“I just… baby, you’re only 18 and these photos are very revealing… and you’re my little girl!”

“Oh no, daddy… I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to worry you so much.”

“I know you like modeling, and you’re so beautiful, I understand why the camera loves you. It’s just that I love you too, and I would never want anything to happen to you because people see something they want and…”

“See something they want? I didn’t mean for my photos to do that, daddy… do you think that’s how people could react?”

“I have to expect that they will, sweetheart, if only to be protective of you.”

“How do you know, though, Dad? It’s just a bathing suit! I’ve worn one around you a million times!”

Her exaggeration didn’t sound overstated to him - Karina parades a seemingly endless collection of small, perfectly-fitted suits that exhibited her body so often that Jae wondered how he could live in the same house.

Something must have clicked for Karina as she saw her dad looking bashfully at the proofs in his hands. He was almost shaking, and she felt so guilty for causing him such grief. Karina wanted to throw herself at him and smother him with an apology.

She realized what he’d been getting at before. Her daddy might have known how other people felt because…maybe… he felt that way himself.

'Something they want’ - he’d said. Karina was stunned by the revelation, but also utterly flattered by the possibility that her dad might desire her in some way. It was a strange feeling that she didn’t expect.

“Daddy… you know I don’t take these photos FOR anyone else… so that anyone else will 'want’ me like you say, right?”

“Of course I know that, sweetie, but it doesn’t mean I won’t worry about you.”

Karina smiled and blushed. Little by little, an undeniable tingle worked from somewhere deep within her. Like butterflies, it started in her stomach, and she could now feel the sensation searching out, fluttering to her fingers and toes. The way he was looking at her—the way only her father could—nobody else could ever love her like that.

“How about…” Karina thought carefully, “Next time, will you be there with me for any photoshoot I do?”

His daughter caught him off guard with the suggestion. Jae’s eyes met his little 18-year-old’s and searched them for her intent.

“That way you could watch over me and be protective about the kinds of photos they’re taking of me.”

Jae had to laugh at that. Having some input on the way photographers were capturing his beautiful teenager’s perfect body and that sexy little smile of hers did sound like a bit of relief. It also sounded enticing in a way he knew he shouldn’t entertain.

“I’d like that, Karina. You sure you’d be alright with having your dad around with you dressed like that? I’m guessing you’re planning to continue modeling bikinis and such.

The words had a fatherly tone. Karina looked down at the photos and thought about the next shoot she and that photographer had discussed. Putting her finger to her lip and biting it gently, Karina met her dad’s eyes and nodded.

"Yes, daddy, maybe it would even be fun…” She said demurely.

She had felt so sexy during that photoshoot, and though she’d been nervous to show that much skin at first, now that she saw the photos, Karina looked forward to doing it again. Combined with the thought of her dad being there to see her, the tingle she’d felt earlier was turning into a full-blown buzz. Karina felt borderline woozy, looking at her dad and thinking deeply about him.

“Hey, Dad, the company I took these photos for let me keep the swimsuit. It’s so cute; I love it! Do you want to see it? I’ll put it on, and we can pretend like you were there for this shoot since you missed it!”

Her words were hasty and excited. Jae couldn’t make heads or tails of what she was getting at. Why would he agree to this? After seeing the photos, Jae would have preferred she wear nothing but a head-to-toe burlap sack to hide the beauty he’d created eighteen years ago. Why would he allow her to return to that bikini and show off again, just for him?

“Sure, sweetie, if you want to put it on!”

Jae couldn’t believe it. He’d blurted out the words before even pausing to think about it. They just slipped from his mouth, and now that they were out, he couldn’t take them back. Jae saw his daughter’s look of pure joy - a big, beaming smile that only a dad who’d done something to make his little girl positively overjoyed could know.

“Okay, just give me a minute and I’ll be right down.”

It wasn’t until Karina had entirely scampered out of the room, her hips swinging in the pajama bottoms cinched around her waist and tank top scrunched there too, that Jae felt himself take his first full breath. Oh God… as she was walking away, that little grin she flashed him while biting her lip. It was that look, the entire image of her from that smile to the little sliver of skin on the teen’s lower back, to her bare feet, practically hopping her way upstairs - that was what remained under his eyelids as he leaned back on the couch and shut his eyes.

'How did it come to this…?’ Jae thought, bewildered. He hadn’t even intended to bring up the photos, needing to gather himself before doing so. Still, it had entirely happened out of nowhere, and now his little girl was upstairs changing into the same bathing suit that had rendered him speechless before.

'Oh God, she’s up there changing, and when she comes down…shit… I need to stop this now.’

He looked down at the photo of her holding both hands over her head. She kept her beautiful blonde hair, wetted and deep gold, pulled back in interlocking fingers, and the camera drank her in from head on. The look was sweet: a long glare with her lips parted and the lightest smile on her face, one so naive to what her beauty was capable of.

She was slender and yet endowed with the most desired features. At perhaps 110 lbs, she filled out her bathing suit perfectly. Beads of water coated her skin, seeming to meander down the valley her perfect, cradled breasts created. Some way or another, he’d learned her bust was about a 32D, and it had pained him to know, given that his eyes more frequently wandered there to confirm.

The valley between Karina wonderful tits continued, past the crucial piece of string clutching each patterned triangle of black cloth together, to a continuous line down the middle of her abdomen, approaching the narrowest part of her midsection. At about the cute, inward dip of her belly button, it seemed Jae could likely hold most of her waist in both hands.

And then, across an endless stretch of skin that fell before the torturously low line of her bottom…

“Okay, Daddy, what do you think?”

His eyes came off the picture he’d been mesmerized by, finding the floor first until Karina’s graceful little feet came into view. She leaned against the doorframe and posed with one hand ruffling her hair.

Her father traced the opposite path he’d been following on the image, his eyes travelling up his daughter’s perfect, slender legs and coming to rest on her lower body where he’d just stopped short of admiring in her photo.

…ugh… the way the bottoms hugged her impressively mature hips… with that tantalizing 'v’ drawn and pulled taut below by the sleek black bottoms. If he looked any longer, Jae might risk being caught searching the gap between her thighs for an indication of what lay within.

“God, you’re pretty sweetie!” Jae uttered without thinking.

'Shit.’ he thought - maybe he should have chosen his compliments more carefully, but truth won over his fatherly obligation.

She welled up with so much pride that it burst forth from her in a room-brightening smile. Jae felt sure it was a look only he’d ever know, and as he drank in her overall figure, he wished there was more he could keep to himself.

Karina’s steps closer to him were drunk with flattery, one foot in front of another as best she could - as if she were daddy’s private model. When she got to him, she collapsed to her knees in front of him on the carpet. With her long, pretty legs wrapped around behind her, Karina propped up, so naturally and yet so seductively displaying her body for him to consume greedily with his eyes.

“So you like it then?” She asked redundantly.

Karina watched her father’s eyes glance from her, back to the photos on the table, and then back at her again. She didn’t know it then, but he was thinking just how much better the real thing was, and how impossible it seemed that such a pretty young thing as Karina could exist. With all the affection inside him, he hardly knew what about his beautiful daughter he could admit to admiring.

“I like what Karina? I like you. I don’t just like you, I love you, baby.”

Karina frowned and squinted at him - not the answer she sought.

“Do I like your swimsuit?” he asked again, knowingly. Of course I like it, sweetie, but you would look beautiful in anything, so it’s not really a fair question.“

Karina sat back on her feet, stunned physically by his words. Her eyes widened as she gazed back at her dad.

He continued, "Do I like that my daughter is 18 and looks like this?” he gestured to all of her, “and these photos are going to show other people that too?”

Karina waited fervently for his reply, still mesmerized.

“Not so much.”

She frowned momentarily, but seemed content to remember only the compliments he’d paid her. She immediately changed the subject.

“Here, I’ll show you some of the poses from those photos. The photographer said I did a really good job, and that I don’t need nearly as much direction as other girls do!”

She was excited, swaying a little left and right and fixing upon him with a look that was Karina’s signature blend of innocent and somehow incredibly sultry.

“I don’t have the wind blowing in my hair like I did, but you’ll just have to imagine it,” she said, giving her father eighteen angles to admire her.

Her body moved in ways Jae knew a father’s eyes were not meant to see. She could move her lower half independently and exhibited her prowess through several positions that further defined her beauty. Her body, her rotating hips, and the gentle transitions from pose to pose were hypnotic to the point that he had visions of what it would be like to put such incredible movements of his teenager to proper use.

“You’re a natural, honey.”

Karina giggled, “And to think, all of this came from you, right, Daddy?”

Karina had effectively arched her back and afforded her father a generous view of her youthful chest. When she brought her arms together and pushed her breasts toward each other, Jae watched in amazement as they heaved and adjusted within her top.

“I don’t know where it came from sometimes, sweetie,” he said quietly. The words were uttered with little or no consent from his distracted brain.

Did she know what she was doing? She must? Did she know what kind of thoughts she inspired by showing her body to her father so willfully? For the man who had raised her and all along studied her every want and need, he simply could not read her when it came to such a basic thing - attraction.

“Which one do you like the best, Daddy? I’ll do the pose for you!”

Karina threw her long, golden-blonde hair over her shoulder and looked at him expectantly.

'No, you can’t,’ screamed a voice in Jae’s head. Wherever it came from was far too remote, because after the last minute or two of watching his eighteen-year-old model for him, Jae’s brain refused to see the harm in a little more.

“How about this one?” he said, picking up the photo of her standing with her hands over her head and showing it to her. Karina looked satisfied.

Smiling, she focused herself and then slowly got into position. When she arrived, she looked just like in the photo—not soaking wet, but this time with only her father’s eyes there to admire her. Something about the fact that her dad had asked for her for that specific pose heightened the experience for both of them.

Before, it had been a tingle within her. Then it was a buzz. Now, Karina felt almost as if she was meandering through a dream. She’d do anything her dad asked her to… she wanted to appease his every request. Did he know what kind of control he had? Was there some line when they’d eventually reach and stop automatically because any more would be too much?

“They have a kinda coach lady that sometimes talks me through the shoot. She said my waist looks best when I put my arms up like this, but you’ve got to have the right boobs for it.”

It was an invitation to look at his baby’s chest, and Jae took it. 'Oh God, of course…’ his mind relented - her tits just hung there flawlessly. Still, they looked ample and firm.

“So… what do you think, Daddy?”

“About…” Jae asked cluelessly until, “What do I think about your…?”

He glanced down at his daughter’s chest, letting her observe where he was looking, at her request. Karina nodded.

“Karina, honey, I can’t tell my daughter what I think about her breasts, and you know that.”

The perky blonde deflated, giving her dad a frustrated glare and letting her arms fall to her sides. The topic of conversation, her breasts, shook as her posture changed.

“Oh… I didn’t think…I don’t know, you could give me constructive criticism so I can do even better next time.

Jae didn’t know whether his daughter was playing dumb, but her reasoning won him over.

"Oh, don’t give me that look, Karina…” he said, “you’re very… nicely proportioned, sweetie, so I think you look just fine in that pose.”

There was that smile again. Karina turned her demeanor back around, causing her father to doubt her conviction in the evil eye she’d so easily shed.

“There are some poses the coach told me not to do because they’d be… too provocative I think. Can I show you, and you be the judge?”

Jae merely nodded; there was nothing else to do.

“So there’s this one,” Karina narrated, flipping over and sprawling out on her back. Looking upside down at her father, she gyrated her hips around and slowly spread her legs, working her toes into the carpet when she stopped with them sufficiently apart. The sexy teen then lifted her hips off the ground, still rotating them ever so slightly.

There was no other choice but to imagine being on the other side of her, kneeling between her legs, and receiving the beautiful motion of Karina’s body. There was so much to see—the complexity of her curves, the entrancing movement of her hips, and the innocent eye contact she held with her father.

“I think it’s supposed to be a little too suggestive with like…my…” Karina glanced down to where she was holding her lower half in the air, showing her father where she meant with a wiggle, “Well, you know.”

“Yeah… I’m glad I didn’t see that in any of the pictures,” Jae admitted.

“What about now, though, it’s not as bad when it’s only for you, right, Daddy?” Karina asked.

“Sure, sweetie, I guess you’re right, as long as it’s just me.” As he said it, Jae stored a mental image of his daughter, looking up at him and waving her hips invitingly.

“I’m glad you like it. I think you’ll like this one too, then…”

Karina rolled over onto her hands and knees, sticking her butt up in the air. She arched her back first, tossing her hair and smirking at her dad. It would have been a priceless shot if he’d had a camera. But Jae was glad it was his eyes only for this private shoot. His little girl was barely clothed at all and posing just for him. He could watch her like this for hours.

Karina could feel his hungry eyes on her and saw him shift in his seat. She wasn’t an experienced girl by any means - some curious groping and kissing with boys from school - but something about her father’s composure struck her to the core. It was a feeling exponentially more exciting than the one she got posing for the camera. It was the incredibly taboo feeling of being on display for her daddy and only him.

Karina extended to her toes and fingers only on the carpet, sticking her butt as high in the air as it could go, forming a perfect triangle with the floor and stretching out for her father to see her fully. With practiced form, she brushed her nose across the threads of the carpet, rounding out her back as she did - another breathtaking motion she had perfected in her yoga class.

Except the confining sports bra—the one that usually accompanied this motion at the gym—wasn’t there. Karina was simply basking in her father’s admiring eyes and didn’t realize that as she dragged her chest across the carpet, the confines of her bikini weren’t confining enough.

As she came to a fully arched position, Jae saw, in absolute disbelief, that his daughter’s breasts were all but entirely revealed to him.

He was struck with silence.

Her nipples were pale and only slightly pinker than her skin - small circles around upright and sensitive nubs that his front teeth chattered to hold between them… They perched at the perfect apex of each soft globe, poking out at him tellingly.

Perhaps he could have fended off the attacks of her looks, pose by pose, if she had remained fully clothed, but this was too much. What amount remained? Jae stiffened fully within his pants, his disobedient manhood straining against them as his daughter’s bare breasts hung fully within his view.

Karina saw the shock on her father’s face and watched his mouth open involuntarily.

“Oh my Gosh, daddy, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to show you my nipples!” Karina shrieked. “Jeez, I didn’t even notice, did you?”

But she needn’t have asked. Just looking at him, Karina knew he’d seen it all. The flattered 18-year-old fixed her top casually, inspired by the look in her father’s eyes.

“Only for a second, I didn’t see too much honey.”

But Karina knew beyond a doubt that he was lying. She saw the way one of his hands had snaked toward his crotch and was trying to adjust the bulge there without her noticing.

“There, all fixed,” she alerted him once she’d very slowly tucked her breasts back into the bikini.

“Here, I wanted to show you the pattern anyway; look, Daddy.”

Before Jae could protest, Karina got to her feet and approached him head-on. She put one knee down on the couch beside him and swung the other over his lap. It was an innocent gesture, not just that different from sitting on her father’s lap as she’d done many times before. But the way Karina was dressed… they were looking at each other and sizing each other up… It felt different, and both dad and daughter knew why.

Karina sat up on her knees and aligned her bikini top with her father’s eyes. She showed him the pattern on the black triangles of her top—an elegant stitchwork of flowers. One of the flowers was directly atop what he could just discern the outline of beneath, that perfect little bud he’d seen only seconds before.

“I see why you like it, baby, it’s very appealing.”

Karina settled down onto his lap and watched her father wince. She was sitting further back on his legs so she couldn’t get a great sense of the bulge he was hiding, but the further contact was enough to get a reaction from him.

“Do you think I’m appealing, though, Daddy?”

She leaned back to give her father a better view, which he took in gratefully. Karina had never seen her father inspect her in such a way before, but every second his eyes lingered, she loved it more.

“You know I’m not supposed to answer a question like that, Karina…” Jae began, “But I think I’ve already told you that you are… appealing, so do you need to ask?”

Karina looked deeply at him, “I guess not, but I like it when you say it.”

She leaned in, watching her dad’s eyes and the anticipation in them for what she’d do next. The young blonde aligned with his ear and told him softly, “I love you, daddy,” before kissing him on the cheek.

As her breath brushed across his ear and her lips fell on the tingling side of his face, something happened. Karina slid further into her father’s lap, and his hands were helping her.

His teenage daughter let out a sigh. Karina felt that the increased contact below, however incidental, meant something serious. Of their own volition, Jae’s fingers encircled his baby’s waist and slipped down to the small pair of black bottoms stretched taut around her.

Neither Karina nor her father could have said how long they stayed like that. Furthermore, it was unclear which was causing Karina’s lower body to rise and fall just beyond imperceptibly atop her father’s lap.

It was that motion again, just like he’d seen as his daughter did the fateful posing at his feet not minutes ago. Oh God, he could feel it generating beneath his palms… rotating, ensnaring desire slowly building for his baby girl.

When Karina’s breath began to get rhythmically heavier, to the point that he could match it to the up-and-down motion of her hips, Jae panicked. His cock had been throbbing against her, in sync with his young daughter and telling her… telling them both that what she was playing at was entirely possible.

But it wasn’t. This was wrong; he’d let it come too far and fast.

He lifted his hands off slowly, not wanting to alarm his daughter but feeling the forbidden warmth of her skin leave them, like it should have.

Karina reacted impulsively, immediately prohibiting the retreat of his hands with her own and putting them back together on her hips. As they returned, Karina boldly allowed herself to settle deeper into her father’s lap, pressuring his straining member more deliberately. With a sigh that approached moaning, Karina leaned against her father.

“Sweetie, maybe you should get off…” he warned.

Oh God, that was a wrong choice of words, and Karina took them as she wanted.

Karina cooed again, responding, “uh-huh,” with another kiss near his ear and an urge from her hips. They both knew what he’d meant, but when Jae felt the subtle shake of his daughter’s body, he knew she was giggling about his accidental pun.

The smirk he cracked and the mutual humor they shared were disarming. Karina didn’t want to stop, and she’d take any interpretation to stay on her daddy’s lap just like she was. Jae felt the moment when he could have turned things around slip away as Karina broke the silence.

“Is this what you were talking about before, daddy… what my photos might make people want to do?”

“Something like this, honey, but of all people, I didn’t mean me!”

She leaned back far enough to touch her forehead against her father’s.

“Why, don’t you think it’s better you than some random guy?”

“Well, yes, but I was talking about things a father and a daughter are not allowed to do.”

“What? You’re only touching my hips… I don’t mind. Do you mean something else?”

Karina was writhing her hips quite obviously, disguising it by being her usual, spunky self and smiling at him like everything was normal. Jae’s fingers felt more daringly up his daughter’s slender sides, approaching the waist he’d imagined wrapping them around. It didn’t seem possible that such soft, smooth perfection could be achieved in the curve that his palms traced, or that it could belong to his daughter.

“What else did you mean, Daddy? I’m really…really…curious.” The naughty teenager wiggled her hips about to punctuate each word, teasing her father mercilessly.

Jae was speechless at the tenacity of his eighteen-year-old. Once again, she put her hands over his, feeling them clasped at her waist. They both looked momentarily at the tell-tale bulge Karina was relentlessly pushing against. Each passionate word she spoke seemed to erode the forbidden wall between them, leaving only the clothing that separated one act from a far more meaningful one.

“Are you allowed to do this at least?” Karina asked, urging his hands to climb higher. The bumps of her ribcage meandered against his palms as Jae let his little blonde lead.

With a deep breath and the disbelief of her father, Karina quickly covered each of her breasts with his hands. They sat motionless but for the swelling of her lungs while the two contemplated the touch.

“Not,” Jae said sternly.

But he didn’t move his hands. Even when Karina removed hers to put them behind her back and slowly stick out her chest into her father’s grasp, his touch remained. Karina breathed sweetly with relief.

“Mnhhhh…” he heard her utter, “I can’t imagine why, it’s only touching… who says we can’t do that?

Absurd logic… and he knew it, but his hands were already there, and Jae had been longing to feel his daughter’s beautiful breasts since Karina had first developed them. God, they were amazing… his fingers carefully sought to detail them fully. Each mound sat proudly in his cradling grasp, more than filling it out and quivering when he massaged them.

Karina moaned without pretense. She felt her dad’s palms rub the fabric of her bra against her nipples. They screamed with sensation, and she reveled at the position in her father’s lap she’d achieved. The teen smiled widely as she saw how much her father enjoyed playing with her. His approval was all she ever wanted.

"I think you might like them better without my top on, Daddy,” she cooed sweetly.

Allowing her instincts to act on her behalf, Karina reached around and swiftly untied her bikini from behind before her father could even consider stopping her. Nobody had ever seen or touched her without a top, and as she felt the tension release from its grasp, the beautiful teen was ecstatic that the first would be her father.

He surprised her. He recognized that feeling up his teenage daughter was hardly different with or without her clothes on, so he helped her pull the bikini up and over her head smoothly.

Her breasts barely drooped, sitting up proudly and youthfully as only an eighteen-year-old can. Never, not on her mother or any of the other women before her, had he ever seen a more beautiful chest.

“So… do you like them better this way, Daddy? Or should I put my top back on because we’re not allowed?”

