#if I have to come back I will come with a different name

[moonlightwritingf1]

Starved | LN4

𓂃۶ৎ summary ━━━━━━━ After three weeks apart, Y/N and Lando finally reunite in a frenzy of teasing, need, and uncontrollable desire. He tries to pace himself, to savor every second, but she knows exactly how to make him come—whispering filthy words, dragging her nails down his back, squeezing around him just right. Lando, breathless and wrecked, gives in completely, fucking her like he’s been starving for it, like he needs to make up for every second they’ve spent apart. 

𓂃۶ৎ pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

𓂃۶ৎ word count ━━━━━━━ 6.7k

𓂃۶ৎ warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, p in v, unprotected sex, dirty talk, teasing, double creampie?

Based on this request.

The front door swung open with a creak, and before Y/N could fully register the rush of excitement coursing through her, Lando was already there—bag in hand, hair messy from travel, his eyes lit with an almost fervent need. The energy in her apartment shifted the moment he stepped inside. It was late, nearly midnight, and the city hummed quietly outside the windows. Y/N’s heart stuttered at the sight of him.

He set his luggage against the wall and straightened, looking at her with that hungry, burning gaze he’d worn ever since their early days of flirting. The difference now, after a year of dating, was that the tension was more intense than ever. Distance had stretched the longing between them like a tight elastic band—and it threatened to snap the second they touched.

Y/N stood barefoot in her cozy living room, wearing a pair of snug sweatpants and a slightly oversized hoodie. There was something about how Lando looked at her, even in that mundane outfit, that sparked an electric current across her skin. He seemed to devour her with his eyes.

His voice came out as a quiet rasp. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.”

She offered a slow, teasing smile and let her eyes drag along the planes of his face. “Oh, I think I might have an idea,” she teased, a little smirk curling her lips. “You look half-crazed with desperation.”

“Desperate doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he breathed. The weight of his stare lingered, unapologetically roaming over her body.

She gestured him closer, but deliberately inched backward, coaxing him to follow. Ever since they’d gotten together, she’d found a sort of magnetic pleasure in making him chase her. Lando always went along with it too—like he craved the thrill of being pulled right to her edge and then reeled back in slowly.

He dropped his coat on a nearby chair and caught her wrist gently, thumbing over her pulse. It was racing, and his grip tightened the slightest bit as he leaned in.

Her breath fluttered. “You could’ve at least pretended not to have missed me too much,” she teased, as he began planting soft kisses along her jawline.

He gave a low chuckle against her skin. “Trust me, I’ve done enough pretending on camera. Smiling for the fans, interviews, media days. But thinking of you was… dangerous.” He exhaled, warm breath ghosting over her ear. “I kept picturing your face, remembering the way you tease me, the way you say my name in that stubborn little tone you’ve perfected. It drove me mad.”

She practically purred at his confession. “So you want me to make it up to you, then?”

“Every day. Every hour. Right now,” he replied, tone edging on a plea. His lips found hers in a slow, sensual kiss that carried weeks of pent-up desire.

A needy hum slipped from Y/N’s mouth. He tasted faintly of mint gum, and the edges of his lips cracked into a half-smile as they kissed, like he found it strangely amusing to be so utterly at her mercy. When they finally pulled back, both were breathing hard.

“Missed me that bad, huh?” she whispered, nibbling her bottom lip in that way she knew drove him crazy.

Lando groaned softly. “You love torturing me, don’t you?”

She only answered with an impish grin. “Possibly.”

His chest tightened at that playful spark in her eyes. “But we have to move this somewhere else,” he murmured, glancing pointedly at the couch, then the door leading to the bedroom. The effort to remain calm was evident. His voice, though laced with need, carried a distinct note of self-control.

She raised a brow. “Feeling impatient already? Big day tomorrow?” Her playful tone jabbed at him.

“Y/N,” he murmured, pressing the syllables of her name slowly. “It’s been weeks since I last saw you—properly. I’ve had to settle for phone calls, FaceTimes…not enough.”

Her heart throbbed with sympathy and arousal all at once. He reached for her waist, but she sidestepped him in the smallest, most maddening way, letting his fingers slip over her hip without fully connecting. Then she turned and started walking toward the bedroom, tossing a glance over her shoulder.

“Come on then,” she invited, voice laced with teasing.

He tried to hide how quickly he was following, how urgent his strides were. The bedroom light was dim, a warm glow casting shadows on the walls. Y/N pulled off her hoodie and tossed it onto the chair in the corner. Underneath, she wore a simple cropped tank top that hinted at the curves Lando knew all too well. He swallowed hard.

She gave him an unhurried once-over. The crisp T-shirt and jeans he wore clung just right. His shoulders seemed broader than the last time she’d seen him in person, a testament to relentless training, and it made her mouth go dry with anticipation.

He strode closer. “You’re about to kill me,” he muttered against her lips, hooking a finger under her chin to bring her face back up to his.

She let out a low laugh. “You’re so dramatic,” she teased, eyes dancing with mischief.

He brushed his mouth over hers. His hands found the hem of her tank top, lifting it slowly. Skin against skin, everything was scorching—like her body remembered the heat of him. As the soft fabric slid up, goosebumps rippled over her arms. He paused just before fully removing it, his thumbs circling the sides of her waist in a torturously gentle motion.

“That’s because I am,” he whispered, catching her gaze. “I’m lovesick, and I’m about to break if you don’t let me have you right now.”

Her cheeks flushed with pleasure at his words. She let her arms rise, letting him tug the tank top off fully. Once discarded, her bare skin was exposed to the gentle glow of the lamp, and Lando’s eyes roamed over her with a reverence that made her pulse hammer.

He captured her lips again, deeper this time, and she hummed into his mouth. As his fingertips drifted up her ribs, she arched just enough to let him know she wanted his touch. But something in how he was moving felt restrained, cautious—and she understood why. He’d hinted at it more than once over their late-night calls—his voice low, edged with need. After weeks apart, he was afraid he’d barely last, that the moment he finally had her beneath him, wrapped around him, he’d come undone too fast.

When she slipped her hand over the front of his jeans, he inhaled sharply, body going rigid under her palm. “Careful,” he rasped, exhaling through clenched teeth. “I’m on a fragile edge, princess.”

“Princess?” she echoed with a low laugh, leaning up to nibble gently at his jaw. “That’s new. I like it.”

He let out a strangled chuckle. “You can make fun of me all you want, but you’re not helping my… self-control.”

Her lips curved into a dangerous smile. “Who says I want to help that?”

His breath hitched again as her hand roamed lower. She was only half-teasing, but the effect on him was immediate. He tried to focus on reigning in the rush of sensations. He was determined not to finish in what he jokingly referred to as “three strokes and a heartbreak.” Still, the desperation in him built. Every inch of him blazed as if starved for her.

“You’re absolutely lethal,” he breathed, capturing her mouth in a series of hungry kisses. He struggled to keep them slow, to drag them out when all he truly wanted was to lose himself.

Her responses were equally heated, equally needy. Her fingernails grazed lightly across his chest as she pulled his T-shirt up. She wanted every second of this, yet found a thrill in matching his struggle—knowing he was hoovering on the brink, but wanting to draw it out, to savor every moment of this union that they’d both waited far too long for.

He moaned quietly into her mouth when she slid his jeans down over his hips, grazing the sensitive skin just above the waistband of his boxers. “I need you,” he whispered, a raw edge to his tone. “But I’m trying to—God, I’m trying not to—”

She silenced him with another kiss, swallowing his groan. “Shh, you’re fine,” she reassured softly. There was a gentle tease in her voice, but also a note of real affection. She loved that he cared so much about not rushing, about savoring every touch.

She reached behind herself, letting her sweatpants slip off. Lando couldn’t help but stare, throat bobbing, voice strangled with desire. “You’re perfect,” he managed to say.

She gave him a look that was warm and amused. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.”

He trailed his hands along her waist, fingertips pressing into flesh that was already sensitive under his touch. Their kisses became a frantic dance of tongues and whispers. Her hand crept around his neck, and she guided him onto the bed, pushing him gently until he was lying back against the pillows.

Climbing on top of him, she leaned down, hair falling like a curtain around their faces. “Lando?” she murmured, voice honeyed with both affection and playfulness.

“Yeah?” His hands settled on her hips, kneading softly.

“You realize how adorable you are when you’re this desperate?” she teased, a mischievous spark lighting her gaze.

He let out a mock groan of frustration. “Adorable is not the vibe I’m going for,” he mumbled, though a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Fine,” she relented with a smirk of her own. “How about ‘hot as hell’ then?”

“That’s more like it.” He lifted his head enough to catch her mouth with his, losing himself momentarily in the sweetness of her lips. But the moment she straddled him, the heat of her pussy pressing along the rigid length of his cock, his breath hitched—sharp and unsteady. He gasped, tilting his head back against the pillow before dragging his eyes to hers, voice raw with desperation. “Sorry,” he panted. “Give me—give me a second.”

She stroked his cheek with unexpected tenderness. “We have all night,” she murmured, though her own voice shook with barely contained desire. “No need to rush.”

A shaky laugh escaped him. “Easy for you to say.”

She braced her hands on his shoulders, feeling the tense muscle beneath. “Let me take the lead for a bit, hmm?” Her tone was simultaneously soothing and heavy with suggestion.

His eyes fluttered shut at the mere offer, a shiver of anticipation running through him. “God, yes,” he whispered.