“Hmmm… I’m not sure yet, I’ll feel them and decide.

Karina grinned at her cheeky dad, raising her eyebrows and glancing down to ask him what he was waiting for.

His palms returned, and this time the pretty blonde whimpered louder at the direct contact to her nipples. The way he touched her… how he massaged and then gently took each nub in between his fingers with a deliberate squeeze… Her whole body seized briefly, throwing her head back and its shower of golden hair with it. As he pinched her, Jae allowed the two of them to press together firmly at the hips… two intense points of contact and an ocean of expectation between.

"Much better this way, sweetie. This feels good, I’m guessing?” He asked, gently pinching and tugging at her again.

Karina rewarded him with multiple, wonderful gyrations of her hips, “uh huh, I like it better this way too.” She let him touch her for a few more seconds, watching his eyes roam her body as she thought about where they might be headed.

“Daddy…” she whispered, bringing her eyes back to his, “show me what else my photos make you want… please… anything.”

Her eyes welled with desperation and desire. She was hardly old enough to know all that could come of an attraction as strong as theirs, but Jae wondered if he wasn’t willing to show her 'anything’ and everything.

“Karina… baby… do you know what you’re doing to me?”

She knew. She nodded almost immediately, pressing into him and telling her father she needed his guidance.

“I think so, daddy,” she cooed, reaching down between them and running her fingers over his jeans in just the right spot, “but what are you going to do to me?”

Jae had nothing left. No guilt or apprehension, no fear of taking advantage of his little girl. He drank her in one last time, observed the readied look of confidence she was trying so hard to maintain, and made his decision.

“Well, first we better get you out of these,” he said, reluctantly leaving her breasts to the cool air, and placing both thumbs beneath the tiny waistband of the remaining piece of her bikini.

“Mnnnhh…that’s what you want? That’s naughty, don’t you think, Daddy?” she said, teasing him but giving no sign of resistance as she felt her dad press his thumbs into the sensitive and soft skin just below the top of her panties.

Jae lay her backward onto the couch, and the two of them worked together to get Karina fully naked. She wiggled back and forth, helping her father tug the last tiny black piece of modesty down her long, slender legs.

When it was done, the teenager watched her appearance stun her dad for a few seconds. What he did see, between his daughter’s legs, was the prettiest, tiniest pussy he could imagine. The prize he’d uncovered was just the peek of her lips and the pink hue of that soft, shaven skin between her smooth thighs.

“Karina, honey…” he started, causing her to wait for his every word. You just keep getting more beautiful.“

Again, a jolt of excitement wracked her body as she heard her own father comment directly on a place he was certainly forbidden to admire. And if that wasn’t bad enough, what he also saw there was that his naughty little girl was quite visibly shiny and wet all around her perfect, teenage mound.

"Daddy, it’s not fair. You got me totally naked, and you’re still wearing all your clothes.”

She was right, it wasn’t fair.

“Shit, sorry sweetheart, do you want to help me out of mine then?”

Karina nodded enthusiastically and sat back up on the couch. Her dad easily removed his shirt, and while he did, his daughter was at his belt. She saw the way his pants were swelling along the path of what was within, but she’d never seen one up close. How big could it be? It was so long, almost to his waistband.

She took an extra few seconds to navigate the unfamiliar territory of his belt buckle and button, but when she had it, she pulled his pants apart eagerly.

When the two of them finally tugged at the waistband of both his pants and underwear, Karina got a view of what she’d been waiting for. Her father had seen her most intimately, and now what he’d been holding back sprang out from his pants and bobbed fatefully in front of her.

Karina gasped, marveling at his size and wondering what in God’s name he was planning to do with such a big cock.

“Daddy, oh my god… I’ve never seen one before… they can’t all be this big, right?”

“No, I guess not, sweetie. And that’s a very nice compliment to tell a man by the way.”

“What? That my daddy’s penis huge?” Karina tried to keep a straight face, but her feigned innocence broke out into a grin as she acknowledged how naughty her words were.

“Can I please touch it? I don’t even think it will fit in my hands!”

Jae gave her the same look she’d given him before, indicating for her to proceed.

It was his turn to groan this time, for Karina wasted little time encircling fingers around him with both hands. She was right; he looked bigger than ever in her sweet little grasp. Karina looked up at her father as she took hold of him, smiling at the obvious pleasure she was causing.

Her father was so hard and so aroused that his cock was throbbing, and the fact was not lost on the young teen. In her learning hands, she felt his shaft swell, and a clear liquid emitted from the very tip. She quickly touched it with her thumb, rubbing it around his already glossy head, not knowing just how sensitive and intense that would feel to him.

His head rolled around, catching a glimpse of the photos scattered haphazardly about. Jae would never be able to recount perfectly how he’d gone from the forbidden and unspoken dreams they inspired to that moment. But as his daughter spoke her curious words and explored him excitedly, he knew he could never regret what was about to happen.

“What’s this, Daddy? I can feel your cock pulsing in my hands… and it’s leaking out at the tip!”

“Unhghhh… honey… that’s pre-cum, and it only happens when your dad is really… turned on.”

Karina seemed to like that answer, and she repaid him by slowly working her two hands back and forth on his shaft.

“Does that mean I’m doing a good job, Dad? Or should I stop because we’re not allowed?”

The little tease! Her father could see the smirk on her face, and he wanted her all the more because of it. He loved everything about his little girl - her wit, rebelliousness, charm… and today he’d been given a chance to love her physically as well. He wasn’t about to waste it.

“No, it’s okay, Karina, I won’t stop you.”

Again, she was quite satisfied with her effect on him. The blonde’s hands worked more steadily over his wide member, and precum eked continuously from him. His naked little girl was doing a much better job than he’d expected to pleasure her father, and she’d been touching him for mere seconds.

Like she so commonly did, Karina took her dad by surprise, craning forward when he’d shut his eyes and keeping her hands on him while she added a new sensation to her stroking. The warm, wet embrace of his daughter’s lips and the shocking lap of her tongue encircled his tip without warning.

Jae looked down at his offspring, and she kept staring up at him the whole time. She sucked at her daddy’s head; showing him she meant to discover what the clear liquid that had been there tasted like.

He couldn’t take more than a few seconds of that. Unlike any other girl he’d been with in his life, his beautiful 18-year-old had him seemingly seconds from orgasm, and she’d only just begun.

Jae reached down to stop her, “ugh… fuck… wait sweetie… you have to stop,” he said, pushing her back and stilling her hands. Karina watched as her father breathed hastily and closed his eyes. She’d never seen a man so overcome like that.

“Daddy… were you going to cum because of me?”

Still, her father only breathed and managed to look at her.

“You were, weren’t you? It would have been okay, Daddy, I wouldn’t have minded, even if you did it on me.”

A few seconds more and he would have - all over her. The way she was perched, Jae could just imagine white streaks of his semen painting her masterpiece of a body. But with no holds barred, Jae had a much better plan.

“Yes, Karina, looking at you the way I have been, and then how you touched me… you almost made me cum right on those beautiful tits of yours.”

Karina looked down and bit her lip, obviously thinking she’d like that very much.

“I want to take my time with you, sweetie. I want to spend hours showing you every way I know to have sex… and I will…but…”

He had her attention; she stayed perched and waiting for him to go on.

“But right no,w Karina, I want to do the thing we’re definitely not allowed to do.”

Karina blushed as he called her by that name he reserved only for the most special occasions, and it seemed he had saved it for the most significant one. She looked at his erect cock, how it stood there waiting for what would come next and considered what he’d just proposed.

'The thing they were definitely not allowed to do… oh god,’ she thought with a shiver. She’d never entered such territory before, but somehow every part of her was begging to.

“You want to fuck me… now daddy?”

They stared at each other while Jae worked up the gall to admit such incestuous desires to his own daughter.

“I do, baby, but only if you want me to.”

Karina let the moment linger, pondering everything and nothing simultaneously. She knew there was no way she would stop them now, but this was perhaps the most significant moment of her life, and it felt that way.

She nodded, slowly but surely.

“I want you to fuck me too…”

Jae put his finger beneath her chin and pulled her up to kiss him. For the first time, they joined in a kiss that would precede the forbidden act they were both desperately awaiting. Once again, Karina felt passion in that kiss she’d never known possible. Her tongue and his acted as though entwined both genetically and enduringly. When they broke, Karina’s worries were being cradled away, similar to how her father lovingly lowered her to the couch beneath him.

His eyes roamed over her entire body, from her alluring blonde hair, to her youthful breasts, to her long, little legs rubbing together with her feet fidgeting nervously below.

“Daddy, I’m a virgin… You know that, right?”

“Another wonderful thing for a father to hear…” Jae smiled, “Does that make you worried about having sex with me, sweetie?”

“No, I know you’ll be good to me… It’s just…” Karina looked down, widening her eyes as she fixed on her target.

Her father caught her meaning and knew that, however ready she was for him, her tiny frame was still going to need to adjust to having him inside her, and that might cause her pain.

“I know it looks bi,g sweetie.”

“Big!” Karina retorted, “It looks like you could split me in half!”

She was only half-joking, but both Jae and his daughter chuckled once more.

“Do you really think it will fit?” she asked nervously.

Jae eyed her understandingly, “I know you’re my little girl, but your pussy is made to stretch just enough sweetie,” he reassured, “and I made you, so I’m betting we’ll fit together very well Karina.”

She smiled, tickled at the thought. Soon, something ever so close to her opening was tickling her, or rather tapping her impatiently.

Karina shook with surprise. To feel her father’s penis touch her so close… only a little closer and she might have thought it incest. 'Oh my God…we’re doing this…’ she thought.

As he came closer to her, Karina and her father felt his cock lay against her abdomen. Seeing it like that, swollen and throbbing with his heartbeat, Karina’s body quaked at the thought of what it was going to feel like. His cock looked even bigger when she considered that the distance it traveled up her belly button would be about how far it would be inside of her. She couldn’t help finding it appreciative with her hand.

“But there’s one other thing, Daddy…” Karina began; her hand seemed to be feeling her daddy’s cock, searching for something, “you aren’t wearing a condom.”

Oh… yeah… There was that.

“Honey… I haven’t needed those since not long after we had you… So I don’t have any.”

“Well, neither do I, you’re about to be my first, remember?”

“It’s okay, Karina, we can have sex without one, you’re mother told me a while ago she was going to put you on birth control. You are now right?”

“Mnhh… daddy, that’s not fair…” she chastised him as he taunted her with further pressure of his shaft against her tiny mound, “I am on the pill, but my health teacher said you should always use a condom.”

Jae drove against her again, and felt his member wetted as he slid against his daughter’s readied pussy.

“That’s very good that you always practice safe sex, Karina, but I’m your father, so having sex with me is far safer than with boys you don’t know.”

“Are you just saying that because you want to fuck me so bad daddy?”

“No, I’m just saying this ONE exception would be okay. You can have sex with me without a condom, but only with me.”

He knew that rule was ridiculous, but so was the fact that Jae was reasoning with his daughter, rubbing steadily between her soaked little lips. He’d taken hold of his cock and was playing closer and closer to her entrance. A few times, even Karina realized just how near her daddy was to taking a slightly different angle and penetrating her.

Her father’s 'exception’ was a bit self-serving, and Karina knew it. She looked doubtfully at him, making Jae worried she might want them to stop. The writhing teenager furrowed her brow as she tried to keep her wits about her with the stimulation her dad was causing below.

“I’ll stop in a heartbeat if you want me to,” he prodded, waiting a few torturous seconds for his daughter to decide.

“No, don’t stop, Daddy. It’s okay; you don’t need to use a condom.”

Jae sighed in relief as Karina lifted her hips up just enough to let her father know she was ready for him. From the teasing and grinding they were doing, she and her father glistened with clear streaks across their skin. The eighteen-year-old could once again see pre-ejaculate gathered copiously at his tip, thereafter watching it directed expertly against her opening, right where her father wanted it.

“Honey, you know I love you, right? You can call this whole thing off right no,w and it wouldn’t be incest.”

The forbidden word made her shiver with excitement. It was sweet of him to give her every opportunity to be in control of what they committed, but Karina held her father’s gaze, knowing how important her next words were.

“I love you, too, Daddy. I’m ready for you.”

With her permission, Jae watched her face closely, took a deep breath, and inserted his tip past Karina’s taut pink entrance. He felt how incredibly wet she was as it slowly spread her apart. With only the tip, his baby was making plenty of noise.

“Oh god, dad…mnghhh… I can’t believe this… uhhhkeep going…”

Still he pushed forth, and Jae’s bare cock entered his young virgin’s pussy definitively for the first time. Karina turned her head and howled against the cushion, continuing to do so as her daddy gave her another inch. Past the tip, he was wider, and those few inches were just about to push inside her.

“Fuck daddy… wait…OhGoDDdd… It’s so big…”

Jae could only watch his baby cope with the first cock she’d ever felt, but he was able to be eternally grateful that it was his own.

“It won’t fit, Daddy… it won’t! It’s too big.” She grimaced and grasped at nothing on the couch when he pushed a little further.

“Shhh… relax Karina… don’t squeeze too much, it’s already halfway in.”

“Really? Ohmygod, I can’t believe you’re fucking me…ohshitt… are you sure it’s going to fit, it hurts daddy?!”

“I know it does, Karina, but I promise it will disappear. Here I’ll take it out and we can try again.”

Jae began to withdraw, but his daughter quickly reached down and grabbed the base of his cock…

“No, don’t, Daddy; I’m ready to keep trying. I want to be able to take it all… I’m made for you like you said, right?”

He loved her so deeply just then, and as Jae allowed his daughter to urge him deeper, he wondered how he could ever love someone more than her after this day.

Karina struggled and whimpered. It took a few tries to get it in, but at last her daddy came to rest inside a panting and moaning young blonde with his pelvis right against the soft mound of her pussy.

“OHHHhhhmygod… it’s so freaking deep dad…Oh, Ohfuck… is it in?”

“It is sweetie; you did such a good job.”

Jae allowed his baby to catch her breath while he simply savored the feeling of her perfect tunnel hugging him so tightly it consumed him.

“You’re so tiny and tight Karina…ohhgod… your daddy’s cock has never felt this good with anyone before sweetie.”

Karina was finally able to open her eyes all the way again and really look at her dad while he was lodged into her, as far as he could go.

“You’re really inside me, daddy… and you took my virginity…”

Jae nodded gratefully. He couldn’t help his cock swelling as he considered the reality of being his own daughter’s first.

“I’m so glad we did what we’re not allowed to dad… even if you’re fucking me without a condom” she teased.

“I guess I’m not exactly fucking you yet sweetie, this would be more like fucking you.”

He withdrew a few inches and gently slid them back in. Karina cried out, but he could see how hard she was trying to be strong for her father. He knew if he just helped her adjust a little more, he could have her moaning and bucking and begging him not to stop.

“Fuckdaddy… unhh it hurts, but it’s feeling better. Why couldn’t your cock be a little smaller?”

Jae smiled and reached around to grab her backside as he began urging into her consistently. Her perfect little asscheek conformed to his hand as he squeezed it - yet another newfound asset he looked forward to enjoying thoroughly.

Karina took a decent amount of time before her father saw the pain of adjusting to her first cock begin to melt away. It was replaced by a fire in her eyes, a desperation that said she wasn’t sure what sex was all about but wanted so badly for her daddy to teach her.

“Ohjeez…God it feels good daddy…unhhh… it’s so far inside me, I feel like you’re filling me all the way up.”

The way she talked to him, that sweet voice speaking words of incest and lust… it was doing things inside Jae’s brain he’d never encountered before. He felt his daughter’s body against him and could sense, simply from the touch of her skin, all of the features he’d been admiring for years. He kissed her, surprising her with the contact but quickly leading to a full-on make-out session while they came together at the hips.

“Oh sweetie… ughh… I’m the luckiest dad in the world… god, you feel so good.”

Like she was made for it, Karina widened her legs little by little, and her father fucked her more thoroughly. Remembering the first time he was atop her, thrusting away with her legs spread apart and her cries of “daddy” filling the room around them, was a memory that could get him hard in an instant for many years to come.

But for now, as his little girl wrapped her legs around him and took his thrusts so well it made him proud, Karina and her father got utterly lost in each other. Kissing… breathing…groping… they let everything in their lives fall away but for each other - locked together in an incestuous coupling that seemed to conquer all.

And in that coupling, with Jae’s hips thudding against his daughter in breast-shaking and powerful motions, both of them forgot themselves.

With little warning, Jae felt the unstoppable sensation of a shockwave coming from deep within him. He was beyond thinking of changing course. Karina, too, hadn’t even considered that there was still some ability to be safer, even if her daddy wasn’t wearing a condom.

“Oh God, your dad’s gonna… oh Karina…” Jae breathed as his hips connected with her over and over. He felt the teenager’s feet gently urging him from behind - her whole body was clasping around him and begging him to continue. He rolled his hips just right, sliding inside Karina’s pussy while pressuring her clit as well.

“Daddy… I feel…unhhh… light-headed…ohmygod… keep fucking me like that.”

There was no accounting for time when Karina’s father might have chosen to pull out of her and perhaps spray his load across her bare, beautiful abdomen. Instead of that, he felt it well up from within and shoot directly inside her before he even knew what hit him.

Karina, pleasured into the next universe as she was, didn’t realize what was happening until a bolt of warmth filled her even more deeply than she’d felt the very tip of her father’s cock. He had buried into her and something more copious than the pre-cum was spurting out into her teenage pussy.

“Daddy… oh my god… I can feel…oh…oh… fuck daddYYEEE…” She wasn’t prepared for it. She wasn’t ready for any of it, and the quickly escalating climax that Karina had been feeling was suddenly upon her right as she thought a second spray of her father’s sperm inside her.

Jae bucked as he and his little girl clutched each other tightly. She was digging her nails into his back and her pussy seemed to spasm in rhythm with the spurting of semen from his tip. Her cries and the way she needed him so badly were beyond Jae’s ability to describe or comprehend.

They hadn’t discussed whether it would be okay for Karina’s father to unleash a load of life-giving sperm inside her, let alone one so plentiful it could only be meant for his eighteen-year-old daughter. Karina felt her father swell considerably with each pump of his spunk.

After their clamoring and moaning against each other’s lips, the two were silent but for periodic gasps and whimpers. At the same time, they experienced their first orgasm together and then recovered from it. The build-up had been short, but neither Karina nor her father could imagine waiting any longer for the release, which had found them perfectly in sync.

“Daddy, that was… that was…” but even the rambunctious blonde was short on words.

Karina had tried to speak before her breath returned to her.

When it did, she managed to ask, “Is THAT what my pictures made you want to do to me?”

Jae laughed aloud, wincing as the shake made his cock adjust slightly, still buried in his daughter’s pussy.

“To be honest, sweetie, that’s just the start. And it wasn’t your pictures, baby, it was you.”

Karina’s eyes widened, and she broke out a beautiful smile, which he was relieved to see given the circumstances.

“You didn’t say you were going to cum in my pussy daddy…”

“I know, sweetheart… You just felt so good, I didn’t realize I was doing it until…”

“Shh…” Karina stopped him with a finger to his lips, “it’s okay, when I felt your sperm in me it made me cum so hard too daddy… I liked it.”

Karina pecked her father on the lips before continuing to praise him,

“God, I never thought… I didn’t know I could cum like that… it was much different than when I… you know… masturbate.” the teenager admitted.

Jae found it adorable that she would be bashful in the absurd and forbidden situation for which they were both very much responsible.

“I’m glad you liked it baby, because I don’t think I’ve ever cum so hard either, your pussy is perfect, Karina.”

“I think you came… like… a lot, daddy. I can feel it everywhere in me.”

The two of them looked down where Jae was still sunk into his daughter’s pussy. Ever so slightly, her abdomen was mounded along the path of her dad inside her, and they both focused on how incredible it was to feel the very sperm that had made her, along with the cock it came from, now definitively within her eighteen-year-old quim.

“Can I look, Daddy? Will you take it out?”

Not wanting to comply, but also hoping to see his excited daughter appeased, Jae slowly withdrew his cock from her. It seemed to take forever to slide out, but when it did Karina’s young pussy attempted immediately to return to its original tightness.

As Karina’s lips pursed back together, they saw the result of their lovemaking peeking out. Where at first, it was just a bead of thick white; soon an entire glob of semen was emitted, joined quickly by a second flowing from right from Karina’s tiny quim.

“Oh… my… god. Daddy, is that all your sperm?”

“Yes, sweetie, looks like I’ve made quite a mess of you, huh?”

Seeing that look of pure wonder in his daughter’s eyes while she watched his spunk drip out, Jae wondered when he’d wake up from the dream that had been that afternoon with Karina.

The only thing to stop it was a quick motion of her dad, who planted his tip safely below and let the cum coat him as it leaked from his daughter.

“Those could all be my brothers and sisters… technically… right, Daddy? If I didn’t start taking birth control on Monday.”

The naughty little thing, she was rubbing it in…wait…"WHAT?“

"What daddy, I asked if your cum is technically my brothers and sis…”

“No, the other thing, what did you say about your birth control?”

“Oh, that it’s a good thing I started taking birth control on Monday, although I don’t think mom knew when we went to the doctor that I’d be getting it for you!”

Karina saw an alarm in his eyes.

“What is it, Daddy?”

“Karina, I know you always say that I don’t know enough about girl-problems, but…”

He looked down at the cum-coated opening of his daughter’s pussy, at her glistening body and the little smile that she still couldn’t seem to shake, and reluctantly told her the truth.

“Sweetie, birth control takes a few weeks to start working. Didn’t they tell you that when you were there with your mother?”

“Well, yes, maybe, but I was mad at her dragging me there because of ONE boy who she thought I was hooking up with. I wasn’t really listening very closely because I thought it was stupid.”

The reality set in. Karina had been on birth control for a total of two days - far from enough to be having unprotected sex AND taking such a copious infusion as what he’d given her. So he’d just filled his own daughter with an incredible amount of sperm, and the only safe assumption was that she was entirely vulnerable to becoming pregnant.

Karina looked worried… “I didn’t know daddy… I’m sorry… ohgod, and I’m right in the riskiest part of my cycle, I think.”

“Hey hey hey,” Jae quickly consoled her, not wanting to let her go into a panic, “don’t worry at all, sweetie, there are a lot of things we can do. Remember, it’s much safer to have sex with me… because I will always take care of you.”

“You promise… I just… they tell you all these horror stories about getting pregnant and stuff…”

Jae had to chuckle: “I remember those videos—they’re probably still showing you kids the same ones from when I went to school.”

Karina seemed to be looking for something more comforting than that.

“How many of those videos talked about girls having sex with their fathers? Huh?”

Of course they didn’t, and Karina squinted speculatively at him.

“None of them, I guess…”

“Exactly, so let me take care of you then, okay, honey, just trust me?”

Karina smiled, “I do trust you, Daddy.”

This whole time, Jae had noticed his cock’s refusal to soften. As soon as his daughter’s vulnerability entered the mix, he stiffened.

Karina noticed too. “Does your cock stay hard like that for long daddy?”

She reached down to it, feeling its sticky coating on her fingers as they wrapped around his shaft.

“It usually doesn’t do this, baby, it just means I’m still aroused and I still want to have sex with you…”

The revelation stunned her. She was now filled with the incestuous and incredibly risky sperm of her father, and he seemed ready to repeat the very act that could lead to her becoming pregnant with the child of her own father.

“But we can't… not again… right, daddy?”

Jae seemed to consider this seriously. For starters, he had only taken his baby girl in one ofthe many positions he intended to show her for her first time. Secondly, he’d so rarely had the opportunity to go again immediately, and the hard cock she now held in her hand seemed to be daring him to.

“Actually, sweetie, I’m not sure it would be any riskier than what we’ve already done…”

Karina didn’t seem to follow.

“I think we can both agree that all of this,” he motioned, wiggling his tip around the teen’s entrance and disturbing the pool of cum that had settled there, “is about as big as our risk is going to get.”

Again, that puppy-dog look of expectation that she wore so well flashed across her face.

“So… you’d fuck me again even though you know you could get me pregnant?”

“In a heartbeat,” Jae admitted proudly.

“Oh God… that would be naughty, Dad… bad of us.”

But Karina seemed to be simply talking to herself. She continued holding onto her father’s shaft like a comforting toy she needed to hold to feel safe. She stroked it instinctively while her father watched the wheels turning in her head.

“Would you cum inside me again too daddy?”

“I could… if you wanted me to.”

“Unhhh…” Karina cooed. He hadn’t even touched her, but the teen’s body quivered nonetheless. “Oh God… I can’t believe I’m considering this…”

Karina sat up to meet her father and lingered close before kissing him. Somehow, magically between them, Karina had managed to get ahead of her father, and as their tongues met each other’s, Jae’s cum-slathered tip found his daughter’s opening once more.

He leaned back on the chair, letting Karina follow and allowing her to guide just how far inside her she would allow his cock on this second round. Feeling what a sticky mess it was between them, both Karina and her daddy were immensely turned on by the copious remainder of Jae’s orgasm, easing the insertion into her. Again, her 18-year-old pussy resisted him, but an eager Karina was not deterred.

Having his daughter in his lap like this was much better than before when she was still wearing her swimsuit. Instead of moving up and down innocently as she had been, now every movement urged her father’s penis further into her impossibly tight body.

She seemed content to lift a few inches and fall back into her father’s embrace, squeezing her breasts against him each time. Jae allowed her to do exactly as she pleased, and he took the opportunity to explore her body with his hands once more.

Unhhh…dad… I love when you touch me like that…" she moaned.

Jae pawed at her like an animal, his fingers gripping all over her back, at her sides, her hips and resting finally with a handful each of her butt. He spread her cheeks gently as he gripped her.

“Karina…honey… will you do something for me?” Jae hissed.

“Of course, daddy,” she said, slowing her movements and looking into his eyes, “anything.”

“How you were moving your hips before when you were posing for me… could you…unghh… could you do that now?”

Karina thought for a second and then broke out into a gleeful smirk. She nodded, knowing exactly what he wanted.

Jae felt her bottom half begin a different routine. It started as a tiny circle that she drew around the cock that was planted firmly at its center. Then she repeated it, widening the arc and realizing that if she moved just right, she could let her daddy slide in and out of her with each rotation.

Holding her like that, Jae felt his daughter move in a completely unreasonable way; he should be forbidden. To experience it fully, Jae leaned back on the couch and directed his daughter to continue her efforts atop him.

His eyes ravaged her. He watched the entrancing motion of her hips, feeling each sensitive withdrawal and insertion back into Karina’s dripping pussy. He heard the slick, subtle sound of their junction and the incestuous fluids that were combining there. His daughter’s presence enveloped him.

“Like this, Daddy? Unghh fuck… is this what you wanted?”

“That’s exactly what I meant, baby…mnphhh… you’re doing it perfectly.”

Jae mentally noted just how majestic his daughter looked in that position while he watched her for another moment. He tried to experience each sense individually: her moans, the embrace of her young tunnel, the sight of her abdomen flexing with the effort of each gyration.

Karina put her hands on her father’s chest, leaning in to kiss him, but not failing to lift her hips up and down while she did. He moaned into her mouth, and she into his until they broke the kiss, and Karina looked intently at him as she tried to keep her hips moving.

The sight of his daughter’s tits squeezed together by her arms and thrust toward him warranted only one response. He leaned in and kissed around each nipple before taking one at a time into his mouth and sucking on them, or nibbling - whichever he preferred. Karina had no idea just how pleasurable that could be.

In a matter of seconds, Jae felt his daughter’s hips begin bucking a bit wildly. He took hold of them, knowing from the glisten of sweat on her forehead that she might weaken before the full brunt of her orgasm could consume her. With daddy’s help, that wouldn’t happen.

He lifted Karina’s backside for her while still doing his best to keep one of her nipples between his lips. His teenage daughter howled, even attempting to retreat, but he held her tight and refused to stop fucking her until she begged him.

“Daddy…ohfuck… wait… I can't… I can’t brea…unhhhh please daddy please!”

She tried to sit up on her knees as she spasmed, making it harder to thrust fully into her, but he managed. Incredibly, Jae felt wetness dripping from his daughter’s already drenched pussy as he bucked into her, knowing more stimulation would make her orgasm all the more intense.

He wore a proud smile as his little girl came for the second time, feeling her lose control of her body as she cried out and her pussy clamped almost painfully down on him. Karina was the most dangerously beautiful thing he’d ever seen in that never-ending orgasm. When it finally released its hold on her, she slumped down, panting for air and quivering uncontrollably. Jae received her in loving arms.

When she recovered enough, Karina put her palms on her father’s strong chest, feeling his muscles beneath them as she propped herself up and shook back her messy, blonde hair.

“Okay… holy crap dad…”

Jae chuckled at the first words she’d managed in minutes.

“I couldn’t breathe, and you kept holding me and fucking me and then… I think I might have blacked out, Daddy!” She hit him on the chest like it was all his fault. Perhaps it was.

“Maybe that’s all true, but something tells me you kinda liked it… at least a little bit?” he queried.

Karina growled, hitting him with a closed fist on the chest again before cracking a frustrated smile.

“Urghh… yes, I liked it, but you’re still mean.”

Karina curled to look down between them. Her little pelvis was pushed to the base of her daddy’s cock as she rested in his lap. She could see its incredible width spreading her open, and their connection was now further coated with her fluids.

“God, daddy, I’m so wet. Is sex always so messy?” she asked in a way that only an eighteen-year-old daughter could.

“Usually it’s only like this when two people are incredibly aroused, sweetie, but I’m sure that my swimmers from earlier aren’t helping.”

“Speaking of which, daddy… I thought you said you were going to cum inside me again?”

Jae’s brain buzzed to hear her so casually mention that.

“I will, sweetie, I just wasn’t ready yet.”

“Oh, you want to fuck your daughter some more?” Karina asked, moving her hips around ever so slightly to tease him, “Haven’t you had enough of me yet?”

“Not even close, baby, I have lots more things to show you.”

Karina bounced with youthful excitement, and despite the temptation to let her continue doing that, Jae quickly lifted him and his baby off the couch. The beautiful blonde squealed as he picked her up like it was nothing. Ohhh… and the way he managed to keep his big cock deep inside her the whole time… Karina’s body shivered at the feeling.

Jae had never had sex in such a position, nor standing in the middle of the family room. Mostly, he’d never been with such a small, pretty young thing that he could easily maneuver against him. Karina squealed again as her dad manhandled her expertly and she felt his penis sliding in and out of her.

“Mnhhh… daddy… you’re so strong,” she flattered him. He pulled her close for a tangled kiss and humped into her a few more times before moving her to the floor.

“How about you show me that pose like you were before, sweetie?”

“Which one, Daddy - on my back, or my knees?”

“Knees,” Jae stated assuredly.

“Mnhh… okay, Karina said, finally feeling her daddy’s cock pulling out of her. When it was fully revealed, a little 'puff’ of air followed, exhibiting just how tight Jae’s little girl was.

"What’s this called again, Daddy?” Karina asked as got ready once again for her handsome father to fuck her in a new position.

“It’s called doggy honey.”

She giggled. Karina knew what it was called, but couldn’t help baiting her father, “So I’m your little doggy daddy? Arf arf!”

Jae rolled his eyes - hearing that coupled with the way she was swaying her upturned ass was yet another scene he couldn’t have imagined if he tried. Karina felt her dad slowly spread her legs as he knelt between them. His hands came down in a clap on her cheeks, and the eighteen-year-old whimpered as he massaged her, spreading her little lips a few times in the process.

“Are you gonna put it back in me?” She baited him, “Your little puppy is waiting for your BIG cock to be inside her daddy.”

Karina tried to go on to make another mocking little bark, but her dad managed to turn it into a howl as he lined up with her puffy little pussy and sunk a few inches into her first. Amazingly, Karina helped him by leaning back into his thrust and meeting his pelvis with the soft cushion of her young, pert ass.

“Unhhhh… fuck… daddy it feels really big this way… jeez… did your cock grow even bigger?”

“No sweetie, your body is just a little…mphhhh… more tense this way. Try to relax.”

“It’s okay, it still feels good…ooohh arf arf… don’t worry,” Karina joked.

Jae wasn’t worried. He knew that, like every other moment with Karina, the two of them were a perfect fit. Well, her teenage pussy definitely took some convincing, but with each thrust into her from behind, Jae became more convinced that he’d brought her into this world for the very purpose they were now playing out together.

He reached forward and took one of Karina’s breasts in his hand. As they established a rhythm, Karina could see why her dad wanted her in this position. She felt vulnerable and on display for him. He had complete control of her body and all she could do was stay upright and accept his incredible cock.

He groped her needily, and Karina rewarded him with the cries that were clear, beautiful melodies to her father. The young blonde hardly even realized it until she felt her dad helping her all the way to the floor, so that her nude little body joined the carpet, tickling her skin.

Jae pushed his daughter’s legs together so she was a long, slender line on the carpet, and he straddled her with his cock still inserted in the perfect little cleft between her legs. She was softer, more accepting of his thrusts, and he could see her breasts spreading out to the sides of her body each time he came down atop her with an audible smack.

“Ohfuck daddy… this is …mnhhh… this is incredible.”

A twinge of guilt prodded him as Jae held his little girl in place, but something about her helpless little form, moaning and writhing as he impaled her from above, was incredibly arousing. He grabbed her hands and pulled them around behind her back, restraining her further.

Karina was surprised at him. It wasn’t like her father to control her like this, but that was likely the reason she could feel her body singing with pleasure. Her youthful quim leaked even more as her daddy dominated her, relentlessly sliding his cock into the small opening left between her locked thighs.

Fucking his little girl in such a way brought Jae closer than he’d planned to orgasm in no time. He finally let go of her, just when Karina and her father were both starting to feel that now-familiar buzz of sensation in their outermost extremities. He slowed his thrusts to a halt, and then reluctantly slid out of her perfect little pussy.

Jae rolled his beautiful daughter over beneath him, and marveled at the flushed smile she bore, stretching out beneath him - naked as the day she was born.

“Well, that was interesting, Daddy…you liked holding me down, didn’t you?”

“I did, baby, you were so sexy I couldn’t help myself. I didn’t go too far, did I?”

Karina reached out for her father’s cock one more time, holding it and shaking her head no as she gripped him appreciatively.

“No, it was really hot Dad… you almost made me cum again!”

“Me too, sweetie,” he admitted, “just a little more and I would have, but I wanted to look at your pretty face when I did.”

Karina blushed, curling up and bathing in the gaze of her loving father above her.

“How about you show me that one other naughty position, and I’ll fill up that naughty little pussy of yours with all of your brothers and sisters, like last time.”

“I can’t wait, Daddy…” Karina breathed, gracefully maneuvering a leg to either side of her father. When she spoke again, she was already lifting her hips up off the ground for her daddy like she had in her bathing suit. “I’m all yours.”

This time, her wet little pussy was pointing right at him, and Jae wasted little time sitting up on his knees and wrapping his hands around his daughter’s suspended hips. This was the very position he’d imagined joining her in before, and as his tip wavered over her warm little pussy, he was immeasurably glad to play out his fantasy.

Karina and her father both breathed in sharply as he slid into her 18-year-old pussy again. He supported his baby as she held herself up, causing her back to arch and her entrance to form the perfect angle with his invading cock. With such a display of her breathtaking, sprawled beauty, Jae knew he would not last long.

Karina flexed her body as best she could, letting her father once again build up a good tempo until he was fucking her hard enough to shake her firm breasts mightily with each sway of her body.

She was just too incredible. He thrust into her, and in all too short a time, the familiar sensation of losing control returned..

“Sweetie, I might cum soon… you’re too much for your dad.”

“Good daddy…unghhh… I’m really close too…”

He felt her doing her best to move her acrobatic hips along with his.

“Mnhh… fuck… my pussy’s all ready for your sperm daddy…”

Another thrust landed, and with it the perilous proximity of Jae’s orgasm, approaching all the faster as his daughter’s words encouraged him.

“Right in the risky part of my cycle,” she continued. “Oh God, it’s so big…mnhh… and I guess I’m not really on birth control either… unhhhh… am I daddy?”

“You’re a naughty little girl Karina…fuck honey… it almost sounds like you want me to get you pregnant…”

The two of them were fucking each other with reckless abandon - Karina’s hips rotating as best she could, and Jae greeting her again and again with forceful, and appropriate thrusts.

“Mnhhh you already could have gotten me pregnant the first time daddy… ughh fuck your penis is so big… there’s no harm in trying again, right?”

She knew that wasn’t exactly what he’d said, but it didn’t matter. Karina could see from the look on his face that they would, in fact, 'try’ again very soon.

“That’s it, daddy…” she managed. She’d been focusing so much on making her father cum, that she hardly realized the spider web of electricity slowly overtaking her body.

“Cum in your little girl daddy…mhhh… shoot all your sticky sperm in my pussy… I want you to!”

Jae grunted loudly, shoving so deeply into his daughter that she felt him reach a point where he could go no further. She waited, her body begging for the swell of his cock and then…

Karina felt her father’s already massive member grow inside of her before it bathed her cervix with a stream of life-giving semen. Karina simply couldn’t bear how wonderful and forbidden it was to feel the stuff that made her eighteen years earlier filling her own pussy.

She toppled with her father, seeing the desperate look in his eyes as he fought to keep up, bucking until she came with him. As his cock spurted again inside his baby, Jae got his wish.

The two of them were perfectly synchronous. Each time Karina’s tunnel clenched down on her father, it coaxed another gush of semen into her. They worked together to keep the teenager’s hips aloft as her father mashed against her, throbbing as deeply inside her as he could.

Always a voracious little one, Karina tried rotating her hips around the way she had when posing for her daddy before. Only this time, with his pumping member inside of her, and it was sensitive as hell. Jae managed to stay upright, but only just. His daughter’s incredible bottom worked out another few generous ropes of his cum as it gyrated around him.

Accidentally, Karina moved just a bit too ambitiously and her daddy’s cock found its way out of her. To her delight, it had just a little more white gunk to reward her with, which squirted oh-so-beautifully across her perfect mound and the smooth skin just below her belly button. Karina liked seeing it on her - a warm and welcome depiction of the much more abundant amount inside.

“It’s dripping…” she whined.

Karina couldn’t see quite as well as her father, but she could feel it. As he regained himself, Jae watched his fateful load gleaming at Karina’s swollen entrance. Laid is back the way she was; his daughter is doing a better job of keeping it all inside her, but Jae helps her out by covering the exit once again with his tip.

“There,” he said, “now you just have to stay like that forever and all my cum will stay inside of you.” Jae couldn’t help thinking he would be fine with that.

“Not all of it,” Karina said, looking at the little mishap of spunk that hadn’t made it inside her. To her father’s utter disbelief, she ran two fingers through the streaks and brought their coated tips into her mouth.

“I knew it would taste good.” She said, delighted with herself and the look on her dad’s face.

Jae finally collapsed, landing with a thud at his daughter’s side and rolling her toward him.

They simply stared for a while, one searching the other for signs of how they were thinking and feeling. Before she went crazy, Karina spoke up.

“What are you thinking?” She asked her father.

It was a question he’d heard many a time, but it was rarely one he had a good answer for. This time, though, he didn’t even have to consider it.

“I was just thinking that I don’t know what I’ll do now that I’ve had you.”

“What do you mean, Daddy?” she prodded inquisitively.

“I mean that I just know there won’t be anyone I love so much for… well, forever.”

Karina beamed. She nuzzled against her father like his little puppy and swam in the loveliness of his words. The warmth of her daddy’s orgasm slowly seeping down across the back of her thigh was replaced by the utter passion of his loving embrace.

“I know I’m only eighteen, but I don’t want you to love anyone else like that, daddy…” Karina said bashfully. I want us to be together. Is that okay?“

God, she was so beautiful, inside and out. "Of course that’s 'okay,’ sweetie. I told you I’d always take care of you. But I won’t get in the way of you finding someone who loves you, to have babies with, and all that.”

“That’s not fair, Daddy, you said you won’t find anyone else, but I have to?”

“No… I guess not… no that’s not what I meant…” There she was again, quicker than he by a long shot.

“Besides… I’m pretty sure that I might have already found someone to have babies with…” she implied, seeing her dad taken aback, “he just took my virginity and came in my pussy TWO times when he knew I could get pregnant.”

“Now you’re not being fair, I didn’t know the first time!” Jae rebutted.

Karina gave him a hard look, holding it and making him worry for a second. Then she cracked, feeling guilty and not wanting to give her father too much grief.

“I know you didn’t daddy, but you still fucked me again didn’t you?”

“I guess I did, and I’d do it again 1,000 times,” Jae told her decisively.

“Only 1,000 times? I’m only 18, Daddy, and now that I’m not a virgin anymore, I’m going to need you to 'take care of me’ a lot, I think.”

Karina squirmed in her father’s arms. Feeling her naked little body against his, Jae had little doubt he would be able to keep up with his daughter’s demands.

“And I think you’ll have to keep filling me up with your sperm, daddy, my orgasms were SO intense when you did.”

“Who’s the naughty one now, huh?” Jae chided.

“We both are,” Karina answered.

She and her father fell silent until the magnetism of their passion for each other brought them together. They kissed and touched in ways that made Jae feel as youthful as his beautiful daughter.

Thoughts of what came next for them hadn’t entered either of their minds yet. After an hour of lying together and talking quietly about everything and nothing, the two admitted defeat to the necessity of cleaning themselves up before anyone else could get home.

Karina yelped as sticky cum that had pooled between her legs trickled down one of them. That sight, of his naked little girl dripping with the utterly exposing remnants of their unprotected sex, was one he hoped to replicate again and again.

There was so much in store for them, more than likely some difficulty if they really wanted to be together, but the satisfied prance of Karina and the loving admiration with which he followed her, was all the two of them needed in that moment.

“I have another shoot a week from now,” Karina announced at the dinner table, only an hour or two after she and her father had showered together and reluctantly ended their day of temptation, lust, and lines crossed.