Y/N trailed slow, open-mouthed kisses along the column of his neck, down to his chest. The soft sighs escaping him fueled her confidence. She used the tip of her tongue to trace small patterns, peppering each touch with a light graze of her teeth. Meanwhile, his hands remained at her hips, occasionally gripping, occasionally loosening, as if he couldn’t decide whether to let go or hold on tight.

Every breath he took sounded labored. She could practically feel his heart pounding against her palm when she slid her hand across his chest. “You okay down there?” she teased.

He swallowed, eyes fluttering open to find hers. “Just struggling to hold back a bit,” he admitted with a self-conscious grin. “Last thing I want is to pass out from excitement.”

Her laugh was low and husky, dripping with wicked intent. She leaned in, pressing her lips against his ear, her breath hot and teasing as she whispered,

“You know, I was gonna be good tonight… but then I felt how fucking hard you are for me, and now all I can think about is how deep I can take you down my throat before you start begging me to breathe.”

Lando let out a sharp, ragged exhale, his hands gripping her hips like they were the only thing keeping him grounded. She smirked, letting her nails scrape down his chest before sliding back up to his throat, her fingers curling just enough to make his Adam’s apple bob.

“And you keep saying you’ll finish too fast,” she went on, voice syrupy and sweet, “but baby, I want you to. I wanna feel you lose control, make a mess of me, then get hard again while I’m still licking your come off my lips.”

His whole body shuddered beneath her, his head pressing back into the pillows as he let out a strangled groan. She grinned, shifting her hips just enough to drag her soaked pussy along the length of his cock, the sensation making him curse under his breath.

“What’s wrong, baby?” she cooed, tilting her head mockingly. “Don’t tell me I’ve got you speechless already. We haven’t even gotten to the part where I bend over and spread myself open for you… or where I make you watch while I play with myself, nice and slow, until you’re desperate enough to shove me down and fuck me stupid.”

Lando’s grip on her tightened—hard enough to bruise. His breath was ragged, his jaw clenched, and when he finally looked up at her, his eyes were dark, blown wide with lust.

“You think you’re in control, don’t you?” His voice was hoarse, shaking with restraint.

She smirked, leaning down until their lips were just barely touching. “I know I am.”

She decided to ease the tension a bit and murmured dirty jokes in his ear, half-laughing between each whisper, making him grin and groan all at once. The more she joked, the more he relaxed, letting himself smile even as raw need clawed at him from the inside.

Eventually, she guided him to switch positions, rolling him gently so she was beneath him. He braced himself on his forearms, pressing his forehead to hers. His breathing was ragged. “Y/N, I swear I’m trying to play it cool.”

Her lips brushed his earlobe. “Then don’t,” she whispered. “Just be with me.”

He swallowed thickly. “But I want this to last.”

“It will,” she promised, skimming her fingertips over his back.

Lando’s breath hitched as he positioned himself between her thighs, his eyes dark with hunger and restraint. His hands trembled slightly as he guided himself to her entrance, the tip of his cock brushing against her wet heat. With a slow, deliberate movement, he pushed into her, burying himself to the hilt in one agonizingly perfect stroke. A deep, guttural groan escaped his lips, muffled against the curve of her neck. “Fuck, you feel incredible,” he rasped, his voice thick with need.

He withdrew almost completely, his cock slick with her arousal, before sinking back in at a torturously slow pace. Every inch of him seemed to strain with the effort to maintain control. His hips rolled against hers in a rhythm that was both maddening and mesmerizing, each thrust deeper than the last. His fingers dug into the sheets on either side of her head as he fought to keep the rhythm steady, his breath hot and ragged against her skin.

“Lando,” she gasped, her hands sliding up his arms to his shoulders, feeling the tension in his muscles. He groaned again, his forehead pressing into hers as he continued to move with that same slow, deliberate pace. “You’re killing me,” he whispered, his voice trembling with restraint. “I can’t—fuck, I can’t go any faster or I’ll lose it.”

He paused mid-thrust, his body still buried deep inside her, his forehead resting heavily against hers. His chest heaved with labored breaths, his eyes closed as he struggled to regain his composure. “I need to slow down,” he panted, his voice barely audible. “If I don’t, this is gonna be over before I get to ruin you properly.”

Her hands drifted down to his abdomen, her fingertips brushing over the taut, trembling muscles there. She could feel the way his abs contracted with every shaky breath, the way his body fought against the overwhelming urge to lose control. “You’re doing so well,” she murmured, her voice soft and encouraging. Her nails raked lightly over his skin, and he hissed through clenched teeth, a curse slipping from his lips.

“You—that’s not helping,” he growled, his hips twitching involuntarily. He pulled out completely, his hands gripping the base of his cock as he fought to hold back the tide of pleasure threatening to overwhelm him. His breath came in sharp, uneven gasps, his eyes squeezed shut as he whispered, “I need a second, or I swear—”

She reached up to cradle his face, her thumbs brushing over his cheeks as she kissed him softly. “Take your time,” she whispered against his lips. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He let out a shaky laugh, his forehead resting against hers once more. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he murmured, his voice tinged with both desperation and affection. “But fuck, what a way to go.”

Lando’s body shuddered as he guided himself back inside her, the heat of her slick walls wrapping around him like a intoxicating squeeze. His breath hitched, and his hands trembled where they braced on either side of her head. “Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he groaned, his voice raw and strained as he sunk in inch by torturous inch. She clenched around him instinctively, and he let out a sharp, breathless curse, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. “Jesus—Y/N, please—” he rasped, his forehead pressing against hers as his body fought to stay in control.

His lips brushed her temple, his warm breath ghosting over her skin as he whispered, his voice wrecked and trembling with need. “I thought about this every night—about being buried inside you, feeling you squeeze me like this. You’re unreal, sweetheart.” Each word was a desperate confession, his voice breaking slightly as he spoke. His hips moved in slow, deliberate thrusts, the rhythm faltering as he struggled to keep his composure.

He dragged his lips down to her collarbone, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin. His breath was ragged, his movements careful and measured as he tried to focus on her instead of the overwhelming pressure building inside him. His tongue traced a path along her collarbone, his lips pressing firm and insistent, as if trying to anchor himself in the feel of her body beneath him. “You’re too good,” he muttered against her skin, his voice muffled and strained. “Too fucking perfect.”

Y/N tightened around him deliberately, her walls pulsing in slow, rhythmic clenches that made his hips stutter. He groaned, a low, guttural sound that tore from his throat. “Fuck—Y/N, don’t—” he begged, his hands gripping the sheets tightly as he fought to hold on. But she didn’t stop, milking him with every pulse, and he let out a strangled curse, pulling out of her completely before he could lose control. His chest heaved, his body trembling with the effort to calm down.

But it didn’t last long. With a shaky breath, he guided himself back inside her, his thrusts slow and deep once more. His lips found her throat, and he mumbled against her skin, his voice hoarse and broken. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—” The repeated curse spilled from his lips like a prayer, his grip on her tightening as he struggled to keep his rhythm steady.

His eyes stayed locked on her face, watching the way her lips parted with every thrust, the way her brows knit together in pleasure. It was nearly enough to undo him completely. He groaned, his voice breaking mid-moan as she clenched around him unexpectedly. “Fuck—Y/N,” he gasped, the sound desperate and breathless, his hips jerking forward as he lost himself in the sensation for a moment.

Then he let out a shaky laugh, his forehead resting against hers as he tried to catch his breath. “You—fuck—you’ve got me completely fucked up, you know that?” His voice was tinged with both desperation and affection, his hands trembling as they brushed her hair back from her face. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Her nails dug into his back as she arched against him, her body practically vibrating with need. God, he was teasing her, not fucking her properly, and it was driving her insane. Every slow, deliberate thrust of his cock inside her was sending waves of pleasure rippling through her, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted him to lose control, to give in to the raw, primal need she could feel simmering just beneath his carefully maintained restraint.

Her hips rolled against his, trying to coax him into a faster pace, but he only groaned, his forehead pressing against hers as he fought to keep his movements slow and steady. "Lando, please," she whimpered, her voice breaking as her fingers tangled in his hair. "I need more. I need you to fuck me properly."

He let out a shaky laugh, his breath hot against her lips. "Sweetheart, if I start fucking you the way you want me to, I’m not gonna last," he admitted, his voice hoarse. "You feel too fucking good."

She clenched around him deliberately, feeling him shudder against her as a moan tore from his throat. "Then don’t last," she urged, her voice a desperate plea. "Let go. I want to feel you come undone inside me."

His hips stuttered, and he let out a strangled curse, pulling out of her completely as he fought to regain control. His chest heaved, his body trembling with the effort to calm down, but the look in his eyes was pure, unadulterated desire. "You’re gonna be the death of me," he muttered, his voice thick with need.

"And you love it," she shot back, a wicked grin spreading across her lips as she reached for him, pulling him back down to her. Her body was on fire, every nerve ending screaming for more, and she wasn’t about to let him stop until he gave her exactly what she wanted.

He slid into her again, the thick length of his cock stretching her in the most delicious way. For her, the sensation was overwhelming—a perfect balance of fullness and heat, every nerve in her pussy lighting up as he buried himself to the hilt. He felt like he belonged there, like her body had been made to take him, and the ache of needing more only grew as he stayed still inside her. For him, it was pure torture. The velvety tightness of her walls clung to him, hot and wet, and he had to grit his teeth to keep from thrusting. His cock throbbed, desperate for release, and every second he stayed buried in her without moving felt like both heaven and hell.