“That’s great, honey, where at?” Asked her mom, sounding disinterested.

“It’s on the beach, and it’s for five days to ensure good weather! It’ll be like a little vacation.” Karina said excitedly.

“Well, your dad will have to take you then, because I’m far too busy with work right now.”

“I know, Mom. Dad and I talked about it, and he will take care of me on my shoots now.”

“Sure, that’s fine with me. Are you sure you’re okay with that, Jae?” his wife asked.

Karina smiled widely, but the naughtiness in her eyes was only for him. If only they knew that the little blonde was sitting there with her daddy’s cum swimming about inside her…

“Yeah, I’m fine with it. Somebody needs to be there to make sure our daughter is safe.”

His words stunned Karina. But then… mom couldn’t know that their version of 'safe’ was daddy filling her eighteen-year-old pussy with potent sperm and full awareness of the risk. He only glanced at her briefly to assert his meaning, but Karina caught it, and the warmth he’d deposited within her seemed to return.

“The good news is, Daddy, we’ll have multiple days off to explore together.”

She looked directly at him, but his clever little daughter seemed as good at this as he was.

“And maybe get up to some trouble?” Jae continued the banter in front of his unsuspecting wife and son.

“I don’t like the sound of that at all.” His wife stated, but he knew she couldn’t possibly understand all the trouble he was imagining with Karina.

“I do,” said Karina, her words only for her father.

[ninhaoma-ya]

What a nice excercise, thank you @elodieunderglass! It was really fun to think about my top five policies and why I like them so much - and this doesn't even include the strong public transport (Trains! Bussees! Ferries!), the accessible voting system (automatic voter listing, ease of voting!) or the taxes (they are pre-filled - you just check them!).

But, without further ado, my top five policies for Sweden are.....

1. Free higher education

Education in Sweden is free, on all levels. There are a handful of exceptions, and a huge fuck-up in this is the "friskolor" system which makes some elementary schools incredibly popular due to them having a) the ability to say "no" to more expensive students (those in need of accommodations) and thus able to provide more resources for their students while the public schools are legally obliged to accept everyone - but both types of schools still get the same public funding per student; and b) them sometimes having some sort of specialization, like language or sport. But education is still free, on all levels.

And my point here is about higher education in particular. Because attending university doesn't cost you a penny. (This applies for EU-citizens and people from the EEA, since the same rules have to apply to all people from this region, and university education in Sweden is free.)

For me: I didn't have to worry about taking loans, which was a huge relief during my studies.

For society: Everyone has an opportunity to study that doesn't hang on if they can pay tens of thousands of SEK or not (on top of living costs, which are high in this here country, especially in university cities). You don't have to 'know' academia to get in, you just need the grades. And of course, it promotes economic mobility and equal opportunity; education is seen as a right, not a privilege; and even (paying) international students benefit from the strong academic infrastructure.

2. CSN

The Swedish Board of Student Finance (Centrala studiestödsnämnden, CSN) administers funds for upper secondary school students (16-20), a study grant ("studiestöd") for higher education, 'start your studies'-grants for unemployed who want to get their upper secondary school certificate, 'reeducate yourself' grants for already educated and employed people, and so on. It's partly grants (free money) and partly loans (with very good rates etc.). This does hamper your moneymaking during your studies, since your CSN depends on your other income during the year.

For me: I didn't have to work during my studies to pay for food or rent, but could survive on internships in the summer (while filling up my CV and getting a foot on the employment ladder).

For society: You get students who can focus on their studies, without having to either worry about work during the study terms or depending on their parents. Or, if you are a parent, it allows you to both focus on studies and feeding your child. Or if you are older, you can still get it until you are 56. And, like free education, it allows people of all ages and backgrounds to pursue education without financial barriers and plays a key role in lifelong learning and social mobility.

3. Universal healthcare

You might have to wait a while if you're not actively dying, but you won't get bankrupt if you get a cancer diagnosis or MS or any other long-term, extremely expensive cellular fuck-up. There is a small copay for visits to the health care centre if you have daily ailments, but you won't debate if you can afford to call the ambulance or not.

For me: I can be sure of seeing a GP if I get an ear infection, or a specialist if I get weird pains in my spine (although I might have to wait a while). And I have gone there both when I was feeling a bit peaky (ear infection, again) and when I cut my hand so badly it needed stitches.

For society: Less stress, you don't depend on employer-funded insurance (enabling job mobility if your employer sucks), and it covers everyone, regardless of income, emlpoyment status, age or health history. There are no premiums or deductibles and there is actually an annual out-of-pocket cap to protect people from financial strain. Sweden also ranks high on health metrics in general, so we must do something right with regards to infant mortality or life expectancy or cancer survival rates.

4. Alcohol monopoly (Systembolaget)

Not to everyones taste, but this is one of the best state monopoly policies.

You can buy weak beer in stores, but Systembolaget manages stronger stuff, wines, and spirits. Since Sweden is a relatively small country (10 million people), Systembolaget actually ends up as a globally quite significant player, which creates economies of scale. And Systembolaget's purpose is to reduce alcohol-related harm, not to make a profit. Ergo, cheap wine! Of course not the 3€/bottle you can find in the wine-making areas of Germany or France, but for nicer wines the price point is comparable, and for really nice wines it might even be cheaper since Systemet buys in bulk from the producer and doesn't want to make a profit. And you can ask them to order most anything for you! And their employees are amazingly knowledgeable and can -and will- help you when you go there with questions like "I have three different types of cake, which prosecco will be the best complement to them all?" and "Do you have that gin I remember seeing on the ferry? I think it was pink and there was a flamingo on the label?"

For me: I can go to my closest Systembolaget shop (a few hundred metres away) and be sure they have something good to suggest for most things I can think of whipping up, no matter if my tastes go to beer, wine, cocktails, or alcohol free stuff. And if I don't happen to drink all the bottles of wine I buy, I can return the unopened ones.

For society: Unlike private alcohol retailers, Systembolaget has no profit motive and staff are trained not to encourage purchases or upsell. Age controls are also strictly enforced. This leads to Sweden having lower rates of alcohol-related illnesses, accidents and deaths compared to countries with privatised alcohol markets. Uniform pricing and nationwide access also mean people in rural areas can buy the same quality and variety of alcohol as people in cities, and it is said to prevent concentration of liquor stores in low-income neighborhoods (unlike in some other countries).

5. Allemansrätten

Last but absolutely not least, is my favourite thing of all time: Allemansrätten. This is the legal right to roam freely (walking, biking, skiing, or swimming) in the countryside, forests, and natural areas - with respect. You can pick berries and mushrooms all over the place, as long as you don't see someone else's house, and you can pitch a tent wherever you want (again, as long as you don't see someone else's house). It applies across most of Sweden, including privately owned forests and land, as long as you're not disturbing or damaging anything.

For me: I can just wander off into the wilderness (usually along well maintained walking tracks) and enjoy nature. And if the season is right, I can pick some blueberries or mushrooms, which is rather neat (and completely incomprehensible to my German friends. What do you mean you can just fish here? Isn't that someone's lake? Are we really allowed to go through this forest?).

For society: Allemansrätten encourages outdoor activity and environmental stewardship, and supports mental health and public health access (studies show that spending time in nature is good for your health). It also encourages hiking, skiing, swimming in lakes, outdoor education, and childhood exploration. By being in direct contact with nature from a young age, Swedes often develop deep environmental respect and literacy which may support broader public support for climate and conservation policies. Moreover, Allemansrätten makes nature available to everyone, regardless of class, background or where you live.

Once again, thank you @elodieunderglass, this was a delight to write up!

Hi! As someone who grew up in (I think?) New England and now lives in the UK, is living outside the US all it's made out to be? I know you moved a while ago and didn't go to "escape the US", but I imagine you can offer some insight. I'm sorry to be projecting some envy on to you, but the life you describe seems so lovely and livable. Your neighbors, your chickens, your gardens--it seems like you have some actual community. I (probably incorrectly) picture you living in the stereotypical British cottage that all of the British chicken-keeping companies seem to use to advertise their products. When I picture life in Europe, I picture the small fragments of life that we get from you and other bloggers, like the one with the escapist pet llama in France. I know that the UK has plenty of problems, and that we are only seeing slivers of your actual life, but do you think there's a different sense of community and livability over there that we don't have here? New England is also so standoffish that it might just be negatively skewing my perception of the US, too. Thanks for your thoughts, if you want to give them!

I’m sorry it took so long to reply!

I'm going to write a personal response about the impact of material conditions on parenting, because I think that's the most useful response and outcome. However, this response will be missing a lot of the political framing that it ought to have. I believe that describing the policies and infrastructure that the UK has, and how they impact on myself, explains a lot about how I am able to parent, what my life looks like, and in turn how that impacts a society. I think it is useful to outline SPECIFIC POLICIES and show what they do, because understanding specific material changes is a necessary part of any shift, let alone revolution. So this is not about escaping anywhere, or anywhere being better than anywhere else; it's about frameworks that I use which are (essentially) nonexistent in the USA, and how they contribute to a liveable society. It might seem like "why does a question about your life sounding nice, with chickens, start with 'maternity leave'?" but... this is the answer.

1. Parental Leave In the UK, parental leave is a minimum 6 months. After the first 6 weeks of full pay, the government pays you a very small stipend every week (currently £188/week) plus a very small child benefit. Some jobs offer better-paid leave as a benefit. You accrue your fully paid vacation time (6+ weeks) while on leave, and therefore most people use it at the end of their leave to pad it out. Parental leave can usually be split between parents. A perfectly normal thing is for a mother to take the first 6 months, then hand the baby to Dad for his three months off with it. Impacts of parental leave on my personal life: - I had time and space to adjust to being a parent. - I was able to pay my bills while not working. - Our children went to nursery (daycare) when they were over the age of 1. - I was able to return to work in the exact same job, back into the benefits of working (which, for me, include intellectual exercise and making a positive impact on the world.) Impacts of parental leave on society: - "it takes a village to raise a child" - well, here's the bloody village. - You spend time attentively raising a baby, in a stage of life where that returns a lot of dividends. - You have a year to make "parenting friends," forming networks and not being isolated. Everyone else with a baby the same age is doing exactly the same thing too. - Babies grow up in social circles with friends pre-installed. - Parents develop support networks. - "Toddler group" culture is normalised. On parental leave you are supported to build and structure a social life. - There is daily foot traffic and people moving around towns during the day, because Not Everyone is At Work. Some number of mothers are in coffee shops with babies every day of the week. Some number of parents are always drifting through libraries on a Thursday morning. In any town there will be adults in their 30s engaging with local resources, shops, events, classes, museums, culture, and friendships during the weekday - because they are having a year off with their baby. This is hard to articulate, but has huge knock-on effects. - after all, things like shops and museums and libraries are expected to be Always Open (staffed by workers) but workers are also expected to be Always Working (at places that are open) so when are working people going to use these resources? - people can be friendly and know the people in their community if they have had some time, space and reason to meet them.

Culture of part-time working In the UK it's very normal for kids to have two working parents, with one - or both - parents working part-time. That's what my husband and I do. Impacts of part-time working on my family: - My partner and I each spend one day a week with our nursery-age child while the other two are in school, allowing us to have a relationship with the youngest that isn't a constant four-way tug-of-war. - We meet our friends in a regular, routine heartbeat of connection, social expression, and support. It is extremely good to see your good friends once a week, and maintaining friendships over years is extremely good for you. - it's very good for the kids. not only do they have a lot of parental attention (which improves behaviour, teaches them skills, makes them good citizens, etc) but they see their own best friends all the time, building their own relationships and connecting THEM to the networks of "village." - we have adults during the week who can do things like go to the bank, pick up prescriptions, or do other capacity-balancing things within work hours. - we can collect our schoolchildren from school and they don't need afterschool care 2 days out of 5, saving money and letting us see our kids. - working part time means that we need to take less time off work over school half-terms and holidays. Impacts of part time working on society: - more working adults are available during the week to do things like the PTA, local committees, local volunteering, local mutual aid, local classes and groups. More working adults can do things like walk their dogs, have allotments, and take their kids swimming. Working adults can run toddler groups for new parents, who then return to work part-time, to come and help run the toddler group. - I feel like this is obvious, but if you want a society with amenities, then you have to staff and use the amenities. - If you don't have part-time workers, you're relying on retired and nonworking people to run your communities during the week - and they do a brilliant job! - but a balanced society should have people of different ages and abilities working together. - again, you have people in coffee shops in the week; you have people USING things and DOING things in the week. - you are NOT forcing one parent into Permanent Babycarer Role and one parent into Permanent Worker Role! This is threaded through all of these points, but you do NOT have to set up a permanent Stay At Home Parent / Working Parent dynamic when your society offers infrastructure for flexibility and supportive policies.

More Holiday (and different school holidays) Okay, so you're a working parent in the USA. You get 2 weeks of vacation time a year... and your kids are off school for 10-12 weeks of summer. how do you work and also raise your kids? well, usually through some unholy feats of juggling, expensive summer camps, and relying HEAVILY on family. This isn't sensible or necessary. (It's also incredibly hard on American teachers.) but it DOES mean that parents are in a vulnerable state in America. In many American families, the three-month childcare gap in summer makes it really hard for women in particular to work, widening inequality. In the UK, workers usually have 6 weeks of holiday. School summer holidays are only 6 weeks long. There are lots of other holidays - every six weeks, kids get a week off for Half Term - but with two parents and a culture of part-time working, you can just about cover it every year, and still have a bit of vacation time for yourself, Christmas, and travel. What this means for my family: - We can have three kids and two nearly-full-time jobs. - We see a reasonable amount of our children. What this means for society: - you've possibly picked up on the recurring theme that the USA requires a Designated Parent to be removed from the workforce/society and turned into a permanent caretaker, because otherwise the family couldn't manage the admin. The knock-on effects (resentful caretaker, resentful breadwinner, stressed out children, family with less economic/emotional resilience, caretaker expected to do all domestic chores and admin, breadwinner expected to exhaust themselves to provide resources, children do not interact/engage with breadwinner) form the backbone of the American family unit, which is not a great (or default) way of actually raising kids. - another huge expectation in America is that Family and the Church will step in to provide this missing material support - i.e. church summer camps. or grandparents taking the kids. Which - what do you do if you're not Christian? if you're estranged? if you're queer? if you moved away from the small town where that would have worked? if your parents are harmful or unsafe? again, policy changes and infrastructure are making family life workable.

Better Nursery Options (and nursery support) The UK has some of the worst nursery options and highest bills in Europe, I think? (citation needed) but it's still cheaper and higher-quality than the USA. My mother in the USA is always ranting about "don't you want to raise your OWN children?" and "they will be harmed by their carers, or made to watch TV!" but on the contrary - I LIKE my kids having multiple caretakers and a qualified professional care team. they are NOT watching TV. their nursery staff take them to do LOVELY THINGS and I can work an ENTIRE DAY without being CLIMBED ON. There is SOME financial support available for sending kids to nursery. From the age of 3, or younger if the parents are low-income, kids receive 30 hours a week free childcare from the government. (in practice they've just changed this and it isn't as great as it sounds but it's a slight savings). What this meant for my family: - I could afford three kids. And they are EXACTLY three years apart (lol). this means that as each child turned 3 and got cheaper childcare, the next one started, so we were never paying 2x nursery bills. - This allowed us to have children, a nice number and a nice age gap, who would therefore grow up together as a nice sibling set, but we could afford it and afford their childcare. - this literally shaped my family. size, age gap, and choices. everything about their dynamics, their relationships, and their future as siblings was shaped by this random scrap of policy. What this means for society: - EVEN STAY-AT-HOME MOTHERS IN BRITAIN SEND THEIR THREE-YEAR-OLD KIDS TO NURSERY. - EVEN CHILDMINDERS (people who run in-home childcare facilities alongside raising their own kids) PUT THEIR KIDS IN OTHER NURSERIES! - that's right - stay-at-home mothers DESERVE breaks. it's an EXHAUSTING job, with no recharge time or holiday, and tremendous pressure to be perfect all the time. - it is so, so normal to use nursery. it's not a bad choice, or a place to "park" your children, or something Bad Parents do, or something you Must Become A Stay At Home Parent to Avoid Using. there are no terrors of satanists or people being hurt or kids being locked in closets, as many Americans do worry about. having help with childcare is just a wider village, a care team, another aspect of your kids' lives. - seriously, if you speak to American parents on the internet, it isn't just a financial thing - daycare is perceived as being BAD for children, something a good mom should break herself to avoid using. - in the UK it's... nursery. Kids go to nursery. you pick the days. they go and pick daisies. - it's okay to have a break from parenting and being Touched all the time. - it's very good for kids to start making friends and having other carers.

Decent schooling In England, free public schooling starts at aged 4. children wear uniforms from age 4. hot meals are about £3 a day and are free for the first few years. there are no metal detectors or shootings. kids learn phonics, cursive, maths, tech, cooking, art, sports, etc. at a reasonable standard, not dependent on local property taxes - okay, so, background: in the USA schools budgets are state-set, but are ALSO often linked to local property taxes and local funding pots. so schools in "poor" areas generally have less resources, while schools in areas with nice houses and Good School Districts have a completely different experience. In some USA schools, teachers have to use food banks and buy pencils for their own students. It's all pretty wild and inconsistent. This is somewhat true in the UK (better schools tend to be in 'better' areas) but the funding is more consistently given and there is a national-level monitoring and regulation program. (it isn't left up to 50 insane separate states who all want to strip school budgets and cut their funding to do this according to Personal Vibes.) this means that you can just... send your kids to school. they learn things. and then come home. It's fine. you can just send your kids to school. everyone else is too. Many communities are walkable, and "driving kids to school" is not the default. Kids are expected to become independent earlier, and society is expected to be safer. at the age of 11 they usually walk to school with their friends. What this means for my family: - my kids are pleasant, the older two can read, they have opportunities and are supported. I don't feel like school is damaging them. On the contrary. - it isn't on me as (Femme Parent) to be their entire cultural and intellectual education. they're exposed to diverse viewpoints, people, and teachers. their mental landscapes are broader and more resilient than if it had just been me. - (I was homeschooled, you see.) What this means for society: - children are mildly educated. - children are fairly safe when they're Away From You. - teachers are a reasonable profession that's normal to go into. and teachers live fairly normal lives. - social inequality is reduced through equity introduced in education. - educational opportunities are more consistent and less stratified. - children can safely get out of family homes (and parents can work).

walkable communities, but you got that.

public transport, but you know about that.

socialised healthcare, but you get that. As a result of all these things, raising a family is materially different in the UK, with effects that knock on throughout. With one or two tweaks - now you have present and engaged fathers. Now women can be working parents without breaking themselves in half. Now babies make friends they'll keep their whole lives. Now you CAN be distant from toxic family because you don't need family support to raise kids. But all of those things could be put into policy. They are not something British people invented. ANY SOCIETY THAT LAYS THINGS OUT COULD ACHIEVE THIS. And I think that's worth saying and laying out. Livable communities can be made livable with livable infrastructure. infrastructure is something we can make.

[cheeseatlantic]

KNOTS AND GRACE

It started the same way most things did for Simon: silently.

No declarations. No dramatic moment of revelation. Just a lingering glance in the low hum of early morning, the way your shoulders curled in on yourself like tired wings, the deep sigh you exhaled as you stared at your own reflection with dread.

You didn’t say it out loud, but Simon could feel it. How the strands of your hair—once lively and part of your expression—now hung like a weight. Too much to manage. Too much everything.

He watched you tie it back with a trembling hand, loose and lopsided, then abandon the brush entirely when your fingers snagged in a tangle near the nape. The irritation in your eyes made his chest ache. Not because you were angry—but because he could tell you’d been doing it for weeks. Too tired, too overstimulated, too worn down to untangle one more thing.

You didn’t ask for help.

You never did.

But that didn’t stop him.

⸻

He bought the wig online.

A perfect match—length, texture, density. The same subtle wave, the same specific sheen of your real hair. It had taken hours of scrolling and three different sample orders, but eventually, Simon found it.

He didn’t tell you. Not when he signed for the box and quietly slipped it into his office, not when he pulled it out that first night and stared at it like it might grow fangs.

It felt ridiculous at first.

He’d cleaned weapons with his eyes closed. Assembled rifles blindfolded. But this?

A wig. A brush. A comb with teeth so fine it made him squint.

This was intimate. And fragile. Terrifying in ways combat never touched.

But you were worth it.

⸻

He watched YouTube videos in the dark.

Hours of tutorials whispered through his headphones while you slept beside him, limbs heavy with exhaustion. Women and men and animated hands showing how to detangle without ripping strands, how to deep-condition and twist hair for sleeping, how to style with care.

He paused. Rewatched. Practiced with gloves first—then without.

He started simple: washing the wig in the sink with the recommended shampoo. Rinsing gently. Letting it drip dry like something sacred. The first time he brushed it wet, he almost cried when a clump came out.

“Too rough,” he muttered to himself, adjusting his grip.

The next time, he took it slower.

Eventually, it became a ritual.