Her lips found his in a soft, tender kiss, her tongue brushing against his in a slow, teasing rhythm. Just as the kiss deepened, she squeezed around him deliberately, her walls pulsing in a tight, irresistible grip. He groaned into her mouth, his control slipping as his hips jerked involuntarily. “God, Y/N,” he gasped, pulling back just enough to look at her, his eyes dark and desperate. “You’re trying to ruin me, aren’t you?”

She smirked, her lips swollen from his kisses. “Move, Lando,” she begged, her voice breathless and pleading. “Please. I need you to fuck me. I can’t take this anymore.” Her hands gripped his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as she arched against him, trying to coax him into motion. But he was determined to hold out, to savor every second, even if it was killing him.

She pressed her hips back against him, trying to force him to move, but he stopped her with a firm grip on her waist. “Patience, princess,” he murmured, his voice strained but teasing. Then he began to move again, slowly at first, each thrust deliberate and deep. The drag of his cock inside her was agonizingly perfect, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through her entire body. He groaned, his forehead pressing against hers as he fought to keep the pace steady.

But she wasn’t about to let him win. Just as he found a rhythm, she pulsed around him again, her walls fluttering in a way that made him falter. His thrusts became erratic, his control crumbling as he let out a low, guttural curse. “Fuck, Y/N,” he growled, his voice trembling with need. “You’re making this impossible.”

She grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Good,” she whispered, her voice dripping with wicked intent. “I want you to lose control. I want to feel you come inside me, Lando.” Her words were too much for him. He was already on the edge, and when she squeezed around him one last time, he was done for. His thrusts stuttered, his rhythm completely broken as he groaned her name, his cock pulsing as he emptied himself inside her.

For her, the feeling was intoxicating. The warmth of his cum filling her only made her wetter, her pussy clinging to him greedily. She didn’t come, but the sensation of him spilling inside her, combined with the way his cock twitched against her walls, left her even more desperate for release. “You feel so good,” she whispered, her voice husky as she teased him. “I can feel how hard you came. Did I ruin your plans, baby?”

For him, it was overwhelming. The pleasure that ripped through him was almost too much, every pulse of his cock sending waves of ecstasy crashing over him. He groaned, his body trembling as he tried to catch his breath. “You’re fucking perfect,” he murmured, his voice rough and full of adoration. “I swear, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

She laughed softly, her fingers brushing through his hair. “You love it,” she teased, her voice sultry and full of promise. 

Lando let out a shaky chuckle, his hips still pressed firmly against hers. His cock, still semi-hard but undeniably sensitive, remained buried inside her, throbbing faintly as she clenched around him. He kissed her temple, his lips lingering against her skin. “And I’m not done with you yet,” he murmured, his voice low and rough with lingering desire. His body trembled slightly with the aftershocks of his orgasm, but the feeling of her tight heat wrapped around him kept him on the edge, unable to pull away.

He groaned softly, his forehead resting against hers as he whispered, “Fuck, you’re still so perfect. Can’t even think about leaving you.” His hips shifted slightly, a small, involuntary movement that sent a jolt of pleasure—and sensitivity—through him. He hissed through his teeth, his hands gripping her waist as he fought the urge to move again.

Y/N smirked, her legs still wrapped around him, keeping him close. “Sensitive, huh?” she teased, her voice dripping with playful mischief. She squeezed around him gently, just enough to make him groan and his hips jerk forward instinctively.

“God, you’re a menace,” he muttered, his voice strained but laced with adoration. He pressed a kiss to her lips, his movements slow and tender, as if reveling in the feel of her still around him. “But I’m not going anywhere. Not yet.”

His words were a promise, and it was one she intended to hold him to.

His words were a promise, and she intended to hold him to it. Before he could say another word, she surged forward, capturing his lips in a searing, hungry kiss. Her mouth moved against his with a fierce urgency, her teeth nipping at his bottom lip before her tongue swept inside, claiming him with a possessive dominance that made him groan. She kissed him like she was determined to remind him exactly who owned him, her hands tangling in his hair as she pulled him closer, deepening the kiss until they were both breathless.

And then she began to squeeze, her pussy clenching around his cock in slow, deliberate pulses that had him moaning into her mouth. He was still sensitive, his body trembling as his cock twitched inside her, the overstimulation leaving him breathless and aching. She didn’t stop, her walls fluttering rhythmically, milking him in a way that made his hips jerk involuntarily. “Fuck, Y/N,” he gasped, breaking the kiss to press his forehead against hers. “You’re killing me.”

She smirked, her lips swollen from his kisses, and reached up to tug gently at his hair, guiding his mouth down to her breast. “Suck,” she commanded, her voice low and husky with need. He obeyed without hesitation, his lips closing around her hardened nipple, his tongue flicking over it in slow, teasing circles. She arched into his mouth, a soft moan escaping her lips as his teeth grazed her sensitive skin.

As he sucked, she began to grind, her hips moving in slow, sensual circles that made his cock slide deeper inside her. He groaned against her breast, his hands gripping her hips tightly as she took control, her movements deliberate and teasing. But then, unable to resist, he began to thrust, his hips rolling against hers in a rhythm that was both rough and tender. He fucked her with a desperation that left him breathless, his cock moving in and out of her slick heat with a wet, obscene sound that only fueled the fire between them.

He finally pulled back from her breast,and stared into her eyes as he continued to thrust. “Mmm, is this what you wanted?” he rasped, his voice thick with need. “Me sucking on you while I’m still inside you?” His tongue flicked over her nipple one last time, making her whimper, before his gaze dropped to where their bodies were connected.

His cum was still slick on the length of his cock, glistening in the dim light as it disappeared into her with every thrust. The visual was almost too much to handle. “You feel that, baby?” he breathed, his voice trembling. “My cock’s still drenched in you—covered in my cum.” His eyes stayed locked on the sight, completely mesmerized by the way she took him, her pussy glistening with their combined arousal.

“Look at that—fuck, look at how messy we are,” he groaned, his fingers gripping her jaw and forcing her to watch as his cock slid in and out of her. She moaned at the sight, her eyes widening as she took in the way his cum coated his length, leaking out of her with every thrust. “Shit, that’s my cum leaking out of you. You like seeing what you do to me?” His voice was a low, desperate rasp, his fingers smearing the evidence of his release along her thighs before gripping her ass tightly.

“I can’t stop watching—you’re taking me so well, fuck,” he muttered, his thrusts growing more erratic as the sight of his cock disappearing into her soaked pussy drove him closer to the edge. She moaned again, her hands gripping his shoulders as she met his thrusts, her body trembling with need. “You’re fucking perfect,” he growled, his voice breaking as he lost himself in the heat of her, in the way she felt around him, in the way she looked, completely wrecked by him.

And she was perfect—every gasp, every moan, every clench of her pussy around his cock only proved it. He couldn’t get enough of her, and he knew he never would.

Lando’s thrusts were deep and relentless, his cock filling her completely with every stroke. She could feel the way he stretched her, the way his cum from earlier still coated his length, making each movement slick and intoxicating. But it wasn’t enough. She wanted more. Her hand slipped between their bodies, her fingers finding her swollen clit with ease. She gasped, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment as she began to rub herself in slow, deliberate circles.

“Lando,” she moaned, her voice trembling with need. “Watch me.”

His eyes snapped to where her hand was working between her thighs, and what he saw made his breath catch. Her fingers were slick with his cum, the evidence of their earlier union glistening on her skin as she spread the warmth across her clit. The sight was almost too much to handle. His thrusts faltered for a moment, his hips jerking forward involuntarily as he watched her play with herself.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he groaned, his voice hoarse with desperation. “You’re actually spreading it… you’re playing with my cum while I’m still inside you?”

She smirked up at him, her fingers never stopping their slow, teasing movements. “Mmm, look at that—your cum’s still dripping out of me, Lando,” she purred, her tone dripping with mischief. She dipped her fingers between her thighs again, deliberately rubbing his release into her swollen clit. “You see how messy we are? How much you’ve already given me?”

Lando’s cock throbbed inside her at her words, the sensation of her tightening around him nearly making him lose control. His thrusts became more erratic, his rhythm faltering as he struggled to keep his eyes on her fingers. “Shit, baby, keep going—let me see you make yourself come while I fuck you,” he begged, his voice breaking on the last word.

She moaned, her head falling back against the pillows as she let him watch her. Her fingers moved faster now, her clit pulsing under her touch as she neared the edge. “Come on, baby—watch me,” she whispered, her voice breathless. “Watch how I play with your cum while you fuck me.”

Lando’s hands gripped her hips tightly, his fingers digging into her skin as he fought to keep his thrusts steady. “You know what that does to me?” he rasped, his eyes locked on her fingers. “Watching you play with yourself while I’m inside you? It’s fucking insane.”

But she wasn’t done yet. Just as he seemed to find his rhythm again, she stopped him, her hands pressing against his abs to halt his movements. “Wait,” she whispered, her voice soft but commanding. His body stilled immediately, his cock throbbing inside her as he tried to catch his breath.

With a slow, deliberate movement, she reached down and wrapped her hand around the base of his cock, pulling him out of her. The sensation was almost too much for him, his cock twitching in her hand as she guided him free of her slick heat. He groaned, his eyes closing for a moment as he fought the urge to thrust into her hand.

But she wasn’t done. Keeping her eyes locked on his, she dipped her fingers inside her pussy, gathering the cum that was still leaking out of her. His breath hitched as he watched her, his cock jerking in her hand at the sight. “Fuck, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “You’re killing me.”

She smirked, her fingers spreading his cum across her swollen clit, making sure he could see every second of it. The sensation was electric, her clit pulsing under her touch as she worked herself closer to the edge. “You see that, Lando?” she moaned, her voice low and husky. “You see how wet you’ve made me? How much of you I’m still holding inside me?”

Lando couldn’t look away, his eyes locked on her fingers as they moved over her clit. “Holy fuck,” he breathed, his voice rough with need. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this.”

She reached for him again, her other hand wrapping around his cock as she guided him back to her entrance. “You’re gonna give me more, aren’t you?” she whispered against his lips, smirking as she pressed him deeper. “You feel that? How easy you slide in after you’ve already come inside me?”

He groaned, his hips jerking forward as she took him completely. “Y/N,” he rasped, his voice breaking. “I can’t—fuck, I can’t take much more of this.”

She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper as she began to rub her clit again. “Now fuck me, Lando,” she moaned, her voice breathless and needy. “Don’t hold back. I want to feel you deep—make a mess of me again.”

His thrusts were desperate now, his rhythm completely lost as he watched her fingers work her clit. “Fuck—Y/N, I can’t take my eyes off you,” he groaned, his voice hoarse. “You’re fucking unreal… you’re gonna make me come just from watching.”

She tightened around him, her walls fluttering as she neared her own release. “That’s it, baby—give me everything,” she whispered, her hands guiding his hips deeper as he shuddered above her. “Fill me up again.”

Lando’s body tensed, his thrusts growing shaky as his pleasure consumed him entirely. “Oh, fuck—fuck, Y/N, I’m coming—” he gasped, his voice strained as his orgasm crashed over him. His hips slammed against hers in broken strokes, his cock pulsing inside her as he spilled himself for the second time.

She felt his release filling her, the warmth spreading through her as his body twitched with overstimulation. “Fuck, Lando, I can feel you throbbing—so desperate for me,” she moaned, clenching around him as her own orgasm ripped through her. Her clit pulsed under her fingers, her body trembling as she came on his cock, the sensation of him still inside her only intensifying her pleasure.

Lando whimpered, his thrusts faltering as the sensitivity overwhelmed him. “Shit—take it all, baby, take every drop of me,” he whispered, his voice wrecked. “Jesus Christ—look at that, look at how much I’m filling you up again.”

He didn’t pull out immediately, too lost in the moment, too addicted to the warmth, the wetness, the way she was still wrapped around him. His forehead rested against hers, his breaths coming in shallow gasps as he tried to calm his racing heart. “So fucking full of me, sweetheart—fuck, take it all, take every drop,” he murmured, his voice trembling with adoration.

She smiled up at him, her fingers still lazily tracing circles over her clit as she savored the aftershocks of her release. “You love it,” she teased, her voice sultry and full of promise. “And you’re mine.”

Lando let out a shaky laugh, his lips pressing against hers in a soft, tender kiss. “Always,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Always yours.”

They stayed like that for a long time, lost in the warmth of each other, the world outside forgotten. For Lando, there was no place he’d rather be, and he knew, without a doubt, that he’d never get enough of her. She was his addiction, his obsession, his everything. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Long moments later, Lando finally pulled himself out of her, his cock slipping free with a soft, wet sound that made him groan. He leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead before murmuring, "Be right back," and disappearing into the bathroom. She lay there, legs still trembling, her body humming with the aftershocks of their shared passion.

He returned a moment later, a warm, damp towel in his hand. Gently, he knelt beside her, his touch tender as he cleaned her up, his fingers brushing over her skin with a reverence that made her heart swell. "You’re perfect," he whispered, his voice a little hoarse, as he wiped away the evidence of their union.

When he was done, he tossed the towel aside and slid into bed next to her, his body still radiating heat. He settled onto his back, pulling her with him so she lay half across his chest, her head nestled against his shoulder. He was still out of breath, a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead, and she brushed it aside with the back of her hand, her fingers lingering as she gazed up at him.

“See?” she whispered, a teasing grin lighting her face. “You survived. Didn’t finish in three strokes.”

He gave a short laugh, a mixture of embarrassment and amusement. “Barely,” he admitted.

She smoothed her hand through his hair. “I like that you were so worried.”

“Because it’s been so long since we’ve been together like this,” he breathed, looking at her intently. “I didn’t want to ruin it by letting it slip away too quickly.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” she said softly, nuzzling closer. “It was perfect.”

He exhaled, relief flooding his expression. “I love you,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to her shoulder.

She felt warmth bloom in her chest—she’d never get tired of hearing that. “I love you too,” she echoed, soft but sincere.

They lay there in comfortable silence for a while, each reveling in the steady rhythm of the other’s heartbeat.

[victusinveritas]

Story below the cut to avoid a paywall.

There was no explanation, no warning. One minute, I was in an immigration office talking to an officer about my work visa, which had been approved months before and allowed me, a Canadian, to work in the US. The next, I was told to put my hands against the wall, and patted down like a criminal before being sent to an Ice detention center without the chance to talk to a lawyer.

I grew up in Whitehorse, Yukon, a small town in the northernmost part of Canada. I always knew I wanted to do something bigger with my life. I left home early and moved to Vancouver, British Columbia, where I built a career spanning multiple industries – acting in film and television, owning bars and restaurants, flipping condos and managing Airbnbs.

In my 30s, I found my true passion working in the health and wellness industry. I was given the opportunity to help launch an American brand of health tonics called Holy! Water – a job that would involve moving to the US.

I was granted my trade Nafta work visa, which allows Canadian and Mexican citizens to work in the US in specific professional occupations, on my second attempt. It goes without saying, then, that I have no criminal record. I also love the US and consider myself to be a kind, hard-working person.

I started working in California and travelled back and forth between Canada and the US multiple times without any complications – until one day, upon returning to the US, a border officer questioned me about my initial visa denial and subsequent visa approval. He asked why I had gone to the San Diego border the second time to apply. I explained that that was where my lawyer’s offices were, and that he had wanted to accompany me to ensure there were no issues.

After a long interrogation, the officer told me it seemed “shady” and that my visa hadn’t been properly processed. He claimed I also couldn’t work for a company in the US that made use of hemp – one of the beverage ingredients. He revoked my visa, and told me I could still work for the company from Canada, but if I wanted to return to the US, I would need to reapply.

I was devastated; I had just started building a life in California. I stayed in Canada for the next few months, and was eventually offered a similar position with a different health and wellness brand.

I restarted the visa process and returned to the same immigration office at the San Diego border, since they had processed my visa before and I was familiar with it. Hours passed, with many confused opinions about my case. The officer I spoke to was kind but told me that, due to my previous issues, I needed to apply for my visa through the consulate. I told her I hadn’t been aware I needed to apply that way, but had no problem doing it.

Then she said something strange: “You didn’t do anything wrong. You are not in trouble, you are not a criminal.”

I remember thinking: Why would she say that? Of course I’m not a criminal!

She then told me they had to send me back to Canada. That didn’t concern me; I assumed I would simply book a flight home. But as I sat searching for flights, a man approached me.

“Come with me,” he said.

There was no explanation, no warning. He led me to a room, took my belongings from my hands and ordered me to put my hands against the wall. A woman immediately began patting me down. The commands came rapid-fire, one after another, too fast to process.

They took my shoes and pulled out my shoelaces.

“What are you doing? What is happening?” I asked.

“You are being detained.”

“I don’t understand. What does that mean? For how long?”

“I don’t know.”

That would be the response to nearly every question I would ask over the next two weeks: “I don’t know.”

They brought me downstairs for a series of interviews and medical questions, searched my bags and told me I had to get rid of half my belongings because I couldn’t take everything with me.

“Take everything with me where?” I asked.

A woman asked me for the name of someone they could contact on my behalf. In moments like this, you realize you don’t actually know anyone’s phone number anymore. By some miracle, I had recently memorized my best friend Britt’s number because I had been putting my grocery points on her account.

I gave them her phone number.

They handed me a mat and a folded-up sheet of aluminum foil.

“What is this?”

“Your blanket.”

“I don’t understand.”

I was taken to a tiny, freezing cement cell with bright fluorescent lights and a toilet. There were five other women lying on their mats with the aluminum sheets wrapped over them, looking like dead bodies. The guard locked the door behind me.

For two days, we remained in that cell, only leaving briefly for food. The lights never turned off, we never knew what time it was and no one answered our questions. No one in the cell spoke English, so I either tried to sleep or meditate to keep from having a breakdown. I didn’t trust the food, so I fasted, assuming I wouldn’t be there long.

On the third day, I was finally allowed to make a phone call. I called Britt and told her that I didn’t understand what was happening, that no one would tell me when I was going home, and that she was my only contact.

They gave me a stack of paperwork to sign and told me I was being given a five-year ban unless I applied for re-entry through the consulate. The officer also said it didn’t matter whether I signed the papers or not; it was happening regardless.

I was so delirious that I just signed. I told them I would pay for my flight home and asked when I could leave.

No answer.

Then they moved me to another cell – this time with no mat or blanket. I sat on the freezing cement floor for hours. That’s when I realized they were processing me into real jail: the Otay Mesa Detention Center.

I was told to shower, given a jail uniform, fingerprinted and interviewed. I begged for information.

“How long will I be here?”