⸻

Some nights, you’d find him staying up late with a notebook in his lap, scribbling what looked like tactical planning—except the scribbles were sketches of braid patterns and product names underlined twice.

“Work stuff,” he grunted if you asked.

But you knew something was different.

He smelled faintly like argan oil. There were towels missing from the bathroom. And once, you found a tiny butterfly clip in his shirt pocket.

Still, you didn’t push.

Simon would tell you when he was ready.

⸻

The first time he touched your hair with intention, it was gentle.

You’d had a hard day—he could tell before you even walked through the door. Your jaw was tight, your voice low, your hands twitching as you peeled off your coat and sank onto the couch like a puppet with its strings cut.

He didn’t ask what was wrong. He just moved behind you quietly, sat on the arm of the couch, and murmured, “C’mere, love.”

You blinked up at him, eyes already glassy.

He nodded once, opening his hand.

It held a wide-tooth comb.

“I practiced,” he said, voice rough.

And you melted.

⸻

He started slow. One section at a time. Hands firm but careful, tugging gently to detangle, using the exact oil you always ran out of.

You didn’t speak—not because you didn’t want to, but because your throat tightened up the moment his fingers slid through your hair.

He knew how to part it. How to twist without pulling. How to ease out knots with a patience that made your chest ache.

“How long’ve you been doing this?” you whispered.

Simon didn’t answer right away. His breath was steady, his focus deep.

“Long enough,” he said at last. “Just didn’t want to do it wrong.”

Your lip trembled.

He pressed a kiss to your temple without pausing his work.

“I wanted to make it easy for you.”

⸻

After that, it became part of your rhythm.

He washed your hair in the kitchen sink, draped you in towels, and massaged your scalp like he was unraveling tension with his bare hands. He air-dried it with care, fanned it out across your shoulders while he braided or twisted it with methodical grace.

Sometimes, you’d fall asleep like that, half-draped over his legs while he worked in silence. His fingers always steady. His attention never straying.

He never said much when he did it.

Didn’t need to.

Because this was the language Simon Riley spoke best: quiet hands, careful preparation, devotion stitched into the smallest of routines.

⸻

One night, you caught him mid-process.

Not with your hair—but with the wig.

He was hunched at his desk in his office, shirtless, the back of his neck damp with sweat as he twisted section after section under the dim light. His hands were slick with leave-in conditioner, his brow furrowed in quiet concentration.

You didn’t mean to interrupt.

But when you stepped in, he didn’t startle.

He just looked up.

Held your gaze.

And said, “Didn’t want to forget how to do it right.”

The wig sat on a stand. Nearly identical to your own head of hair—except this one wore a loose, intricate braid.

Your throat closed up.

“Simon…”

He set the comb down gently, stood, and stepped close.

“I wanted to be good at it,” he said, voice hoarse. “You shouldn’t have to do it yourself when you’re too tired to hold your arms up.”

You blinked hard. The wig. The research. The oils he’d restocked without asking.

“You learned all this for me?”

He tilted his head. “Of course I did.”

And that was it.

No big speech. No theatrics.

Just Simon, standing in the soft light, love slick on his palms and patience carved into every callus.

⸻

He became your stylist after that.

Not professionally. Not loudly.

But intimately.

He brushed your hair before bed. Wrapped it in silk. Untangled it after long days without complaint. You started to leave your products out on purpose, just to see if he’d notice when something ran low.

He always did.

He even kept a tiny drawer organized by your hair type in the bathroom now—deep conditioners, scalp oils, leave-ins, brushes marked for wet or dry.

Simon Riley: war machine, tactician, lieutenant… and the only man you’d ever trust with your scalp.

And god—he was good at it.

Better than you’d ever dared to be with your own hair.

Because where you rushed, he lingered. Where you winced, he soothed. Where you’d given up?

He learned.

⸻

One morning, you woke up tangled in his arms, hair still wrapped tight and perfect in a protective scarf.

You hadn’t put it on.

He had.

Your heart cracked open a little wider in your chest.

You turned, pressed your face into his throat, and whispered, “You take care of me.”

Simon didn’t open his eyes. Just pulled you closer.

“Always, love.”

⸻

In public, no one knew.

But your hair always looked effortlessly done. Styled. Clean. Braided neatly, edges touched with care.

People complimented you.

You just smiled and said thank you.

You never told them your husband spent nights studying curl patterns or secretly whispered affirmations under his breath as he twisted sections to perfection.

You never told them he kept a small folder labeled “hair refs” on his encrypted hard drive—right next to blueprints for field operations.

You didn’t have to.

Because every brushstroke, every soft rinse, every quiet hand pulling through your curls spoke for him.

A silent language.

Of devotion.

Of protection.

Of love that never asked for recognition.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

tl;dr: how do i become ok with my partner using porn? do i have to become ok with it?

detail/context: i am in a LDR. im demisexual, my partner is allosexual.

i thought i was ok with porn use at first, but about a year into the relationship i realized it bothers me a lot. i feel like im not enough, and i really dont know how i could ever be better than the limitless amount of content on the internet. it felt especially bad after my partner mentioned that they would probably continue to use porn even when we close the distance and live together. i tried my best to make peace with it, but found myself crying like 3x the usual amount, so i talked to my partner about. i already felt guilty, because i told them i dont care about porn use before, and now i suddenly was not cool with it. i felt like i was deceiving them. but my partner was very understanding and said they will stop using porn because they care more about me than any of that. which is great and very sweet of them! its been a few months and they told me that while they miss porn somewhat, its not really a big deal.

except now, several months later, i keep feeling like im taking something from them. i feel im being unreasonable and abusive and selfish. like, all the other progressive people are totally cool with it. so why is it so hard for me? what the fuck do i do.

some other relevant bits: i dont look at porn myself bc it generally speaking does nothing for me. me and my partner still masturbate, mostly to each other's nudes. i told them i dont care if the fantasize about whatever they want, but in their words, they cant really masturbate without some sort of visual input. they have some rather extreme kinks they dont want to involve me in even in imagination, so thats what they mostly used porn for, and also the main thing that makes me feel like im taking something away from them.

hi anon,

god okay there's a lot of meat on this question, let's do this.

first thing's first, because this is important: this is not abusive behavior. stop that. asking your partner to stop doing something that makes you feel stressed and upset is not what abuse it. that's called "being a human person with feelings and wants" and it's not illegal.

okay, so, second: do you need to be okay with your partner using porn? I mean, no. you don't have to be okay with anything, technically. your boundaries can be whatever you want them to be. but given the distress you're still feeling even though your partner has fully acquiesced to the thing you asked for and, frankly, sounds pretty fine with it, there's clearly some lingering dissatisfaction on your end. you wouldn't be here if the situation was as simple as "asked my partner not to use porn anymore, they don't, all is well, thumbs up emoji."

so that brings us to your first question, which is how you, sweet anon, can learn to be okay with this. I'm going to tell you straight up: I don't have a singular hard answer to that. I don't know you, I don't know your brain and the specific emotional baggage you bring to this, everyone is different, etc etc. but like. let's talk about it.

here's the thing: me personally, I don't understand why people are bothered by their partners enjoying porn. like, I get it in theory, especially when it's a situation where you're describing where you feel you're being negatively compared. and don't get me wrong, I've definitely worked with some people with real shithead partners who explicitly WERE comparing them to actors in porn, saying they wished they looked more like the actors, etc. and that absolutely is uncool, we do not condone.

but in general, to me, it kind of feels like this: suppose you're a cook, right? you're a great cook, you love to do it. and nothing makes you happier than making a big delicious meal for you and your beloved partner to share together. and they like eating your food! of course they do! you prepare it with love and you know all of their favorite things.

they're still going to want oreos sometimes.

and that's not a slight on you. it's not that you're cooking is worse than oreos. it's not that you're failing to make them happy and there's a gaping hole in their soul that only an oreo can fill. it's not that they're sitting with you at the dining table eating your delicious homemade meals thinking "goddamn, I wish this was just a plate full of oreos." it's just that, you know, oreos are yummy and sometimes they really hit the spot. you can like two things without either of those things negating or diminishing the other.

and I'm, like, absolutely not under the impression that a dinky oreos metaphor is going to totally change how you feel about this. I want to be so clear that I don't think you're being, like, heinous or unreasonable or anything. you're feeling a very real distress, and I have to imagine that it's exacerbated by the fact that you and your partner are long distance and you might feel like you're failing to show up for them in a lot of ways, including sexually. that's a very normal reason to feel insecure! a lot of people do! long distance relationships seem really hard! and I think realistically the only way through this discomfort, if you do want to go through the discomfort, is to really zero in on what's making you feel uncomfortable and insecure about your partner jacking it to something other than you, and honestly talk them about the areas where you're feeling like something may be lacking and find ways to mutually reassure each other that everything's cool. you know, get that reassurance that they do in fact love and enjoy your delicious meals and that the oreos don't negate that.

lastly, and I cannot emphasize this enough, it's fine if your partner watching porn never feels super comfortable for you. you're allowed to ask your partner not to do things! if they really hate it they need to say something about it! idk it can be very admirable to want to change your view on things but also most people have some stuff that's just always going to feel like a boundary they don't want to compromise and that's Fine.

[revelboo]

Hi! Hope you’re feeling better! If you’re feeling up to it could you write some comfort/care for us chronically ill baddies? (I’d love to see predaking, first aid, or tailgate and cyclonus) but any bot of you’re choosing would be cute.

Sure! I tend to be almost perpetually sick- my own fault. I spooked after my old, chill doc retired and the new one wanted to start investigating why my white blood cell counts are consistently either too high or too low and haven’t been to an actual doctor since around 2019 lol (I’m a coward)

Care

Predaking

• Venting affectionately as you just groan at him and pull a pillow over your head when he tries to nudge you awake, he gives in and drags you back into his frame. Freezing as he registers that you’re warmer than normal. Again. Servos sliding against your neck and forehead, before pressing his head against the back of yours. How can you be constantly sick? Even with his nanites fighting a losing battle with your human immune system as you’d called it. “You should just let me bond you,” he growls and you make a soft sound that might be a laugh.

• It’s sweet that he keeps offering, but you don’t have the energy to explain that you want him to bond you because he loves you, not just because he’s trying to ‘fix’ you. It’s silly, but you need the words. And maybe Cybertronians don’t even do ‘I love you.’ You honestly know very little about your giant boyfriend. Except that despite his fierce appearance, he’s so gentle and kind with you. That his laughter is surprisingly loud when you do something he doesn’t expect. That even if the other Decepticons treat him like a dumb animal, he’s perceptive, intelligent, and even almost poetic at times.

• “I’m fine,” you mumble, relaxing into him as your soft fingers find and intertwine with his servos. And Megatron can get over it, because he’s not leaving you when you don’t feel well. Always insisting you’re fine even when you’re not. Resting his chin on top of your head, he vents softly to stir your hair.

• “You know I worry for you, little one,” he growls, shifting to brush his mouth against your jaw and neck. Making you feel loved. Eyes pricking, you’re tempted to just say it. To be vulnerable and let him know you love him. Even if the words mean nothing to him, even if he doesn’t say them back. “You’re my everything. I can’t lose you.”

• And you roll over in his arms, hiding your face against the mesh of his neck as you cuddle into his frame. Sliding a palm up your spine, he swallows a growl. Cares so much for you, would kill for you. But knows he’s not human. That maybe you can’t ever accept him fully because he’s alien. Feeling your breath on him, a thigh sliding against his own, he forces himself to relax. Almost doesn’t hear you softly whisper that you love him against his mesh. Going still, spark aching as his palm splays against your spine. “Say it again,” he growls, the words a plea. Needs to hear you say it again. Feels you huff against him, but you repeat yourself as his arms curl around you until you squirm, complaining that he’s crushing you. “I love you too, little one.”

[horny-marbles]

Hey babe can I pretttttyy please request some Ben Drowned my queen my diva literally anything smut ;) or fluff is amazing with me if not it’s totally fine much loveee <3

bro i have so much shit with ben in my notes app from a few months ago when i was fixated on him it's not even funny. headsup that i hc him as a chill ass stoner with piercings because hot! 🤓☝🏻 kissiesss enjoy <33

(also can you tell i like the word molasses lmfao)

Wetware (BEN Drowned x F!Reader)

CW: drug use and sex under the influence, oral (f receiving), face sitting and rimming, light nipple play on ben, riding, creampie

summary: you and your weed bud get bored of smoking and lounging and decide to try something new.

wordcount 5.2k + a little bonus (epilogue?) at the end because i heart ben fr

Ben’s room is a black hole of time. You’ve gotten lost in it more times than you can count—somewhere between a third bowl and the fourth replay of whatever pixelated horror game playthrough he was hyperfixated on that week. There’s no clock in here. No windows, either, not really—just blackout curtains held up with thumbtacks and stubbornness. It could be 3AM or noon, it doesn't matter.

You’re sinking into Ben’s mattress like it’s got a personal vendetta against spinal support, the springs threatening to divorce the fabric entirely every time you shift. It’s not gross, not really—just lived in. The pillows are criminally soft, like they’ve been through a hundred late-night existential crises and held strong. The air smells like weed ghosts, synthetic berry vape, and Ocean Breeze air freshener that expired in spirit if not in can. It’s too warm, too humid, your skin already buzzing under your clothes—but it's comforting. Familiar. Kinda gross actually. Whatever.

This is where you always end up. When the world gets loud, when your head’s heavier than your spine can carry, when you both decide—without words—that it’s a “fuck everything” kind of night. No better place to waste time than this little cocoon of LED hell and lava lamp glory. Neon signs blink overhead in god-awful Comic Sans. One says “NO THOUGHTS, JUST VIBES.” The other one is just a glowing PNG of Shrek’s face, flickering like it's high with you. He swears they're ironic, but you don't really believe him.

Ben’s across from you on the bed, one leg draped lazy over the side, arms behind his head like he owns the place—which, okay, he does, but it’s more about how he owns it. Effortless. Messy. Cocky in a way that never tips into annoying. His eyes catch the LED glow like they were made for it—red pinprick pupils in oceans of black, alien and warm all at once. That shaggy ass hair always in his face, and he never fixes it. You don’t think he’s looked in a mirror on purpose in years.

You’ve been his smoke buddy since forever. It just happened. One shared joint on the porch after a rowdy party in the mansion you both bailed on early, and suddenly you were always crashing here. Sometimes in the same bed, sometimes on the floor. No weirdness. No expectations. Just easy passes of the blunt and lazy banter between coughs.

But tonight’s different.

You’re both cross-legged, facing each other like it’s a summit meeting, except instead of discussing treaties, you’re cradling two little capsules in the sweaty curve of your palms.

Molly. Because weed’s gotten too safe, too expected. Too routine. You needed something new. Something soft-edged and alive under the skin. And Ben just shrugged and said, “Sure,” like you’d asked if he wanted Taco Bell instead of McDonald’s.

He rolls his capsule between his fingers. His nail polish is chipping, some see-through black from last week still clinging to the corners. You feel the shape of this night settling over you just watching his fingers move. Not heavy. Just close. Intimate in that slippery way—like if either of you thought about it too hard, it might feel like more than it is. But you’re too chill to overthink. That’s the whole point.

“Bottoms up, bro,” he mumbles, voice thick with cotton and calm, and you both knock yours back like it’s communion.

Ben’s gone quiet. Not unusual. He’s a drifter when he’s high, floats between tabs and videos and zoning out completely. But this isn’t that. He’s on his back beside you, head pillowed on his arm, watching the LED lights morph from pink to blue to red again like they’re telling a story. You’re turned toward him, fingers curled loosely under your cheek, your body floppy in that too-much-sensation kind of way. Like every nerve ending’s been gently unsheathed and is just vibing out under your skin.

You feel it in the edges first—like your thoughts are melting down the inside of your skull, softening at the corners. Breath deepens without asking. Jaw’s a little tight, but not in a bad way—like your body’s clenching in on itself, holding on before it lets go. Your heartbeat thuds a little louder than it should, pulsing in your ears like background bass. You blink slower. The lights go smeary at the edges. You feel the mattress underneath you in high-definition, every lump and warmth patch suddenly personal, almost intimate. Your teeth feel good. Everything is soft. Everything is so fucking good.

The LEDs don’t flicker anymore—they pulse. Soft waves of color across the walls. Everything feels like it’s syncing. Like the room has a heartbeat, and it’s climbing up your spine.

You and Ben haven’t said much in a while. Haven’t needed to.

The silence isn’t heavy. It’s glowing.

It’s been—what, thirty-five minutes? Forty? Doesn’t matter. You feel him now. Not just his presence, but the gravity of him. Like he’s warmer than the rest of the room. Like your chest expands more when he breathes. Like his exhale brushes your skin even though he’s a full arm's length away.

You laugh, breathless, for no reason. He turns his head, sluggish and drowsy, and smiles like your laugh was a spell.

You blink at him. He blinks back. His pupils are blown, looking like they could swallow you whole and you wouldn’t even mind. There’s a line of soft blue light tracing the bridge of his nose, the slope of his cheekbone, the little dip at the corner of his mouth.

“Shit,” he says softly, like it’s a revelation. “You look crazy good in this lighting.”

You snort, eyes rolling but heart thudding, and it’s stupid how warm your cheeks feel. “Shut the fuck up. You’re literally glowing like a Twilight vampire.”

He just grins wider, and it’s lazy and beautiful in a way that doesn’t even make sense. You’ve looked at him a thousand times—lit by smoke clouds and YouTube autoplay and dying lamps—but now it’s like his skin is gold leaf. Like every freckle, every lazy shift of his lips, every breath is shining.

“You’re high as shit,” he says, voice honey-slow, syrup-lazy.

“So are you,” you shoot back, but you’re smiling stupidly. Your face feels too big for your skull. Ben lets out this slow, breathy laugh, and fuck, even that feels good. You watch his jaw flex with the smile, the little hitch in his shoulder when he shrugs like he can’t even be bothered to be cocky about it.

He shifts a little closer. Doesn’t say anything, just lets his fingertips brush the soft inside of your wrist, featherlight, and you both inhale like it’s the first time you’ve ever touched anything. You roll your arm a little, letting his fingers graze along the underside. Your skin sings under the touch, tingles that chase each other like static up your elbow, your shoulder, your spine.

“Dude," you murmur, voice wobbly with the hug of seretonin, "touching stuff feels insane right now.”

Ben’s grin goes lopsided. “Yeah?”

You grab his hand lazily, your fingers barely holding his, just enough contact to spark fireworks in your palm. “Yeah,” you whisper, and your voice sounds thick and sweet and sleepy. “Touch my arm.”

He does. Slow, dragging his fingertips up from your wrist to your shoulder, and fuck. It’s nothing. It’s everything. You feel each ridge of his fingerprint like it’s being engraved. You suck in a breath, involuntary, eyes fluttering shut for a second.

Your fingers are still tangled with his. You roll onto your back and tug his hand with you so he follows, half-leaning over you now, both of you blinking slow, pupils so wide you’re practically seeing stars.

His hand finds your waist—slow and curious—and the second his fingers touch the curve there, you moan. Barely audible. Embarrassing. Real.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, pressing your face into your elbow. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Nah,” he says, voice dropped to something low and smooth and warm. “Don’t even trip.”

His hand spreads across your waist, fingers dragging up the fabric of your shirt, and it feels like lightning. You both start laughing, delirious and giddy, like you’re high on each other instead of this fucked up little pill you don't even remember where you got it from.

You open your mouth to say something stupid—probably “your hand feels like velvet, what the fuck”—but he kisses you instead.

And ohhh.

It’s soft. Like kissing in a dream, like your mouths are made of heat and velvet and instinct. No teeth, no rush. Just press and melt. His lip ring is warm against your mouth, smooth, the perfect little edge in all that softness. You let out this tiny sound—barely anything—and he presses closer.

His hand slides to your jaw, just his fingertips touching you, like he’s scared to press too hard and pop the bubble. His lips taste like whatever berry vape he’d been hitting earlier and maybe a little weed residue, maybe a little Ben—static? It doesn't matter. He kisses like it’s just something to do, like breathing, like gravity pulling him closer.

Your whole body is heat and nerves and cotton. You kiss back lazily, high and weightless, lips dragging open just enough to deepen it a little. Just enough to breathe into his mouth, and when you do, he shudders. Just a little. Just enough for you to feel it in your chest.

You murmur against his lips, “Is it just me or does this feel crazy good?”

His mouth brushes your jaw, his voice low and cracked open, “It’s not just you.”

Your lips find his again—hot, open, slower now. Tongue against tongue in a wet slide that feels like drowning in syrup and rapture. Your mouths fit like they’ve done this a hundred times. Like they’ll do it a hundred more. There’s nothing messy about it. No grabbing. No biting. Just this lazy, drugged gravity pulling you back into each other every time you drift a millimeter apart.

Every inch of him feels woven through every pore on your body. Every place he touches you, you feel ten times over, and it sends this slow throb through you—low, soft, but steady.

You hum against his mouth, light and dazed.

“Feel good?” he mumbles, lips brushing yours, voice scratchy like he hasn’t talked in a hundred years.

“Mmmhm.” You nod once, small. “So good I might cry.”

Ben lets out a quiet, surprised little laugh—breathy and deep, warm where it puffs against your cheek. “You’re such a lightweight.”

“Shut up,” you whisper, fingers skating under the hem of his hoodie, “you feel stupid good too.”

His breath catches, just slightly, when your palm flattens against the bare skin at his hip. He's so warm and smooth it almost feels fake. You trail your hand up, slowly, just feeling. Muscles shifting under your palm like slow waves, the stretch of them under soft skin. You feel like you could cry just from the warmth pooling in your gut.

“Jesus,” you murmur, “what the fuck are you made of?”

Ben groans, low in his throat, and that’s when he finally presses his hips just a little closer—barely a grind, barely a shift—but the heat of him slots perfectly against you and fuck. It’s not frantic. It’s not a need. It’s just there. Like his body wants to be against yours. Like it was always gonna end up here.

The throb between your legs tightens, sudden and thick, and the moan that slips out of you again sounds so helpless it makes his lips stutter on yours. He stills. Smirks a little, but his breath shakes. “That was so hot,” he murmurs, voice low and so close. “Fuck, you sound hot.”

His hands slide under your thighs, gripping just enough to guide, and you shift without thinking, letting him tug you upward and over until you’re straddling him. The movement’s effortless, but it feels like the earth tilting. Like gravity changed its mind.

Your hips start rolling before your mind can even catch up, like it just started happening. You’re barely aware of it, but the friction is fucking heaven, slow grinds over the hard line of his cock under his sweats. His hands are on your waist, guiding the motion—not pulling, just letting it happen. You kiss through it, drugged and soft and soaked between your thighs.

He’s looking up at you through drags of his mouth over yours like you hung the stars just by sitting there. He grunts, tilting his hips up into the drag of your cunt—just once, slow—and he murmurs low and sweet and way too casual for how hard he sounds, “Wanna sit on my face, pretty?”

You whimper. Like a full-body shiver that leaks out your throat. The words hit somewhere between your ribs and your cunt, hot and sudden and unbearable. You swear you nearly cum just from hearing him say it. The audacity. The casualness. You clutch at his shoulders, blink down at him like he just opened the fucking gates of heaven.

“Fucking—yeah,” you gasp, already shifting. You scramble up to your knees, laugh breaking out when you nearly fall sideways because your limbs are all molasses and light. Ben steadies you with a soft noise, then just lays back, arms folded behind his head, that stupid stoned smirk on his face like he’s the pillow now.

You pull your shirt off awkwardly—get it halfway stuck, then give up and shove it over your tits, braless and flushed and fucking glowing. His eyes drop there instantly. Lingers. His tongue wets his lower lip and he mutters something that sounds close to awe as you start crawling up his chest.

And when you do—when you finally get your knees to the mattress and your thighs cage in his face—you hesitate just long enough to process what’s happening. Just long enough to see his face under you—black eyes locked on your dripping cunt like it’s sacred, watching the sway of your tits, hands coming up to grip your thighs just under the curve of your ass, holding you steady.

“C'mon, pretty,” he groans, voice so fucking deep it vibrates through your whole lower body, “have a seat.”

Then you lower yourself—and his mouth meets you.

And holy. shit.

The second your cunt touches his mouth, it lights you up. It’s like being kissed by heat itself. His tongue drags flat and slow from your entrance to your clit, lapping with a pressure so lazy and steady it feels like it’s been happening forever. His nose presses right against you, his mouth open and eating like you’re ripe fruit—sweet, messy, tender. There’s nothing polite about it. He’s fully in it, no teasing, no precision. Exploring for himself as much as he's pleasing you.

You moan, broken and loud, hand flying to his head to hold on. His hair’s soft and sweaty, and you can feel the way his mouth curves into a grin under you.

“Jesus fuck, Ben—”

He groans, nosing deeper, sucking your clit just once—slow—and you swear your brain fractures. You jerk, thighs quaking, hands flailing for something to hold, something to feel so you don't yank on his hair because the sensation is so good it’s horrifying.

“Ben—fuck,” you gasp, breath snapping in half. “Fuck—”

His arms wrap around your thighs, strong and steady, pulling you down until you’re seated fully against his face. Sloppy, deep licks that dip and circle and press up into you with devastating slowness. He tilts his head just a bit and stays there, lips wrapped soft around your clit, tongue flicking slow, deliberate circles until your whole body is tightening.

Your body’s gone nuclear. Like your skin is lighting up, nerves raw and too alive, every drag of his tongue a lightning bolt that melts back into syrup. It’s lazy. It’s wet. You’re gushing on his mouth and he just takes it. Tongue buried, lips parted, devouring.

He hums low like it’s good, like you taste good, and the vibration punches right through your clit and lands somewhere deep in your stomach. You roll your hips once, instinctive, and a moan punches out of him right into your cunt, like you just gave him a hit of something purer than anything he’s ever smoked.

He noses up into your clit as he works, lips soft and open, tongue licking slow under the hood with maddening care. One of his hands slips up, palm cupping your hip like he’s grounding himself there, the other sliding back to your ass, pulling you closer, tighter, until your pussy grinds against him again—this time on his face.

He tilts his head just enough to suck your clit into his mouth—soft and slow and so fucking good—and your whole body jerks. Your hands tighten on the headboard, tits bouncing slightly with the movement, and Ben opens his eyes just to watch.

“Fuck,” he groans, voice muffled but needy, “ride my fuckin’ face.”

Your hips start to move without you thinking—just lazy little rocks, forward and back, riding his face like it’s the only rhythm left in the universe.

Ben’s hands tighten, fingers bruising in the best way, and his thumbs pull your cheeks apart just slightly, spreading you open so he can really lick you. You gasp again, voice wrecked. He laughs under you, muffled and arrogant and so pretty.

He watches your tits bounce softly with each breathless grind, eyes heavy-lidded and drunk with it, like he’s seeing a dream in real time. His tongue is relentless. Your thighs are shaking. And then, just to watch your reaction, his tongue slips lower, past your dripping hole, licking a slow, slick line across your rim.

Your whole body jolts like he electrocuted you. You freeze for half a second—but your pussy pulses in response, clenching around nothing so tight it aches. You can’t even speak. Your chest heaves. Your thighs twitch. And he hums, pleased, like this was the plan all along.

At first it’s just a breath. A ghost of a tease. He licks between your cheeks, slow and unbothered, casual as hell, just a lazy upward drag of his tongue over your ass. Your breath catches, whole body jolting, and you whimper—high and confused and wrecked.

You barely notice your hand creeping down your chest, palming your own breast like you need the grounding. He groans under you again, tongue still moving in sync with the tiny, wet grinds of your hips over his mouth and nose, slow and deliberate—back and forth between your soaked cunt and your ass.

You come like your body’s caving in on itself.

No warning. No rhythm. It cracks through you in pulses, long and drawn out, muscle-deep and fucking perfect—like it’s wringing you out. Your thighs lock around his head, hands flying to the wall to stay up, and your mouth drops open on a soundless moan as your whole body shudders. Pussy pulsing so tight you feel it squeeze his tongue. Brain splitting like lightning down your spine. Your muscles melt but your nerves won’t stop firing.

You feel crazy. You feel amazing. Like your brain doesn’t know what to do with all the good. The molly, the mouth on you, the weight of your body draped over his head while the room glows warm and golden around the edges. Your skin’s sticking to his in spots. Everything feels hazy and whole. Like this is the best place on earth to die.

His hands move with you—up, warm and slow, from your ass to the small of your back. One of them slides higher, fingers spread wide like he wants to hold your whole spine in his palm. The other comes around, smooth over your ribs, thumbing just under your tit before finally cupping one with lazy reverence.

Then, all slow grin and and eyes glinting redder, he mumbles,

“So, like… you gonna ride my dick too, or you need a nap first?”

You snort. Half laugh, half moan, rolling your hips once like your body’s answering before your mouth can.

“Jesus—Ben—”

But you’re already climbing back down his chest, already fumbling for his waistband like you’re drawn to it, not choosing.

He just grins up at you, eyes low-lidded and glowing.

“C’mon, dude. You gotta know I’m dying over here.”

And he is. His dick’s flushed and hard and slick at the tip, twitching against his stomach like it’s got a pulse of its own.

You wrap your hand around it, slow, just to guide him, and his hips lift like he can’t help it. You have to take a moment just to admire the throb in your hand, the flex of his stomach, the glimpse of teeth showing when they sink into his bottom lip. And when you sink down, when your pussy finally wraps around him, hot and soaked and still fluttering from your orgasm, your hips stall. His jaw drops. Both of you go still.

It’s like a fucking detonation. A slow-blooming, devastating kind of silence. It’s not even how tight you are—though you are—it’s how hot it feels. How slick, how intimate, how molly makes it feel like he’s not just inside you, but part of you. Like your whole body was waiting for this exact moment to exist. You clench once, and his hips jerk like you electrocuted him.

“Holy fuck,” he mutters, voice caught somewhere between a moan and a sigh.

You start to move eventually. Slow. Just a tiny grind forward, a slow circle back. Not even up and down yet. Just wet, slow drags. Like your body’s trying to memorize him from the inside out. You’re both gasping, breathing harder, but there’s no rush in it. No urgency. Just pleasure. Thick and consuming.

“You feel so fucking good,” he breathes, barely audible, like he’s praying to your cunt. And fuck, maybe he is with the way his head drops back to the pillow, throat exposed, jaw slack, brows furrowed like he’s on the edge of something just from the way you’re grinding on him.

You drag your hands up his sides, still moving slow. The friction is everything. Your clit brushes against his pelvis with every roll, every grind, and you can feel yourself start to tremble again, thighs burning but too high to care. His hands find your hips, not to guide—just to hold. Fingers twitching like he wants to tell you to slow down—if going any slower is even possible—but his body saying otherwise.

Your palms slide under his shirt, pushing it up inch by inch. The way it rides up under your fingers makes your mouth water. It bunches under his arms, revealing his stomach, his chest, and when his pierced nipples come into view—flushed and tight from the heat of you or both—you lean down, lips brushing over one.

He twitches. Breath stutters.

You lick. Just a soft kitten lick. Then another.

Ben chokes on a moan. Hips buck helplessly up into you, cock grinding deeper inside you.

“Fuck, dude—”

You do it again. A slow lick around the ring, then another just beneath it, teasing, playful. Your hips never stop moving, just grinding down into his cock like you know how deep he is, how he’s splitting you open and making you whole at the same time.

He grabs your ass tighter now, still not forcing, just grounding, needing.

“Gonna fuckin’ cum, what the fuck," he breathes, eyes fluttering open just to watch you mouth at his chest. “What the fuck are you doing to me.”

You grin against his skin, eyes glazed and happy and wrecked.

“Riding your dick,” you whisper, and he groans like you just blessed him.

You lean back slow, hands smoothing down his stomach again, and you plant your palms on his waist, arch your spine just to feel how your tits bounce with the motion—half for yourself, half because you know he’s watching.

His gaze stays on you like he’s seeing you for the first time and the thousandth all at once. His pupils are blown wide and bright, lips parted like he can’t even close them without gasping. There’s sweat at his hairline. His chest is heaving.

Then, for one perfect second, his face twitches. Just a shift—mouth curling up into this crooked, gritted-teeth grin like the sight of you fucking yourself on him is too much to bear but he loves it.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty it’s pissing me off,” he mutters, voice low and dazed and almost laughing.

You bark a breathless giggle and bounce a little harder on him just for that. And he groans, eyes rolling halfway back, hands flexing on your hips like he’s trying to be chill, but his body’s begging for more.

His hips roll up under yours with slow precision, timed to every bounce like a perfect rhythm only the two of you know. Slow. Deliberate. Meeting your movement with this thick, upward grind that punches a moan right out of you. Not fast, not rough—just deep. Skin slapping sticky where you’re soaked all over him now, the noise heavy and lewd.

“Yeah, fuck me, just like that—holy shit—"

He moans it like a prayer, voice cracking as you grind down harder to match his thrusts. Your clit’s catching on the base of him just right, and your walls pulse so tight around his dick you can feel the way he throbs inside you. Every drag is wet and obscene, every slide in so thick and hot it feels like your brain’s sloshing in your skull. The molly makes it bloom. Every sensation feels like it echoes, spreads, deepens.

Ben’s head drops back, throat arched, his hands gripping you firm but not forceful—like he’s bracing for impact. His abs flex under your palms every time he fucks up into you, low and slow, building the pressure like he knows you’re both about to see God in a minute or two.

“Jesus—” he breathes, jaw tight, “fucking Christ, love this fuckin' pussy, baby, ride it, c'mon—I'm close, fuck, please—”

You whimper and keep riding, chasing the drag, the slide, the stretch. The friction is everything. Wet and relentless and perfect. The way he fills you, the way your bodies meet with slick, noisy thrusts—it’s like being gutted slow, like a star collapsing in on itself.

You slam down once more and his hips snap up into you at the same time, so deep you choke, stars bursting behind your eyes, and you come. Together. Throb on throb, your bodies synced up like it's something celestial.

Second orgasm hits hard, violently soft, like you're being peeled open from the inside and having honey poured over every exposed nerve ending. Your whole body seizes up, mouth open in a silent scream as your pussy milks him through it, sucking him deeper. He spills into you with a whiny, cracked “fuckfuckfuck—goddamn—”, hips jerking, breath breaking apart against your neck as he holds you down through every pulse. You feel every throb deep inside you, feel the warmth spread between your thighs like it’s part of the drug, like it’s burning you alive from the core out.

You’re shaking. Still grinding just a little, just enough to ride out the waves. Your legs are jelly, your hands barely holding you upright as you collapse forward, sweaty chest pressed to his, your face buried in his neck.

Ben’s arms wrap around you, loose but strong, and he breathes through his nose, still catching up. One hand runs up your back, gentle, and the other smooths down to your ass again like he just needs to feel you.

Neither of you says anything for a long moment. Just breath. Just skin. Just that slow, echoing after of molly and sex and feeling way too much to care.

You don't even realize you’ve slumped off of him until your cheek’s mashed against his chest and he’s laughing, soft and breathless, palm skating down your spine with the weight of molasses.

“Bro,” he mumbles, eyes half-lidded and voice fried. “That was... unholy.”

You hum something between a laugh and a wheeze, forehead sticky against his skin. “I think I saw God.”

He snorts. You feel it rumble through his chest, and for some reason that makes your heart twitch. He lifts a lazy hand to push your hair out of your face, fingers catching in it but not bothering to fix anything, just letting it tangle. His other hand's still on your ass, more out of habit than intention. Neither of you move to clean up yet. Just breathing. Heavy and slow. Still connected in the heat of it, even if his dick slipped out somewhere along the way and left a mess between your thighs.

Eventually—slowly—you peel yourself up with a grunt and a stretch, making some squelchy sound that earns a quiet “ew dude” from him and a slap to his chest from you. He wheezes out a laugh again.

“Okay, okay,” he says, sitting up just enough to grab a crumpled hoodie off the floor. He tosses it toward your legs like a sad little towel, and you use it without complaint. Still giggling, still glowing.

Once the worst of the mess is handled with zero grace and zero effort, you both flop back down into the sheets. He groans, rolls over enough to reach into the drawer next to the bed, and pulls out a pre-roll like it’s a religious relic. Or more like something to dampen the horrendous comedown that's looming just around the corner.

“You’re disgusting,” you mumble, watching him dig around for a lighter with one eye half open.

“I’m thriving,” he corrects, sparking the joint with practiced laziness. The tip glows red-orange in the blue-pink lava lamp haze, smoke curling into the air like incense for a post-sex shrine. He takes a long drag, then offers it to you without looking.

You take it, hit it, let the smoke settle in your lungs like it’s a warm bath.

Then his voice, low and sleepy against your forehead, smoke soft in his exhale, "Yo. You wanna hit Waffle House in, like, three hours?”

You giggle into his neck.

“Absolutely.”

BONUS:

The Waffle House parking lot is mostly empty, just one tired cook inside and a waitress who gave you the side-eye when you walked in to grab your to-go order like you were smuggling out contraband. Ben didn’t step a toe out of the car—too many security cams, one too many people who’d ask why his pupils are glowing red like a demon on a bender.

He waited slouched in the passenger seat, hoodie up, tapping at the cracked dashboard with fingers twitchy from the tail-end of a serotonin flood. When you slid back into the car with a bag full of grease and sugar, he moaned like you just proposed marriage.

Now you’re parked under a busted streetlamp, eating waffles and hashbrowns out of styrofoam with plastic forks, legs up on the dash, his seat fully reclined. He looks like sin. Hoodie half-off, hair a wreck, the last of the weed still burning slow in the ashtray. He smells like syrup and sweat and sex and smoke.

You're still giggling at nothing.

"Why," you say, licking butter off your thumb, "does Waffle House always taste like it was made by someone who’s lived through war."

Ben stares at you like you’re the second coming. “Because it was, bro.”

You laugh hard enough to choke on syrup, and he takes the opportunity to steal a bite off your plate with no remorse. The light from the LED “OPEN 24 HOURS” sign flashes red across his face every few seconds, making him look even less human than usual. But to you, right now, it’s just... hot. You’re high and full and floaty. He looks sticky-sweet and stoned and so fucking pretty in that lazy post-fuck way, lips glossy with syrup and smiling like a troublemaker.

You lean across the console and kiss him.

It starts soft. Just sugar on lips, mouths sticky from breakfast-for-dinner. He tastes like maple and smoke and something a little burnt, and your brain short-circuits at how good it is. You lick into it, messy and slow, and he hums low in his throat like it’s better than dessert. Your fork clatters somewhere by your feet but you don’t care—your hand’s cupping his jaw, and he’s tugging you halfway into his lap.

His tongue drags syrup off your bottom lip like he’s starving. You moan into it, more sound than intention. He grins crooked, still kissing you, still high, mumbling against your mouth:

“We might have peaked tonight, can't even lie.”

“Mmm,” you breathe back, not even pretending to disagree.

Neither of you stops. Not for a while.

Eventually, when your food’s cold and your thighs are back across his lap and he’s kissing your cheek with lazy pecks just to hear you giggle again, he sighs through his nose and rests his head back against the seat.

“I think,” he murmurs, lips brushing your temple, “we should definitely fuck in this lot before we come down and contemplate suicide for the next week.”

You laugh into his shoulder.

“Absolutely.”

[papayainsectorone]

teach me vulnerability

════════════════════════

summary: you were supposed to teach him how to touch not how to feel. but he learned faster than you expected, and now you’re the one running from what you started.

content: emotional restraint, unspoken feelings, slow emotional burn, lingering attachment, mutual longing, internal conflict, bittersweet connection, vulnerability avoidance, quiet heartbreak, non-communication ache

word count: 1 k

pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader

a thought: we need some more emotional teaching sorryyyy

teach me series

════════════════════════

It starts with a missed call.

No voicemail. No second try. Just his name lighting up your screen once, lingering for a few seconds longer than it should.

You don’t answer.

Not because you don’t want to. But because you do — too much, too fast, too deeply. And that was never the plan. The plan was control. Structure. Lessons. You teach; he learns. That was safe.

But he learned faster than you expected. And you liked it more than you meant to.

He looked at you like you were something more before you ever realized you wanted to be.

And then — quietly, inevitably — you started to feel the after.

The what next. The what if. The what would this even look like?

You didn’t want to think about how far he’d be, week after week. About trying to navigate the ache of being apart before you’d even figured out what you were together. About airports and hotel rooms and wondering if you were allowed to be sad when he didn’t text right back.

You didn’t want to picture the headlines, the photos, the way people would talk. The way people would look — at you, at him, at the two of you like it made any sense.

So you pulled back. Not to punish him. Not to lie.

But because saying I think I want more would mean asking what if this breaks anyway?

And you couldn’t bear to watch it fall apart after letting yourself believe it could work.

So now you’re here — lying in bed, staring at the phone in your hand, wondering if stepping away makes you wise or just cowardly.

Oscar doesn’t close the chat.

He stares at your last message, thumb hovering near the screen like maybe it will buzz again. Like maybe you´re still typing. Like maybe you’ll change her mind.

But the screen stays still.

No dots. No second reply. No apology, no afterthought, not even a half-hearted “I’ll see you around.”

Just silence.

He sets the phone down on his chest, flat and warm, like maybe he can hold onto it a little longer that way. Like it might sink into him if he stays still enough.

He doesn’t cry.

He wishes he could. Wishing feels easier than this the dull, unreal way it all folded so quietly. No big ending. No explosive fight. Just her, soft-spoken through text, telling him that it mattered… and then that it had to end.

The ache in his ribs doesn’t feel noble or cinematic. It’s just there full and shapeless and unfair.

He presses his eyes shut. Rethinks every moment. Wonders if there was a version of the night where he asked you to stay, and you actually did.

Wonders if he waited too long. Wonders if you did feel everything and just didn’t know how to say it.

Across the city, your room is dark except for the soft, anxious glow of your phone on the nightstand.