“I don’t know your case,” the man said. “Could be days. Could be weeks. But I’m telling you right now – you need to mentally prepare yourself for months.”

Months.

I felt like I was going to throw up.

I was taken to the nurse’s office for a medical check. She asked what had happened to me. She had never seen a Canadian there before. When I told her my story, she grabbed my hand and said: “Do you believe in God?”

I told her I had only recently found God, but that I now believed in God more than anything.

“I believe God brought you here for a reason,” she said. “I know it feels like your life is in a million pieces, but you will be OK. Through this, I think you are going to find a way to help others.”

At the time, I didn’t know what that meant. She asked if she could pray for me. I held her hands and wept.

I felt like I had been sent an angel.

I was then placed in a real jail unit: two levels of cells surrounding a common area, just like in the movies. I was put in a tiny cell alone with a bunk bed and a toilet.

The best part: there were blankets. After three days without one, I wrapped myself in mine and finally felt some comfort.

For the first day, I didn’t leave my cell. I continued fasting, terrified that the food might make me sick. The only available water came from the tap attached to the toilet in our cells or a sink in the common area, neither of which felt safe to drink.

Eventually, I forced myself to step out, meet the guards and learn the rules. One of them told me: “No fighting.”

“I’m a lover, not a fighter,” I joked. He laughed.

I asked if there had ever been a fight here.

“In this unit? No,” he said. “No one in this unit has a criminal record.”

That’s when I started meeting the other women.

That’s when I started hearing their stories.

And that’s when I made a decision: I would never allow myself to feel sorry for my situation again. No matter how hard this was, I had to be grateful. Because every woman I met was in an even more difficult position than mine.

There were around 140 of us in our unit. Many women had lived and worked in the US legally for years but had overstayed their visas – often after reapplying and being denied. They had all been detained without warning.

If someone is a criminal, I agree they should be taken off the streets. But not one of these women had a criminal record. These women acknowledged that they shouldn’t have overstayed and took responsibility for their actions. But their frustration wasn’t about being held accountable; it was about the endless, bureaucratic limbo they had been trapped in.

The real issue was how long it took to get out of the system, with no clear answers, no timeline and no way to move forward. Once deported, many have no choice but to abandon everything they own because the cost of shipping their belongings back is too high.

I met a woman who had been on a road trip with her husband. She said they had 10-year work visas. While driving near the San Diego border, they mistakenly got into a lane leading to Mexico. They stopped and told the agent they didn’t have their passports on them, expecting to be redirected. Instead, they were detained. They are both pastors.

I met a family of three who had been living in the US for 11 years with work authorizations. They paid taxes and were waiting for their green cards. Every year, the mother had to undergo a background check, but this time, she was told to bring her whole family. When they arrived, they were taken into custody and told their status would now be processed from within the detention center.

Another woman from Canada had been living in the US with her husband who was detained after a traffic stop. She admitted she had overstayed her visa and accepted that she would be deported. But she had been stuck in the system for almost six weeks because she hadn’t had her passport. Who runs casual errands with their passport?

One woman had a 10-year visa. When it expired, she moved back to her home country, Venezuela. She admitted she had overstayed by one month before leaving. Later, she returned for a vacation and entered the US without issue. But when she took a domestic flight from Miami to Los Angeles, she was picked up by Ice and detained. She couldn’t be deported because Venezuela wasn’t accepting deportees. She didn’t know when she was getting out.

There was a girl from India who had overstayed her student visa for three days before heading back home. She then came back to the US on a new, valid visa to finish her master’s degree and was handed over to Ice due to the three days she had overstayed on her previous visa.

There were women who had been picked up off the street, from outside their workplaces, from their homes. All of these women told me that they had been detained for time spans ranging from a few weeks to 10 months. One woman’s daughter was outside the detention center protesting for her release.

That night, the pastor invited me to a service she was holding. A girl who spoke English translated for me as the women took turns sharing their prayers – prayers for their sick parents, for the children they hadn’t seen in weeks, for the loved ones they had been torn away from.

Then, unexpectedly, they asked if they could pray for me. I was new here, and they wanted to welcome me. They formed a circle around me, took my hands and prayed. I had never felt so much love, energy and compassion from a group of strangers in my life. Everyone was crying.

At 3am the next day, I was woken up in my cell.

“Pack your bag. You’re leaving.”

I jolted upright. “I get to go home?”

The officer shrugged. “I don’t know where you’re going.”

Of course. No one ever knew anything.

I grabbed my things and went downstairs, where 10 other women stood in silence, tears streaming down their faces. But these weren’t happy tears. That was the moment I learned the term “transferred”.

For many of these women, detention centers had become a twisted version of home. They had formed bonds, established routines and found slivers of comfort in the friendships they had built. Now, without warning, they were being torn apart and sent somewhere new. Watching them say goodbye, clinging to each other, was gut-wrenching.

I had no idea what was waiting for me next. In hindsight, that was probably for the best.

Our next stop was Arizona, the San Luis Regional Detention Center. The transfer process lasted 24 hours, a sleepless, grueling ordeal. This time, men were transported with us. Roughly 50 of us were crammed into a prison bus for the next five hours, packed together – women in the front, men in the back. We were bound in chains that wrapped tightly around our waists, with our cuffed hands secured to our bodies and shackles restraining our feet, forcing every movement into a slow, clinking struggle.

When we arrived at our next destination, we were forced to go through the entire intake process all over again, with medical exams, fingerprinting – and pregnancy tests; they lined us up in a filthy cell, squatting over a communal toilet, holding Dixie cups of urine while the nurse dropped pregnancy tests in each of our cups. It was disgusting.

We sat in freezing-cold jail cells for hours, waiting for everyone to be processed. Across the room, one of the women suddenly spotted her husband. They had both been detained and were now seeing each other for the first time in weeks.

The look on her face – pure love, relief and longing – was something I’ll never forget.

We were beyond exhausted. I felt like I was hallucinating.

The guard tossed us each a blanket: “Find a bed.”

There were no pillows. The room was ice cold, and one blanket wasn’t enough. Around me, women lay curled into themselves, heads covered, looking like a room full of corpses. This place made the last jail feel like the Four Seasons.

I kept telling myself: Do not let this break you.

Thirty of us shared one room. We were given one Styrofoam cup for water and one plastic spoon that we had to reuse for every meal. I eventually had to start trying to eat and, sure enough, I got sick. None of the uniforms fit, and everyone had men’s shoes on. The towels they gave us to shower were hand towels. They wouldn’t give us more blankets. The fluorescent lights shined on us 24/7.

Everything felt like it was meant to break you. Nothing was explained to us. I wasn’t given a phone call. We were locked in a room, no daylight, with no idea when we would get out.

I tried to stay calm as every fiber of my being raged towards panic mode. I didn’t know how I would tell Britt where I was. Then, as if sent from God, one of the women showed me a tablet attached to the wall where I could send emails. I only remembered my CEO’s email from memory. I typed out a message, praying he would see it.

He responded.

Through him, I was able to connect with Britt. She told me that they were working around the clock trying to get me out. But no one had any answers; the system made it next to impossible. I told her about the conditions in this new place, and that was when we decided to go to the media.

She started working with a reporter and asked whether I would be able to call her so she could loop him in. The international phone account that Britt had previously tried to set up for me wasn’t working, so one of the other women offered to let me use her phone account to make the call.

We were all in this together.

With nothing to do in my cell but talk, I made new friends – women who had risked everything for the chance at a better life for themselves and their families.

Through them, I learned the harsh reality of seeking asylum. Showing me their physical scars, they explained how they had paid smugglers anywhere from $20,000 to $60,000 to reach the US border, enduring brutal jungles and horrendous conditions.

One woman had been offered asylum in Mexico within two weeks but had been encouraged to keep going to the US. Now, she was stuck, living in a nightmare, separated from her young children for months. She sobbed, telling me how she felt like the worst mother in the world.

Many of these women were highly educated and spoke multiple languages. Yet, they had been advised to pretend they didn’t speak English because it would supposedly increase their chances of asylum.

Some believed they were being used as examples, as warnings to others not to try to come.

Women were starting to panic in this new facility, and knowing I was most likely the first person to get out, they wrote letters and messages for me to send to their families.

It felt like we had all been kidnapped, thrown into some sort of sick psychological experiment meant to strip us of every ounce of strength and dignity.

We were from different countries, spoke different languages and practiced different religions. Yet, in this place, none of that mattered. Everyone took care of each other. Everyone shared food. Everyone held each other when someone broke down. Everyone fought to keep each other’s hope alive.

I got a message from Britt. My story had started to blow up in the media.

Almost immediately after, I was told I was being released.

My Ice agent, who had never spoken to me, told my lawyer I could have left sooner if I had signed a withdrawal form, and that they hadn’t known I would pay for my own flight home.

From the moment I arrived, I begged every officer I saw to let me pay for my own ticket home. Not a single one of them ever spoke to me about my case.

To put things into perspective: I had a Canadian passport, lawyers, resources, media attention, friends, family and even politicians advocating for me. Yet, I was still detained for nearly two weeks.

Imagine what this system is like for every other person in there.

A small group of us were transferred back to San Diego at 2am – one last road trip, once again shackled in chains. I was then taken to the airport, where two officers were waiting for me. The media was there, so the officers snuck me in through a side door, trying to avoid anyone seeing me in restraints. I was beyond grateful that, at the very least, I didn’t have to walk through the airport in chains.