You’re lying on your back, barely breathing, one hand pressed to your chest like you can keep it all in if you just stay still.

You sent the last message with your jaw clenched and eyes wet — not sobbing, not loud, just the kind of crying that starts in your throat and ends behind your eyes. The kind you can’t stop because it’s not really crying. It’s just truth leaking out where you didn’t mean it to.

You didn’t want it to end like this.

You didn’t even mean for it to begin.

You told yourself he was safe not because he didn’t matter, but because he wouldn’t. You were the one teaching, leading, controlling.

But he learned faster than you expected.

And you liked it more then expected.

He looked at you like you were something more before you ever realized you wanted to be.

And now, you’re lying in bed, phone screen dimming slowly beside you, trying not to picture him in his — shirtless and sad, maybe still holding onto hope you didn’t mean to offer.

You told him, “Maybe the last lesson is knowing when to step away.”

But if you were being honest — really honest — the lesson you learned too late was this:

It’s easier to teach someone how to feel wanted than to believe you could be wanted back.

You roll to your side and press your face into the pillow. The phone buzzes once — not a message. Just the battery warning.

It makes you flinch anyway.

You don’t open the chat again. You know what’s waiting there:

A final line. His voice, so quiet, still hoping.

Will I see you again?

You close your eyes. Swallow the answer you won’t let yourself type.

v smol taglist

@sealife-for-life @notgirlsummerr @koalalafications @urmomsgirlfriend1 @wadupppp @elle-28 @saudianna

[not-terezi-pyrope]

AI continues to be useful, annoying everyone

Okay, look - as much as I've been fairly on the side of "this is actually a pretty incredible technology that does have lots of actual practical uses if used correctly and with knowledge of its shortfalls" throughout the ongoing "AI era", I must admit - I don't use it as a tool too much myself.

I am all too aware of how small errors can slip in here and there, even in output that seems above the level, and, perhaps more importantly, I still have a bit of that personal pride in being able to do things myself! I like the feeling that I have learned a skill, done research on how to do a thing and then deployed that knowledge to get the result I want. It's the bread and butter of working in tech, after all.

But here's the thing, once you move beyond beginner level Python courses and well-documented windows applications. There will often be times when you will want to achieve a very particular thing, which involves working with a specialist application. This will usually be an application written for domain experts of this specialization, and so it will not be user-friendly, and it will certainly not be "outsider-friendly".

So you will download the application. Maybe it's on the command line, has some light scripting involved in a language you've never used, or just has a byzantine shorthand command structure. There is a reference document - thankfully the authors are not that insane - but there are very few examples, and none doing exactly what you want. In order to do the useful thing you want to do, they expect you to understand how the application/platform/scripting language works, to the extent that you can apply it in a novel context.

Which is all fine and well, and normally I would not recommend anybody use a tool at length unless they have taken the time to understand it to the degree at which they know what they are doing. Except I do not wish to use the tool at length, I wish to do one, singular operation, as part of a larger project, and then never touch it again. It is unfortunately not worth my time for me to sink a few hours into learning a technology that you will use once for twenty seconds and then never again.

So you spend time scouring the specialist forums, pulling up a few syntax examples you find randomly of their code and trying to string together the example commands in the docs. If you're lucky, and the syntax has enough in common with something you're familiar with, you should be able to bodge together something that works in 15-20 minutes.

But if you're not lucky, the next step would have been signing up to that forum, or making a post on that subreddit, creating a thread called "Hey, newbie here, needing help with..." and then waiting 24-48 hours to hear back from somebody probably some years-deep veteran looking down on you with scorn for not having put in the effort to learn their Thing, setting aside the fact that you have no reason to normally. It's annoying, disruptive, and takes time.

Now I can ask ChatGPT, and it will have ingested all those docs, all those forums, and it will give you a correct answer in 20 seconds about what you were doing wrong. Because friends, this is where a powerful attention model excels, because you are not asking it to manage a complex system, but to collate complex sources into a simple synthesis. The LLM has already trained in this inference, and it can reproduce it in the blink of an eye, and then deliver information about this inference in the form of a user dialog.

When people say that AI is the future of tutoring, this is what it means. Instead of waiting days to get a reply from a bored human expert, the machine knowledge blender has already got it ready to retrieve via a natural language query, with all the followup Q&A to expand your own knowledge you could desire. And the great thing about applying this to code or scripting syntax is that you can immediately verify whether the output is correct but running it and seeing if it performs as expected, so a lot of the danger is reduced (not that any modern mainstream attention model is likely to make a mistake on something as simple a single line command unless it's something barely documented online, that is).

It's incredibly useful, and it outdoes the capacity of any individual human researcher, as well as the latency of existing human experts. That's something you can't argue we've ever had better before, in any context, and it's something you can actively make use of today. And I will, because it's too good not to - despite my pride.

[kitts-mechanix]

OMG Optimus throwing subtle shade at Megatron because they're forced to be together XD I like that

Yeah it doesn't work just making Megatron the good guy with no explanation or backstory whatsoever.

"Then the IDW and Sky bound shit just is so wack with that. Idk how well IDW Megs redemption was but even if it /is/ done good, it feels plain wrong to not allow Star his own imo."

THIS! Some people loved IDW's take and said it worked and had effort while others said it very poorly done and shouldn't have been a thing. Personally, I don't see Megatron ever getting redeemed (except possibly Armada Megatron but I need to actually watch the series first) but if they think they can redeem him then there's no damn reason Starscream can't get a redemption arc. I don't care what anyone says, Megatron is much more evil.

Oooh I'd like to hear that take, even though I don't ever see Megs getting redeemed XD

The live actions were pretty bad about that (Bayverse was the worst offender) at least the humans in the animated installments are likeable. I do love that TFOne was solely set on Cybertron with no humans! (Says the woman who has two main character G1 human OCs who probably get almost as much development as Arcane oops).

Noice! Is Cyberverse any good then?

"The warping reality lore that abusers do really is so universal I think. The abuser trademark- the biggest form of control for them being the ability to have a grip on your sense of what is and isn't and your own mental grasp of right, wrong, and the direction of blame."

I remember talking to a friend about my experience with my abuser and her gaslighting, and I said "you see that green sign over there? You know it's green. But my abuser would say it's blue. I know it's not blue. But she would insist it's blue, that I'm wrong and that one day I'll see that the sign is actually blue. But it's not. It's green. So why would that comment mess with my head and make me think I'm crazy?" Because that's what it does, makes you question undisputed REALITY.

"Its so ridiculous how it can make you feel insane as everyone is calling you as such, and the fact of the abuser having a truck load of yes-men that they've too manipulated to their wim just is crafted to affirm that statement. Then that inane flat hypocrisy telling someone to be what they are not (like the open minded example), just too furthers the doubt of what the meaning of that thing is."

The thing with narcissists is that they're hypocrites. They project onto others. It's like a confession but they pin it on somebody else. Like my abuser accusing me of not being open-minded, when again she's a flippin' racist who hates anyone who doesn't share her religion, beliefs, whatever. And she will NOT take a different opinion or no for an answer. Yet according to her, I'm going to Hell for saying her conspiracy theories are BS. Because I'm no longer going to be a naive yeswoman.

Ahhh thanks, I don't mean to rant about my personal experiences it's just.....this is why I get Starscream, okay?! Because I've BEEN in that situation, less physically of course but still! And I don't get why these people who are clearly *not* stupid side with her unless they do it out of politeness or fear. But why on Earth they don't shut her down when she attacks someone is something I'll never get. Because if I was in their position, I'd take her out by the knees. I can't believe I freaking shared my pie with this lady at one point. Mind you this was before she betrayed me, but I really regret that I did not pick up that cherry pie and shove it in her face-

"That perpetual shadow of that risk of mirroring or becoming an abuser rlly is so hard- cuz y'know that cycle loves to repeat itself. Like the characteristic of stubborn "I'm right and I won't let my opinion be changed", could easily slip out after all this time of being told you're wrong and drilled to be so subservient and apologetic for sticking up for your sense of reality. Since it'd come from a rebellious and compounded anger of "y'know what, fuck you". Which is understandable. Even if problematic."

You actually said that better than I could! I struggle to put it in words. I remember my mum asking me if I was going through some late teenage rebellion. Seeing as I never really GOT to experience BEING a teenager, maybe it's true. Maybe I'm too stuck on my opinions after years of being told "I'm right, you're wrong".

"But even if that /could/ happen, being self aware and willing to take notes from those who aren't on the side of your abuser, can keep it from rooting too deep. Like I think that your ability to express your standing on not liking Megatron to be redeemed full stop, while recognizing objectively other possible approaches to a character's forgiveness, is proof that you are doing just fine my friend^^"

Oh my gosh, thank you, you're too sweet 😭To be honest, I worry a lot about people getting angry at me for saying that. One friend even told me that if I had said those things I just said about IDW Autobot Megatron back in the day, I would have been basically crucified upside down by the fandom....

That and "I know you better than you know yourself." Can you imagine Megatron saying that stuff to Starscream?

"Instead of letting the salt thoughts strict down a river, toss ur problems out Astrotrain's airlock :D"

Not gonna lie.....I've fantasised about doing that with my abuser haha...

Me, at the entirety of the transformers franchise: wow starscream may deserve a lot of things but not that

[twlgholts]

always kind of was, j.b.

chapter eleven, keep up

— jacob black x f. reader

a/n: since this fic is coming to an end soon, i wanna write more drabblee/oneshots and maybe another series. lmk any ideas u guys would wanna see! also thinking about hunger games and mcu things (esp peter parker and maybe finish my old fic)

taglist: @asillysimp @grimlinn @eneywey @shinobuily @ravisinghs-wife @mjustag1rl @mae-gi-writes @agustdeeyaa @mousetrap101 @purplefluffycows @itsfromaboyband-blog

prev. series masterlist! next.

You don’t sleep much. Not really.

You lie on your back, tangled in sheets, your room dim except for the moonlight bleeding through the window. One hand rests lightly on your lips, as if pressing there could keep the memory from slipping away. Like if you let go, it’ll fade. You close your eyes and replay it—again.

The way his voice dropped when he said I think I am, like he was afraid of what it meant but more afraid not to say it. The look in his eyes—like you were something rare and breakable, something he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch. The tilt of his head, the way his nose barely brushed yours, like he was giving you time to back away. And then—everything warm and weightless and right.

You roll onto your side, sighing into your pillow. Jacob’s name loops in your head like a song stuck on repeat—familiar, rhythmic, a little annoying because you can’t turn it off. Your thoughts are stuck in a feedback loop of what ifs and did he mean it? and how long has he felt this way?

You think about the ride home. Quiet, but not awkward. Just full. Like there were too many words between you, all of them hovering, waiting, tangled up in what had already been said and done. You’d glanced at him more than once, caught that quiet smile still on his face—the kind that doesn’t ask for attention. Not his usual grin or his cocky smirk, but a soft pull at the corners of his mouth, like he was holding something close to his chest.

You swore he hadn’t stopped cheesing since you kissed.

He’d watched you wrestle the oversized bear into your doorway like it weighed fifty pounds, and his smile only deepened when you turned and caught him watching. You felt stupid then. The bear was too big, too much, too ridiculous. But he didn’t care. He wouldn’t. Would he?

Your fingers brush your lips again, and they still feel the shape of him—like your skin memorized the moment and doesn’t want to forget. The kiss hadn’t been fireworks (though there were those too). It was something slower and warmer, like stepping into the lake during a summer dusk, when the air is gold and the water wraps around you gently.

He kissed you like it was something he’d been holding in for years. Maybe he had. Maybe you had too.

Jacob was different now, sure. His physical differences were the most evident, but he was also quieter in some ways, heavier in others. Yet, he was not entirely different, especially not at the core. Not where it counted. He was still the boy who held your hand crossing logs in the forest, who dared you to jump off cliffs you were scared of, who made faces at you while Billy gave him a lecture. Your best friend. Your constant.

And maybe more.

You used to tell yourself it was platonic. That the jealousy was just old habits from when you were kids. But now you remember it all too clearly—how your stomach twisted when other girls talked to him at the beach, how you hated when they laughed at his jokes, how you always tried to pretend it didn’t bother you. He teased you once for getting possessive, back when you were younger, and you brushed it off, but it never really went away. You just got better at hiding it.

Maybe your love for him wasn’t just a flicker. Maybe it was a slow-burning thing. and it was always just there.

You flip onto your stomach with a groan, your cheek pressed against your pillow, still warm from all your tossing and turning. The bear sits in the corner of your room now, slumped like it knows too much. You swear it’s judging you.

Even though the ride back was silent, it wasn’t a bad silence. Just a new one. Like the space between two people standing on the edge of something they’re too scared to name. You crossed a line tonight. You kissed him. He kissed you. And now you’re here, back in your room, wondering if that one moment unraveled everything or just finally revealed it.

What if it meant everything to you and only a little to him?

What if it was just the Ferris wheel, the fireworks, the sugar-rush, the nerves?

But then why would he have looked at you like that?

You remember how gentle he was when he said goodnight. How you whispered thank you, and he shook his head. You don’t have to thank me. I’ve always wanted to. That’s what he said.

Wanted to what, Jacob?

Take you to the fair? Win you the bear? Kiss you?

Be with you?

You weren’t ready to ask. Not yet. So when you said, “I’ll text you tomorrow,” at the door, Jacob knew what that meant.

It didn’t mean you didn’t want to talk. It meant you needed time to think—to untangle everything knotted up in your chest. And he would, too. So he just nodded, didn’t ask for more because he got it. He always had.

You groan again and press your face into your blanket like maybe you can smother the thoughts into silence, but your heart is still wide awake. Still in that janky gondola, still floating, still brushing noses and hands and hearts.

When you finally walked inside, the door closed behind you, the bear dragging against your hip like dead weight. But you swear—your heart was still in his truck.

And maybe part of it still is, but there were just too many maybe’s.

The morning hits soft and golden.

You blink awake slowly, lids sticky with sleep, limbs tangled in sheets that feel too warm and too light all at once. For a moment, you forget why your chest feels full—why your lips still tingle like they’re remembering something your brain hasn’t caught up to yet.

Then it hits you.

The kiss.

His hands.

The look in his eyes like you’d hung stars for him.

You inhale, quiet and deep, as if trying to hold the memory in your lungs.

Outside, birds are chattering like they’ve got stories to tell—perched right on your windowsill like tiny, feathered neighbors catching up on the latest gossip. Your whole room is washed in sun, that golden kind that only happens right before noon, warm and slow, like the world itself is giving you space to process.

You don’t move right away. You just lie there in your pajamas, hand resting on your stomach, feeling your own heartbeat thrum steady under your palm. You let your gaze drift to the hoodie still hanging on the back of your chair—the one Jacob gave you when it started to drizzle at the drive-in.  You slip it over your head without thinking. The fabric’s soft and a little worn at the cuffs, and it still smells like him still.

You pad downstairs barefoot, teeth unbrushed, trailing thoughts behind you like loose threads.

The kitchen smells like cinnamon and strong coffee. Your mom is standing at the stove, stirring something with a wooden spoon and humming a little off-key. She doesn’t turn when you enter, just says casually, “Morning, sunshine. Sleep okay?”

You mumble a half-answer as you pour yourself a mug. “Yeah. Sort of.”

She glances over her shoulder—just briefly—but you can feel her eyes land on the hoodie. Then the change from tiredness to flustered in your fave. Then the way you’re standing in front of hrr like you forgot why you came. She doesn’t say anything right away, just hums again, this time with a knowing lilt.

You lift your mug, trying to hide behind it. “What?”

Your mom arches a brow, lips twitching. “So… are you and Jacob a thing now?”

You nearly spill the coffee.

“Excuse me?”

She shrugs, stirring like this is any other morning. “What? You two have been orbiting each other for years. I just figured something finally shifted.”

“Clear to who?” you demand, but your voice is too soft to sound truly defensive.

“Everyone,” she says, flipping a pancake like she’s talking about the weather. “I mean, come on. He used to follow you around like a duckling. Always showing up at our doorstep with some broken toy or snack he swore you had to try.”

From the living room, your dad’s voice cuts in over the rustle of a newspaper. “Kid’s had a soft spot for you since you were six. Don’t act surprised.”

You turn toward the hallway, scandalized. “Dad!”

“Don’t ‘Dad’ me,” he calls back. “We just figured it was your story to figure out.”

Your mom smiles into her spatula. “Which I guess you finally did.”

You stand there stunned, coffee forgotten in your hand, the world slightly tilted on its axis. They’d all just known? This whole time? When you thought you were being subtle? When you weren’t even sure how you felt yourself?

You press your palm to your forehead, trying to breathe around the heat crawling up your neck. “This is—this is actually insane.”

“Is it?” your mom says, scooping the pancake onto a plate. “Or is it exactly where you were always headed?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your thoughts are too loud, too tangled with the night before—the slowness of his voice when he said I think I am, the way his fingers threaded with yours like he’d done it a hundred times before, the kiss like something unfolding and familiar and new.

You take another sip of coffee. It’s cooled a little, but the warmth lingers.

The weight of your entire childhood bends forward into this moment—into this one, inevitable truth that maybe everyone else saw before you did:

You were always heading here.

To him.

It takes you all day to send the text.

Not because you don’t know what to say–but because saying anything feels like cracking open something you’re still holding with both hands. And also because you’re more nervous than you’d like to admit

You’re typing, erasing, typing again until you finally settle on something to say. You stare at it for a more than a few minutes before closing your eyes and pressing send.

You: Wanna come over?

The reply comes fast.

Jacob: Yeah, I’ll come by

You sit with that. Not just the message, but the knowing that comes with it—the way he didn’t hesitate like he was already halfway out the door.

When you hear the soft rumble of his motorcycle climbing up the street, your heart jumps. You pad out to the porch barefoot, the air thick with the scent of cut grass and rain-soaked pavement. Everything’s glowing–quiet and gold under the porch light, fireflies drifting lazily out by the edge of the yard like embers that forgot they were supposed to burn out.

The swing creaks softly as you settle into it, tucking your knees up into the hoodie, fingers curled around the armrest like it might keep you steady. You let the breeze move through you.

He pulls into your driveway and parks.

He walks slow, but not cautious. His footsteps crunch faintly on the gravel and the porch light catches in his hair as he steps up—wind-tossed, like he’s run his hands through it a dozen times on his way over. There’s a tightness in his jaw he’s not bothering to hide. His eyes find you and stay there.

“You got here fast,” you murmur.

His mouth curves, but it’s not quite a smile. “Didn’t want to make you wait.”

His gaze lingers, trailing from the curve of your legs tucked beneath the borrowed hem of his hoodie, all the way up to your face. There’s something raw in the way he looks at you, like he’s caught between disbelief and devotion, as if the mere fact that you’re here—that he’s here, real and tangible beside you—is something fragile he’s afraid to blink away.

“You look cozy,” he says, voice low, roughened at the edges like he’s still reining in the night.

You smile softly. “Wanna sit?”

He hesitates only long enough to shrug out of his jacket and toss it over the railing before he sinks down beside you. The porch swing shifts under his weight. You sway gently, shoulder to shoulder, but not quite touching.

For a minute, neither of you says anything. The night folds in around you—humming with bugs, still damp with the aftertaste of the fair. You can still smell the kettle corn on your skin, still feel the tilt of the Ferris wheel in your knees. Still see the way he looked at you when you weren’t pretending anymore.

Your voice breaks the silence first, soft and almost surprised. “It’s kind of wild that it’s only been a day.”

Jacob lets out a low breath–not quite a laugh, more like the sound of someone still catching up to the weight of things. 

“Feels longer,” he murmurs, gaze drifting somewhere out past the porch steps. The trees sway gently, lit silver under the moonlight.

You look over at him, brows raised. “Longer in a bad way?”

“Nah. not bad. Just…” He shakes his head slowly, his profile carved in shadow and porchlight. “Everything’s different now. Feels like I’m still trying to believe it actually happened.”

It. You know exactly what It is—that unspoken thing between you, thick in the air like the scent of rain before a storm. You nod, your pulse kicking up again, the way it always does when the silence between you turns this heavy, this honest.

“Yeah, I get that.”

Your fingers worry at the cuff of your sleeve—his sleeve, really—the fabric softened from wear, warm and familiar against your skin.

“I didn’t think I had the guts to say it out loud,” you admit after a beat, voice dropping lower, like a secret. “But I meant every word.”

Jacob finally looks at you, his eyes warm, steady, and a little amazed.

“I know you did,” Jacob says, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And I’m really glad you did.”

He shifts slightly beside you, his shoulder brushing yours in the quiet. “’Cause I’ve been carrying it too,” he adds, and then, after a pause and a breath like he’s finally letting go of something he’s held for years, he says softly, “For a long time, actually.”

The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable. It’s thick with understanding, with everything neither of you had words for until now.

You tilt your head back against the porch swing, the wood creaking softly beneath you. The night air is thick with summer sounds—the distant chirp of crickets, the faint rustle of leaves—and the porch light casts a warm glow that softens Jacob’s profile into something almost tender.

“Can I ask you something?” you say, voice low.

He looks over, a hint of a grin already tugging at his lips. “Anything.”

You take a breath. “Were you waiting on me to catch up this whole time?”

Jacob doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and turning his hands over like the answer’s hidden in his palms.

“I wasn’t waiting,” he says finally, his voice rough but steady. “I was just hoping you’d say something sooner.”

You glance at him, catching how the porch light makes his jawline sharp, his broad shoulders relaxed but steady. There’s something in his eyes now—something softer, quieter—like he’s trying not to look too serious but can’t quite help it.

“Didn’t want to scare you off,” he adds, that half-smile curling his mouth. “Even if I wanted this. Wanted you.”

Your breath catches. “And now?”

Jacob looks back at you, that smirk still there, playful but sure. “Now? I just want to be wherever you are.”

You shake your head, laughing softly. “Yeah, because I’m so easy to keep up with.”

He shrugs, eyes crinkling with that familiar warmth. “Hey, I’m winging it as much as you are. Never done this before either.”

You look away for a second, feeling the weight of it all settle in your chest. “Feels like something just… flipped. It’s weird.”

“It did,” he agrees, voice low but steady. Then he shifts a little, his knee brushing yours—a casual closeness that somehow feels electric. “You’re not just some girl I like. You’re the one I’ve always liked. Since forever.”

You don’t say anything. Instead, your hand reaches out on its own, fingers curling into his, and he laces his around yours like it’s the simplest, most obvious thing in the world.

You meet his eyes, searching for something you can’t quite put into words. “I’ve liked you too. Always. Even when I didn’t want to admit it.”

He squeezes your hand, that grin spreading wider now, the kind that reaches his eyes. “Guess we were both just too stubborn to say it first.”

You laugh, the nervous edge finally fading, replaced by something warm and steady. The swing rocks softly, your feet bare on the porch boards, and you sit there tangled together in that quiet, perfect moment.

Then you grin, feeling bold. “So… does this mean I get to call you my boyfriend now?”

Jacob laughs–deep and easy, the kind that feels like home. “God, I hope so.”

You laugh, a little breathless. “Well, now I feel better.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Better, huh? What were you worried about?”

You shrug, trying to act casual but feeling your cheeks warm. “I don’t know. I was thinking about you all night. Couldn’t sleep.”

Jacob’s eyes narrow in mock suspicion. “Oh really? You were thinking about me?”

You roll your eyes but can’t hide your smile. “Yeah, okay, maybe. But don’t get any ideas.”

He leans in a little closer, voice dropping into a teasing whisper. “Oh, I already have plenty of ideas. So, what exactly were you thinking about?”

You hesitate, then shake your head. “Okay, never mind. That’s a question for another day.”

Jacob laughs softly, the sound low and warm. “Fair enough.”

You both sit in the quiet for a moment, the night wrapping around you like a comfortable blanket.

“So…” you say finally, voice barely above a whisper. “Now what?”

Jacob’s gaze flicks to your lips, then back to your eyes, slow and sure. “Now I kiss you.”

And he does.

His lips are softer than you remember—not like grease and oil or strawberry gloss from the night before at the fair, but fresh, cool, with that unmistakable hint of mint. Like he’d brushed his teeth just knowing this moment was coming. Smooth move.

[sugardollcurse]

could i request a john & reader where maybe the reader is no contact with a parent who always has something cruel to say? like when the boys & reader get fan-mail perhaps they start getting letters from their mom or dad that they throw away every time without reading cause they know it'll be nothing nice? john notices & doesn't understand why they'd do that and pries but the reader is pretty tight-lipped and independent so he resorts to snooping & feels like an ass about it.

totally fine if you don't wanna do this topic! i don't wanna suggest anything too heavy

𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟 | john lennon x reader

𐙚 contains ; implied emotional abuse (non-graphic)

𐙚 summary ; fan mail arrives in heaps. yours comes with cruel little handwriting tucked beneath the rest, always unopened. john notices. and john… can’t let things alone.

𐙚 note; oh no bb this isn’t too heavy at all ♡ thank you for this one!!

It started out small.

You’d be the last one to grab your fan mail, always with a faint eye-roll, always saying, “Most of it’s just people asking if I fancy you or Paul anyway.”

And John never questioned it. You weren’t sentimental. You liked to read the letters on your own time, with your feet up and no one around to see your reaction. Fair enough.

But then he started noticing you sorting them. Real quick. One stack in your lap, and one single envelope that always went in the bin without opening.

Not once. Not a peek.

The first time, he thought maybe you’d gotten something weird.. he and the others did, too. Some fans crossed lines. But it happened again. And again. Same handwriting on the front. Same look on your face: unreadable.

You didn’t mention it, and John didn’t ask.

But John Lennon, as you knew, had never been great with minding his own business.

⸻

He watched it happen for the fifth time and had to say something.

“You gonna keep doin’ that?” he asked, slouched beside you on the hotel carpet. You were both waiting for dinner, backs against the wall, sharing a packet of crisps.

“Doing what?”

“Tossin’ letters like they’re cursed. That one today, you didn’t even glance at it.”

You shrugged. “Didn’t want to.”

“Who’s it from?”

You paused, not looking at him. “No one.”

“Alright, then.” But his tone wasn’t dropped. He said it like someone folding a thought and sticking it in his back pocket for later.

He tried again a few days later, this time less gentle.

“Still not readin’ those?” he asked, eyes narrowing as he watched you pitch another one.

“Nope.”

“Jesus. You ever do?”

“Nope.”

John rocked back on his heels. “You’ve got some stranger out there writin’ you constantly and you’re just pretendin’ it doesn’t exist.”

“I’m not pretending,” you said flatly. “I know exactly what it is.”

“Then tell me.”

“No.”

He opened his mouth. Shut it again.

You crossed your arms and stared at the wall. “Drop it, John.”

⸻

He didn’t drop it.

Of course he didn’t.

He tried a handful of times, always at moments when you were off-guard: handing you tea in the morning, casually bumping your shoulder backstage, asking about it in the middle of a game of cards when your guard was down.

You always deflected.

Eventually, he stopped asking.

But not because he’d forgotten.

It was because he’d decided to look.

It was in the hotel in New York. The lot of you were knackered, jetlagged, and barely lucid, except for John, who always got twitchy when he wasn’t moving. So he wandered.

He wandered right past your suite when housekeeping was inside, tidying it.

And there it was. A letter sticking out of the waste bin.

He stared at it for a beat. Then two. He knew it wasn’t right.

But he picked it up anyway.

It was postmarked from your hometown. No return address, but he recognized the last name. Yours.

The handwriting on the envelope was harsh. Scratchy. Unkind, even before he read a word of it.

He shouldn’t have opened it.

But he did.

And inside,

It wasn’t just cruel. It was vile.

Nothing he would repeat aloud. Things that made him clutch the paper harder than he meant to. Things he had thought, in the worst depths of his own life, but never heard said aloud with such… calculation.

And it was signed Mum.

His throat burned.

He folded it up again. Exactly as you had. And shoved it in his jacket pocket.

⸻

You found him pacing the hallway ten minutes later.

He didn’t look at you right away. Just said, “You got a minute?”

You blinked. “Sure.”

“Read one of your letters.”

You stared.

He held it out. Quietly. Like it was something fragile.

Your face changed instantly. From confusion to anger to, God, something like hurt.

“That’s not for you.”

“I know.”

You went to grab it, but he pulled back gently.

“I didn’t mean to,” he said. “Was on the floor. Could’ve been anything.”

You didn’t believe that. He knew you didn’t.

You crossed your arms, coldly. “Hope you liked it.”

“Christ,” he muttered. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what, John?”

He softened.

“Pretend it doesn’t matter.”

You looked down.

Then: “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I know.”

You paused.

He reached out and touched your hand. Just barely.

“I just… if it were me,” he said, “I’d want someone to be angry with. Y’know? Properly. On my side.”

You didn’t reply for a long time.

Then: “You’ve got a funny way of showing support, Lennon. Rifling through the bin.”

He snorted, barely a laugh. “Fair enough. Bit of a low move.”

You sighed.

Took the letter back from him carefully. Held it between your fingers like it was something distant.

“You think I’m stupid for not saying anything?”

“No,” he said immediately.

“Then what?”

He tilted his head, thoughtful.

“Think you’ve just been doin’ it all on your own too long”

You looked at him. Real, deep.

And that was when it cracked.

Your jaw clenched, just for a second. Not crying, not even close, but your eyes flicked away, guarded. You shifted slightly, shoulder angling between you and him.

John stepped closer.

“Hey,” he said, quiet. “Don’t go all silent on me now.”

You added, “They knew exactly where to aim. Like it was sport.”

John nodded slowly. “Aye. I know the type.”

You met his eyes again.

And he didn’t ask if you were okay, because you weren’t.

So instead he said, “We should start opening ‘em together.”

You snorted. “Absolutely not.”

He grinned. “I’ll do voices. Make it a laugh.”

“Yeah?”

“Sure,” he said, with that devilish tilt of his mouth. “Like, Dear Y/n, you’re a right bastard, love Mum.”

You actually chuckled at that.

He reached into his coat and pulled out a pen.

Scrawled something on the outside of the envelope and handed it back.

You squinted.

In big block letters, it read:

RETURN TO SENDER. SOD OFF.

You smiled. For real.

“Thanks, John.”

He shrugged. “Don’t mention it.”

taglist: @sharksausages, @wavvytin, @wimpyvamps, @finallyforgotten, @lennongirlieee, @silly-lil-lee, @alanangels

[pankowcrumbs]

More Than This X Mattheo Riddle

MasterList

Harry Potter Universe Masterlist

There were few things in life I enjoyed more than watching boys fall over themselves for me.

It wasn’t arrogance well, not entirely just truth. I was Y/N Black, daughter of Regulus, heir to one of the most revered bloodlines in wizarding Britain. I had the name, the looks, and the kind of effortless charm that made people lean in when I spoke and hold their breath when I walked by.

I was the girl everyone wanted, and I liked it that way.

It gave me power and I never gave that away lightly.

Which was why my current situation with Mattheo Riddle was… complicated.

I wasn’t entirely sure how it started. A party in the Slytherin common room, probably. Some heated glances. A few too many drinks. One smug comment too many from him, and one daring smirk from me.

And then it happened.

Once turned to twice. Then five times. Then too many to count.

We never talked about it. It was just… us.

A secret. A convenience. A habit.

Friends with benefits.

Except Mattheo Riddle didn’t look at me like I was a secret. Not anymore.

And that was becoming a problem.

“Still acting like you don’t like me,” he muttered that evening, voice low against my ear as we stood hidden behind a tapestry on the fourth floor. “After everything I do for you.”

His hand was on my waist, warm and familiar. His lips ghosted over my jaw.

“Don’t get dramatic,” I murmured, shifting to look at him with a lazy smile. “You’re hardly suffering.”

“You only call me when you want something.”

“And you always come, don’t you?” I whispered, lips brushing his. “So really, who's to blame?”

He pulled back, jaw tight. “You know I want more than this.”

I rolled my eyes. “Merlin, not this again.”

“I’m serious, Y/N.”

“And I’m bored.”

That stung him. I saw it in the way his eyes flickered, just briefly. Mattheo was the son of Lord Voldemort unpredictable, dangerous, feared. But around me, he was different. Softer. And I… I took advantage of that more than I cared to admit.

He didn’t scare me. Not the way he scared everyone else.

“I’m not asking you to marry me,” he said, voice low and rough. “I’m just asking you to stop pretending like you don’t feel anything.”

I crossed my arms, giving him a once-over. “What do you want from me, Mattheo? A love letter? A slow dance under the stars?”

“I want you,” he said simply.

I hated how my heart skipped at that. Hated it.

“You already have me,” I replied, shrugging. “On your lap. In your bed. Against that bookshelf in the library”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

He stepped forward, gaze dark, intense.

“You act like you’re doing me a favour, letting me touch you. Like I should be grateful.”

I tilted my chin. “Shouldn’t you be?”

“Y/N”

“No, seriously. I’m the girl every guy in our year would sell their wand to spend a night with. And you get me, regularly. You’re the son of the most feared Dark Lord in history, and still, I’m the prize.”

There was a long silence.

Mattheo looked at me like he was seeing something he didn’t want to.

And I… well. I felt like I’d finally said what we both knew but never dared to say aloud.

He exhaled slowly. “You know what’s funny?”

“What?”

“For all that pride, for all that show… you’re terrified.”

That made me blink. “Excuse me?”

“You’re scared shitless of letting someone love you. Scared that if someone sees past the pretty and the power, they might find a person under all that pride.”

My jaw clenched. “Don’t pretend you know me.”

“But I do know you,” he said, stepping closer. “I know how you hate sleeping alone after a nightmare. I know how you hum when you braid your hair. I know you read the Prophet out loud when you think no one’s listening because you like the sound of your own voice.”

I turned my face, jaw tight.

“And I know,” he said, voice dropping, “that you feel something for me. You do. You just won’t let yourself admit it.”

There was silence again. Tense. Heavy. Tearing me open.

“I told myself I could handle this,” he said. “That being close to you, in any way, was enough. That one day, you’d wake up and realise you wanted me back.”

His voice cracked.

“But I’m done pretending it doesn’t kill me when you pull your robes on and leave without looking back.”

My throat went dry.

He rubbed a hand down his face. “You’ve got me. All of me. Heart, soul, everything. And I get that you’re scared of commitment, of being seen, of losing control. But I’m not asking for your crown, Y/N. I’m just asking for a place beside you.”

My breath caught.

“And if you’re going to throw that away just to keep up your little act of untouchable perfection…” He shook his head. “Then I’ve been a bloody fool.”

He looked at me like he was already expecting the rejection.

Like he’d already mourned it.

And something inside me cracked.

Because I did feel something. Of course I did. How could I not?

Mattheo was chaos wrapped in silk. Fire with hands that knew every part of me, and eyes that softened when I entered the room. He made me feel infuriatingly, completely, dangerously.

But I was Y/N Black.

I couldn’t be someone’s girlfriend. I had a name to protect. A reputation. I was the one who left people breathless not the other way around.

And yet… here he was.

Begging.

The boy with the world at his feet.

Begging me to let him in.

“You know,” I said finally, voice quieter than I meant, “you don’t look very threatening when you’re pouring your heart out.”

He gave a broken laugh. “Don’t care how I look. Only care if you’re listening.”

I was.

Merlin help me, I was.

My eyes traced over his face the curve of his mouth, the storm in his eyes. He looked wrecked. Devastated. Raw.

I should’ve turned him down. Should’ve laughed it off, flipped my hair, and sauntered away like none of this mattered.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I stepped forward. Slowly. Like gravity was pulling me to him.

“I don’t know how to be what you want,” I whispered. “I’ve never been that girl.”

“You don’t have to be anyone but yourself,” he said. “I already want you.”

“I could hurt you.”

“You already do.”

I laughed soft, brittle. “You’re such a mess.”

He smiled faintly. “Only for you.”

I stood there, looking at him the boy who’d haunted my thoughts and filled my nights, who knew me in all the ways I pretended no one did. He could ruin me. He already had.

But maybe… just maybe… I didn’t want to be untouchable anymore.

“Alright,” I said.

His head snapped up. “What?”

I swallowed. “Let’s try. You and me.”

His eyes searched mine. “Are you serious?”

“Don’t make me change my mind.”

And then he laughed bright and full, like something heavy had been ripped from his chest. He surged forward, arms wrapping around me, lips crashing into mine with a kind of desperation I’d never known.

It wasn’t lust this time. It wasn’t need. It was something deeper. Real.

When we finally broke apart, he pressed his forehead to mine.

“You’ve no idea what this means,” he whispered.

I smirked. “I think I do. You’ve only been begging me for it.”

His cheeks flushed, but he grinned. “Bloody hell. You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Not a chance, Riddle.”

But truth be told I didn’t mind being the reason he begged.

Going public with Mattheo Riddle felt a little like lighting a fuse and then sitting back to watch the explosion.

The morning after we decided to try, he turned up outside the Great Hall and waited for me like it was the most normal thing in the world casually leaning against the stone archway, tie loosened, expression unreadable. When I reached him, he offered his hand.

No words. No smirk. Just… his hand.

And I took it.

Just like that.

The hall fell silent when we walked in hand in bloody hand and I swear I felt every head swivel in our direction. Forks dropped. Owls hooted. Someone gasped. Blaise Zabini actually choked on his pumpkin juice.

Mattheo squeezed my fingers like he’d been waiting for this.

Me? I smiled sweetly and carried on, hips swaying, chin high, eyes forward.

Let them stare.

Let them choke on it.

The whispers were immediate and shameless.

“No way Y/N Black? With him?” “Weren’t they just… hooking up?” “Merlin, I thought she’d never settle down” “He must’ve hexed her”

By the time we sat down at the Slytherin table, our names were practically setting fire to the castle gossip chain.

Across the table, Pansy Parkinson grinned like she’d won a bet.

“Told you lot it’d happen,” she said smugly, flicking her fringe. “You don’t sleep with someone that many times without catching feelings. At least one of them was bound to crack.”

“Pretty sure it was him,” Draco muttered.

“Pretty sure it was her,” Theo countered.

They both looked at me.

I just sipped my tea and smiled. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Mattheo snorted, shoulders relaxed for the first time in days. He looked lighter. Looser. Happier.

And I… liked seeing him that way.

Which is probably why I didn’t hex the first idiot who tried to hit on me two days later in the library.

I’d been looking for a Potions text when I felt someone slide up beside me.

“Y/N,” a voice said warm, familiar, and smug.

I turned.

Harry bloody Potter.

Of course.

“Can I help you?” I asked, eyebrow arching.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Er… yeah. I just wanted to say… I mean, you look really nice today.”

I blinked.

“Thanks?”

He cleared his throat. “And I was wondering if you know maybe, sometime, if you’re not busy… we could hang out?”

I actually stared at him for a moment. Was he serious?

“Hang out,” I echoed, deadpan.

“Yeah. Like Hogsmeade. Or dinner. Or just the two of us talking and stuff. I mean, I’ve always thought you were”

“She’s taken, Potter.”

Mattheo’s voice cut cleanly through the stacks like a spell, sharp and low.

He stepped out from the next row, a dark, amused shadow with his arms folded and that dangerous glint in his eye.

Harry blinked. “What?”

Mattheo strode over, all smug confidence and barely-contained possessiveness.

“She’s got a boyfriend,” he said, slipping a hand around my waist like he was staking claim. “Me.”

The silence that followed was almost painful.

Harry looked between us, stunned. “You two are?”

“Yes,” I said sweetly. “Surprised?”

He hesitated. “Well… yeah.”

Mattheo grinned darkly. “Better luck next time, Chosen One.”

I tried not to laugh. Honestly.

Harry mumbled something about heading to Herbology and all but ran.

Mattheo turned to me, smug as sin. “You know, I thought Potter might be stupid enough to try something.”

“He wasn’t being that inappropriate.”

Mattheo gave me a look.

I shrugged, amused. “You didn’t have to scare him off like that.”

“I like scaring them off,” he said simply. “Especially when they forget you’re already mine.”

The rumour mill, naturally, exploded.

By dinner, the whispers had mutated.

“Did you hear she turned down Harry Potter?” “Mattheo Riddle threatened someone in the library again.” “Apparently she only dates Dark Heirs now.”

Some people were stunned. Some were supportive. And some mostly Hufflepuff boys were devastated.

One of them even approached me in the corridor.

“I just need to know,” he said dramatically, hand on heart, “if there’s any chance for someone else. You were my wallpaper for two years, Y/N.”

I grinned. “I’m flattered.”

“But?”

“But my boyfriend might kill you if I even answer that seriously.”

Mattheo, of course, appeared at the end of the corridor not two seconds later arms crossed, expression lethal.

The Hufflepuff legged it.

Later, Mattheo leaned against the wall beside me, smirking. “Still think I overreact?”

I glanced up at him. “You're enjoying this a bit too much.”

He tilted his head, brushing a thumb down my jaw. “Of course I am. Do you know how many nights I’ve dreamt of holding your hand in public?”

“I assumed you were more focused on my legs.”

“Well. Those too.”

We both laughed.

It was easier now. Effortless. Real.

People kept talking, of course. They always would. They gossiped and speculated and whispered behind scrolls.

But we didn’t care.

Theo gave Mattheo a smug handshake. Draco muttered something about finally “taming the lioness.” Pansy and Daphne both hugged me, squealing, “Finally!” like this had been in the works since second year.

Even Blaise smirked and said, “Honestly thought you’d kill him before you kissed him.”

“Still might,” I replied.

Mattheo grinned beside me. “Kinky.”

There were still glances. Still whispers. Still boys who tried.

But they didn’t get far.

Because every time someone looked at me like I was a prize to be won, Mattheo Riddle looked at me like I was the whole damn world.

And for the first time in my life, I didn’t mind belonging to someone.

Not if that someone looked at me like he’d set the world on fire just to keep me warm.

Let them talk.

Let them wonder.

We were Y/N Black and Mattheo Riddle.

And we were no one’s rumour we were a bloody reckoning.