To my surprise, the officers escorting me were incredibly kind, and even funny. It was the first time I had laughed in weeks.

I asked if I could put my shoelaces back on.

“Yes,” one of them said with a grin. “But you better not run.”

“Yeah,” the other added. “Or we’ll have to tackle you in the airport. That’ll really make the headlines.”

I laughed, then told them I had spent a lot of time observing the guards during my detention and I couldn’t believe how often I saw humans treating other humans with such disregard. “But don’t worry,” I joked. “You two get five stars.”

When I finally landed in Canada, my mom and two best friends were waiting for me. So was the media. I spoke to them briefly, numb and delusional from exhaustion.

It was surreal listening to my friends recount everything they had done to get me out: working with lawyers, reaching out to the media, making endless calls to detention centers, desperately trying to get through to Ice or anyone who could help. They said the entire system felt rigged, designed to make it nearly impossible for anyone to get out.

The reality became clear: Ice detention isn’t just a bureaucratic nightmare. It’s a business. These facilities are privately owned and run for profit.

Companies like CoreCivic and GEO Group receive government funding based on the number of people they detain, which is why they lobby for stricter immigration policies. It’s a lucrative business: CoreCivic made over $560m from Ice contracts in a single year. In 2024, GEO Group made more than $763m from Ice contracts.

The more detainees, the more money they make. It stands to reason that these companies have no incentive to release people quickly. What I had experienced was finally starting to make sense.

[jupiterpilgrim]

Personal Touch

word count: 11K

Park Jihyo x male reader

commissioned fic

You’re watching Jihyo from across the gym, her ponytail swinging as she fumbles her way through another set on the leg press. She’s got those tight black leggings on, the kind that hug every curve, and a cropped tank top that’s already clinging to her skin with a thin sheen of sweat. She’s been at it for, what, twenty minutes now? Maybe thirty? And it’s painfully clear she doesn’t have a damn clue what she’s doing. The weights clank awkwardly as she pushes them up, her form all over the place—knees wobbling, back arched in a way that’s gonna leave her sore as hell tomorrow. She lets out a frustrated little huff, loud enough for you to hear over the thumping bass of the gym’s playlist, and it’s almost cute how pissed she looks.

She’s only been coming here for a couple weeks, ever since her dance trainer—some tough professional with years of career in the industry—told her she needed to build stamina if she was gonna nail the choreography for her group’s next comeback. Jihyo’s not a quitter, you can tell that much. She’s got this stubborn streak, this fire in her eyes that flares up every time she stumbles and gets back at it anyway. But stubborn doesn’t mean she knows jack about working out. The first time you saw her, she was trying to figure out the rowing machine like it was some alien spaceship, yanking the handle all wrong and nearly toppling off the seat. She laughed it off then, but now? Now she just looks defeated, slumped against the leg press, staring at the ceiling like it’s personally betrayed her.

You’ve been keeping an eye on her—not in a creepy way, just the usual scan you do as a trainer, clocking who’s new, who’s struggling, who’s about to fuck up their spine. She’s definitely in the last category. You’ve seen her type before: idols, dancers, people who think their bodies can just magically adapt to anything because they’re used to grinding out rehearsals. But gym shit? That’s a whole different beast, and Jihyo’s floundering.

She catches you looking—those big, dark eyes locking onto yours for a split second—and her lips twist into this sheepish little grimace, like she knows she’s a mess and hates that you’ve noticed. Then she’s back at it, pushing the weights again, grunting through clenched teeth. Nope, still wrong. Her knees are caving in now, and you’re half a second from walking over there just to save her from herself when she finally throws her hands up and flops back, muttering something, probably a curse, under her breath. She’s got a mouth on her when she’s mad—you’ve heard her drop a few “fuck this” bombs already during her solo sessions.

That’s when she drags herself off the machine, grabs her water bottle, and stomps over to the front desk. You’re wiping down a bench nearby, close enough to catch the tail end of her conversation with the gym manager, a chill dude who’s always got a protein shake in hand. “I need help,” she says, voice low, like she’s admitting defeat but still pissed about it. “I don’t know what I’m doing, and I’m gonna break something if I keep going like this. You got anyone good?”

He glances over at you, smirking like he’s been waiting for this. “Best we’ve got is right there,” he says, jerking his chin your way. “He’ll sort you out.”

Jihyo turns, and you’re already standing there, towel slung over your shoulder, giving her a casual nod. Up close, she’s even prettier than you thought—flushed cheeks, a little mole on her forehead, lips glossy from whatever balm she’s got on. She smells like vanilla and sweat, and it’s doing something to your pulse that you shove down quick.

Professional, man. Keep it professional.

“You’re the trainer?” she asks, sizing you up. There’s this flicker in her eyes—surprise, maybe something else—but she covers it fast, crossing her arms like she’s daring you to prove you’re worth her time.

“Yeah,” you say before telling her your name. “I’ve seen you around. You’re working hard, but, uh… you’re gonna snap something if you keep going like that.”

She snorts, but there’s a tiny smirk tugging at her mouth. “Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence. I'm having trouble with my dance trainer—she’s been riding my ass about stamina. Said I need to stop gassing out halfway through practice. So here I am.”

“Here you are,” you echo, grinning a little. “Look, I can help. We’ll figure out what you need—strength, endurance, whatever—and I’ll make sure you don’t kill yourself doing it. Sound good?”

She hesitates, chewing her lip, then nods. “Fine. But don’t go easy on me just ‘cause I suck at this. I can handle it.”

You laugh—can’t help it. She’s got guts, you’ll give her that. “Oh, I won’t. You’ll hate me by the end of the week.”

“Good,” she fires back, and there’s this spark between you, sharp and electric, gone as quick as it came. She tosses her water bottle into her bag and slings it over her shoulder. “When do we start?”

“Tomorrow,” you say, already mapping out a plan in your head. “Come ready to sweat.”

She gives you one last look—half challenge, half something you can’t quite read—then heads for the door, her hips swaying just enough to make you wonder if she knows you’re still watching. You shake it off, grab the disinfectant spray, and get back to work. Tomorrow’s gonna be interesting.

—

The gym’s buzzing when Jihyo rolls in the next day, a little after noon. The second she steps through the door, your eyes snag on her. She’s got this energy today—bouncy, almost eager—like she’s actually hyped to be here. Her outfit’s a knockout: sleek gray leggings that cling to her thighs like a second skin, a neon pink sports bra peeking out from under a loose black tank that’s cropped just high enough to flash a sliver of toned stomach when she moves. It’s not like she’s trying to show off, but damn, she doesn’t have to try. The way the fabric stretches over her hips, the subtle flex of her calves as she shifts her weight—it’s distracting as hell. You catch yourself staring a beat too long and snap your focus back to the clipboard in your hand, scribbling some bullshit note about reps to look busy.

“Hey,” she says, striding up to you with this easy grin. “Ready to kick my ass?”

“Born ready,” you shoot back, matching her vibe. “You look like you’re in a good mood. Sleep well or something?”

She shrugs, tossing her gym bag down by the mats. “Guess I’m just tired of sucking at this. Figured I’d at least try to keep up with you today.”

You smirk, setting the clipboard aside. “Big talk. Let’s see if you can back it up. We’re focusing on stamina—low weight, high reps, keep you moving. Think you can handle it?”

“Psh, bring it on,” she says, cracking her knuckles like she’s about to step into a fight. It’s cute, honestly, how she’s hyping herself up.

You start her off easy—bodyweight squats, just to get her warmed up. She’s got decent form here, knees tracking over her toes, but her pace is all over the place, rushing through the first set like she’s racing the clock. “Slow it down,” you call out, circling around her. “Controlled, not sloppy. Feel it in your legs, not your ego.”

She rolls her eyes but adjusts, sinking into the next squat with a little more focus. You nod, satisfied, and move her to lunges. That’s where shit starts going sideways. Her back leg wobbles like a newborn foal, and she’s tilting forward so far she’s damn near kissing the floor. You stifle a laugh—she’s trying, you’ll give her that—but this is a mess.

“Hold up,” you say, stepping in. “You’re gonna faceplant if you keep that up. Here—” You move closer, close enough to catch the faint whiff of her shampoo, something sweet like coconut. “Back straight, chest up. Step forward, not down.”

She freezes mid-lunge, frowning. “What’s the difference?”

“Everything,” you say, and before you can overthink it, you’re right behind her, hands hovering near her hips. “Can I?” She nods, quick and sharp, and you settle your palms lightly on her waist, guiding her into the next step. Her body’s warm under your touch, solid but soft in all the right places, and you’re hyper-aware of how close you are—close enough to feel her shift her weight, to see the tiny goosebumps prickling up her arms. You nudge her forward, keeping her posture steady, and she follows your lead, sinking into a shaky but passable lunge.

“Better,” you murmur, stepping back before it gets weird. “Keep that up.”

She glances over her shoulder at you, smirking. “Bossy.”

“Part of the job,” you fire back, keeping your tone light. Professional. Always professional.

Next up’s the plank, and holy shit, it’s worse. She drops into it like she’s seen it on Instagram but never actually tried it—elbows wobbling, hips jacked up to the ceiling, looking more like a tent than a straight line.

You can’t help it; you snort.

“What?!” she snaps, glaring up at you, her face already pink from effort.

“You’re, uh… architecturally challenged,” you say, crouching down beside her. “Hips down, core tight. You’re not trying to moon me here.”

She mutters something—probably “asshole”—but lowers her hips, trembling as she holds it. Still not great. You sigh and slide a hand under her stomach, just enough to press up gently, showing her where her core should kick in. Her tank rides up a little, and you catch a glimpse of smooth skin, the dip of her waist. And then there’s her chest—fuck, it’s impossible not to notice now, the way her sports bra strains against her, the swell of her breasts right there as she shifts to adjust. You yank your eyes away fast, focusing on her shaky arms instead. Keep it together, man.

“Feel that?” you say, voice steady despite the heat creeping up your neck. “That’s where you brace. Hold it there.”

She grunts, nodding, and you pull back, letting her struggle through it. She lasts maybe ten seconds before collapsing onto the mat, laughing through a groan. “I’m so bad at this.”

“You’re not bad,” you lie, grinning. “Just… unpolished. We’ll get you there.”

The session rolls on like that—you calling out reps, her fumbling but pushing through, and you stepping in closer each time her form goes to shit. By the time you’ve got her on the rower, she’s panting, sweat dripping down her neck, soaking into the collar of her tank. You kneel beside her, one hand on her back, the other adjusting her grip on the handle. “Smooth pulls,” you say, your fingers brushing her spine as you straighten her out. “Don’t hunch—use your legs.”

She’s so close now, her breath hitching slightly as she follows your rhythm. You can feel the heat radiating off her, the flex of muscle under your palm. Her eyes flick to yours for a second—just a flash—and there’s something in them, a spark that’s not about the workout. But you let it go, keep your face neutral, and step back once she’s got it.

“See?” you say, wiping your hands on your shorts. “Not hopeless.”

She laughs, slumping over the rower, chest heaving. “Yeah, well, you’re doing all the work here. I’m just trying not to die.”

You grin, tossing her a towel. “You’re tougher than you look. We’ll keep at it tomorrow.”

She wipes her face, peeking at you over the edge of the towel, and there’s that look again—quick, sharp, gone before you can catch it. “Tomorrow, then,” she says, and heads for the locker room, leaving you wondering if you’re imagining the extra sway in her step.

—

Weeks slip by, and the gym becomes your little world with Jihyo. Same time, same routine—her showing up in those killer outfits, you barking orders, her swearing under her breath but pushing through. You’re hands-on, always right there fixing her stance, guiding her hips, pressing her shoulders back. Each session’s a dance of its own, her body brushing against yours just enough to make your pulse jump, but you keep it locked down.

Professional. You’re good at that.

Thing is, you’re not just spotting her anymore. Between sets, you’re talking—real shit, not just gym banter. She’s sprawled on the mat one day, catching her breath, and you ask, “So, what’s it like being up there? All those lights, screaming fans?” She laughs, this low, throaty sound, and spills about the chaos of it all—late nights, jet lag, the adrenaline high that crashes hard. You fire back with your own stories, nothing glamorous, just dumb stuff like the time you nearly dropped a dumbbell on your foot first day on the job. She snorts, calls you a klutz, and it’s easy like that.

Then it shifts. She starts digging too—casual at first. “You got a girlfriend stashed somewhere?” she asks one day, mid-squat, smirking up at you. You dodge it with a grin, “Nah, too busy fixing your form.” She lets it slide, but the questions keep coming. What’s your type? Ever dated someone famous? You toss it back—ask her about the wildest afterparty she’s been to, if she’s ever hooked up with a backup dancer. She winks, says, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” and you’re both laughing, but there’s this undercurrent now, something simmering.

The flirting creeps in slow. She’ll flex a little longer than necessary when you’re watching, catch your eye and hold it a beat too long. One day she shows up in this deep blue sports bra, all plunging lines and tight seams, and asks, “This look okay? Not too much?” You choke on your water, manage a “Looks fine,” but your throat’s dry as hell because it’s not fine—it’s fucking incredible. She clocks it, smirks, and goes about her workout like she didn’t just set your brain on fire.

It’s a Thursday when she drops the bomb. You’re wrapping up, wiping down the bench, when she leans against it, all casual. “Hey, wanna grab a drink tonight? Nothing big, just… unwind.” Her voice is light, but her eyes are steady, locked on yours. You freeze for a second—Jihyo, the Jihyo, K-pop royalty, asking you out? No way you’re saying no. “Yeah, sure,” you say, playing it cool. “Where?”

“My place,” she says, like it’s no big deal. “Less chance of someone snapping a pic. Eight work for you?” You nod, and she’s gone with a little wave, leaving you standing there, half-dazed.

Eight rolls around, and you’re at her door—some swanky high-rise with a view of the city skyline that’d make anyone jealous. She opens it in this oversized tee and shorts, barefoot, hair loose, looking like a goddess who doesn’t even have to try. “Hey, come in,” she says, and you follow her to this plush couch, a bottle of soju and two glasses already on the table. You’re sipping, talking, and it’s easy again—laughing about her tripping over a cable at practice, you admitting you once flexed too hard in the mirror and pulled something. Then she’s leaning in, her hand brushing your arm, and the air shifts.

Next thing you know, she’s kissing you—soft at first, testing, then deeper, hungrier. You’re kissing her back, hands sliding up her back, pulling her closer. She tastes like soju and something sweeter, and when she straddles your lap, her tee rides up, showing off that perfect waist. “Been wanting this,” she murmurs against your mouth, and you’re gone—brain short-circuiting as you tug the shirt over her head, revealing smooth skin and a black bra that’s barely containing her.

You’re at it for hours—her place, yours, doesn’t matter. She’s a fucking dream in bed, all confidence and heat. The way she moves, fluid and sure, like she’s still got that dancer’s rhythm even when she’s riding you, head thrown back, moaning your name. Her body’s unreal—curves that fit your hands like they were made for you, skin so soft it’s criminal. She’s loud too, doesn’t hold back, gasping and cursing in this raw, desperate way that drives you wild. You’re matching her, gripping her hips, thrusting up hard, both of you chasing that high. It’s messy, sweaty, perfect—her nails digging into your shoulders, your teeth grazing her neck, the couch creaking under you.

After, she’s sprawled across your chest, panting, grinning like she’s won something. “We’re keeping this quiet, yeah?” she says, tracing lazy circles on your skin. You nod, still catching your breath. “Yeah, secret’s safe.”

And it is—for weeks, you’re sneaking around, hooking up whenever you can. Her place after a late-night workout, your apartment when her schedule’s clear. She’s insatiable, pulling you into her orbit again and again. Every time, she’s flawless—arching against you, whispering filthy shit in your ear, unraveling in ways that make you want to worship her. You’re addicted, and she knows it, playing you with those sly smiles and teasing touches. It’s your little world, hidden from everyone, and fuck if it isn’t the best thing you’ve ever had.

—

It’s been weeks since you’ve had Jihyo to yourself—her schedule’s been a nightmare, all rehearsals and promo bullshit, leaving you both stuck with quick texts and the occasional late-night call where her voice is all raspy and tired but still manages to get you hard. You’ve been pent up, restless, scrolling through old pics she’s sent—her in that tiny red dress, or that one mirror selfie with nothing but a towel—and it’s been hell. Today, though, she’s finally here, strutting into the gym like she owns it.

The first thing Jihyo does is head straight to the hallway to store her bag in one of the lockers where the showers are. She’s in this black two-piece set—sports bra tight enough to make you dizzy, leggings that hug her ass so perfectly it’s obscene. Her hair’s up in a messy bun, a few strands sticking to her neck, and she’s got this glint in her eye, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to you. You’re behind the counter when she walks up, leaning over it just enough to give you a peek down her top. “Miss me?” she says, voice low, lips curling into this wicked little smile.

“More than you know,” you mutter, gripping the edge of the counter to keep your hands off her right there. She laughs, soft and teasing, and you’re already counting the seconds until you can get her alone.

The workout starts normal enough—stretches, some light cardio, you playing it cool while she bounces on the treadmill, every step making her chest jiggle in ways that should be illegal. But she’s not letting it stay normal. She’s brushing past you too close when she grabs her water, her hip grazing your crotch just long enough to make you twitch. Then it’s the squats—she’s facing you, sinking low, holding your gaze like she’s daring you to break. “How’s my form?” she asks, all innocent, but her tongue flicks over her bottom lip, and you know she’s fucking with you.

“Good,” you manage, voice tight. “Real good.” She smirks, turns around, and bends just a little deeper, ass popping out like a neon sign screaming touch me. You’re horny as hell, and she’s matching it—every move she makes is deliberate, dripping with intent.

By the time you’ve got her on the leg press, you’re done playing. She’s pushing the weight up, thighs flexing, grunting these tiny, breathy sounds that shoot straight to your dick. You step in close—closer than you need to—hands on her knees, adjusting her angle. “Keep ‘em steady,” you say, but your fingers linger, sliding up her thighs a fraction, and she doesn’t push you away. Instead, she tilts her head, locks eyes with you, and lets out this slow, “You gonna keep teasing, or do something about it?”

That’s it. The gym’s quiet—late at night, hardly anyone around—and you’re buzzing with this reckless, aching need. “Fuck it,” you say, voice low. “There’s a spot out back—employee storage room. No one’s in there. Wanna sneak off?” Her eyes light up, pupils blown wide, and she’s off the machine in a heartbeat, wiping sweat off her forehead with this sly, “Lead the way.”

You’re quick about it—grabbing her wrist, weaving through the gym like you’re just showing her something routine. Past the lockers, down the hall, your heart’s hammering because this is dumb as hell, but the thrill’s got you stupid. The storage room’s tucked behind a staff-only sign, all dim lights and stacked equipment—mats, spare weights, a busted rowing machine in the corner. You shove the door open, pull her in, and lock it behind you, the click loud in the quiet.

She’s on you before you can even turn around—hands fisting your shirt, yanking you into a kiss that’s all teeth and heat. “Been thinking about this all day,” she breathes against your mouth, already tugging at your waistband. You groan, shoving her back against a stack of mats, her gasp sharp and dirty as you grind against her. Her leggings are peeled down fast—your fingers hook in, dragging them past her knees, and she’s kicking them off, desperate, the sneakers getting in the way, while you shove your shorts down just enough.

She’s soaked—you can feel it when your hand slips between her thighs, rubbing her through her panties before you push them aside. “Fuck, you’re wet,” you mutter, and she just moans, loud and shameless, arching into your touch. Then you turn her around and push her against the mats, leaving Jihyo with her back to you. You line up, push in slow at first, watching her face—eyes fluttering shut, lips parting with this soft, “Oh shit,” that makes your blood roar.

Then it’s on.

You’re fucking Jihyo from behind, her ass bouncing against your hips with every thrust, and she’s loud as hell—moaning like she’s trying to wake up the whole damn building. “Fuck, I missed this cock so much,” she gasps out, voice all shaky and wrecked, her hands braced against the stack of mats like they’re the only thing keeping her upright. You grin, gripping her hips tighter, feeling her clench around you. “Yeah? Well, I missed this pussy—been driving me fucking crazy thinking about it,” you growl back, picking up the pace just to hear her whimper.

Her top’s still clinging to her, soaked with sweat, and you can’t resist anymore. You reach around, yank it up over her chest, and those heavy, perfect tits spill out, jiggling with every slap of your hips. “Shit, missed these too,” you say, half-laughing, reaching down to grab a handful, squeezing just hard enough to make her groan. They’re soft, warm, and you’re losing your damn mind over how good she feels, inside and out.

You’re both going at it hard, the storage room echoing with the wet smack of skin and her breathy little curses, but it’s cramped as fuck against the mats. “Hold up,” you pant, slowing down, “we gotta get more comfortable or I’m gonna bust something.” You pull out—her little whine at the loss almost kills you—and spin around, snagging one of the thick gym mats from the pile. You toss it down with a slap on the concrete floor, kicking some random crap out of the way. Jihyo doesn’t waste a second—she’s on her back in a flash, taking off her panties and the top, legs now spread, looking up at you with those dark, needy eyes, chest still heaving.

You drop down over her, crashing your mouth against hers, kissing her sloppy and deep, tongues tangling like you’re starving for it. Her hands are all over you—nails digging into your shoulders, tugging at your hair—while you grind against her, letting her feel how hard you still are. You break the kiss, smirking, sliding down just enough to get between her thighs again. She’s soaked, glistening, and you’re lining up, ready to sink back in, when something shifts behind you—like a shadow or a vibe you can’t ignore.

Jihyo gasps, loud and sharp, and scrambles to cover her tits with her arms, eyes wide as saucers. You whip your head around, heart jumping into your throat, and there they are—your two buddies, Jihoon and Minho, standing in the doorway like they just walked into a goddamn porno. “What the fuck?!” you yelp, adrenaline spiking, dick still out and everything. You’re half-expecting a fistfight or some shit, but Jihoon’s holding up his hands, all chill, while Minho’s grinning like an idiot.

“Relax, man,” Jihoon says, voice low like he’s trying not to spook you. “We’re not here to fuck you up.”

“How the hell’d you get in here?” you snap, pulling your shorts up just enough to not feel totally exposed. Jihyo’s still curled up, clutching her chest, looking mortified.

Minho jingles a key between his fingers, smirking. “Spare, dude. Perks of being on shift rotation.”

“And, uh,” Jihoon cuts in, scratching the back of his neck, “we saw you two on the security cam. Figured you’d want a heads-up before the boss checks the tapes and you’re toast.”

You blink, brain catching up. “Wait, there’s a fucking camera in here? Since when?”

“Last week,” Minho says, shrugging. “You were off that day. They put it in ‘cause some asshole kept swiping protein bars from the stash. Didn’t think you’d be the first one caught with your pants down.”

Jihyo’s face goes pale, and she sits up, tugging her top back down over her tits. “Oh my God, the footage—if that gets out, my career’s fucking done. Dispatch’ll have my head, the fans’ll riot—”

“Whoa, whoa,” Jihoon interrupts, stepping closer. “Chill, princess. We’ve got access to the system. We’ll wipe it clean, no trace. You’re safe.”

She exhales hard, shoulders slumping, and mutters a shaky, “Thanks, you guys. Seriously.”

You’re still processing, adrenaline fading into this weird mix of relief and horniness that hasn’t fully died down. You glance at them, then at Jihyo sprawled on the mat, and back to them. “Alright, well, since you’re here… might as well let us finish what we started, yeah?”

Minho’s eyebrows shoot up, and Jihoon lets out a low whistle. “Dude, you’re still good to go after that? Balls of steel.”

You shrug, smirking despite the chaos. “Caught red-handed already—what’s the difference now? She’s hot, I’m hard, let’s roll.”

That’s when Jihyo’s eyes flick over to Minho, lingering on the obvious bulge straining against his gym shorts. She tilts her head, lips curling into something mischievous. “Wait a sec—were you two getting off on the show back there?”

Minho freezes, face going red, but Jihoon just laughs, scratching his jaw. “I mean… you’re fuckin’ hot, Jihyo. Hard not to notice.”

She looks at you, that spark back in her eyes, and you’re not sure what’s coming next until she says, “Well, where are your manners, babe? Why don’t you invite your friends to join us?”

You choke on your own spit, head snapping to her. “You’re serious?”

She leans back on her elbows, smirking like she’s got all the power in the room—and fuck, maybe she does. “Yeah, why not? They’re hot. You’re hot. I’m down if they are.”

Your brain’s short-circuiting, but you turn to Jihoon and Minho, who are staring at each other like they just won the lottery and don’t know how to cash the ticket. “Uh… you guys in?”

Jihoon’s grin spreads slow and wide. “Hell yeah, man.”

Minho nods fast, already tugging at his shirt. “Fuck it, let’s do this.”

Jihyo laughs. “Alright, boys, strip down and get over here. We’ve got some catching up to do.”

Jihoon and Minho step up, peeling off their shirts and shorts like they’re racing each other, tossing the sweaty gym gear into a pile by the busted rowing machine. You’re still on the mat, Jihyo sprawled beside you, and you’re all just staring for a second.

“Alright, so… how’s this gonna go down?” you ask, voice rough, trying to wrap your head around the fact this is actually happening. Your dick’s still throbbing, aching to get back inside her, but now there’s two extra players in the game.

Jihyo sits up, grinning like she’s already got it all figured out. “We’re switching it up. You’re on the bottom, babe, lie back. I’m riding you, but I’m gonna stick my ass out for these guys.” She pauses, catching Jihoon’s eye. “Never taken it in the ass before, though, so let’s start slow. Fingers first, yeah?”

Jihoon nods, licking his lips like he’s been handed a winning ticket. “Fuck yeah, I’ve got you. We’ll ease into it.”

You finally get rid of your shorts and Minho’s already shuffling forward, positioning himself in front of Jihyo, his cock bobbing heavy and thick right at her eye level. She doesn’t hesitate—wraps her fingers around it, light but firm, giving it a slow stroke that makes him groan low in his throat. “Damn, Minho,” she purrs, voice all husky and teasing, “this is a nice fucking cock. Thick, too—gonna feel so good in my mouth.”

You’re flat on your back now, the mat cool against your skin, and Jihyo swings a leg over you, straddling your hips. Her pussy’s still slick, dripping from earlier, and she lines herself up, sinking down onto your cock with this slow, deliberate roll of her hips that makes you curse under your breath. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” you mutter, hands clamping onto her thighs as she settles, her weight pressing you deeper inside her.

She leans forward just enough to stick her ass out, cheeks round and perfect, wiggling it a little like she’s daring Jihoon to make his move. He doesn’t fuck around—steps up behind her, hands spreading her ass wide, thumbs digging into the soft flesh. “Goddamn, look at this,” he says, voice low and gravelly, before he spits right on her hole, a thick glob that glistens in the dim light. Jihyo shivers, a little “mmh” slipping out as he rubs it in with his thumb, circling her tight entrance, teasing it open slow.

“Feel good?” Jihoon asks, smirking, and she nods, biting her lip hard.

“Yeah, keep going,” she breathes, already rocking on you a little, her pussy clenching around your dick like a vise.

Up front, Minho’s got his hands in her hair, guiding her down as she parts her lips and takes him in. She starts slow, tongue flicking over the tip, tasting him, before sliding deeper, hollowing her cheeks as she sucks. Minho groans loud, head tipping back. “Holy shit, Jihyo—fuck, that mouth.”

You’re thrusting up into her now, matching her rhythm, the wet slap of your hips against hers filling the room. She’s moaning around Minho’s cock, muffled and sloppy, spit dripping down her chin as she bobs her head. Jihoon’s working her ass with one finger now, pushing past the tight ring slow and careful, and you can feel her tense up, her pussy gripping you even harder. “Relax,” Jihoon murmurs, free hand rubbing her lower back, “I’ve got you, just breathe.”

She does, exhaling shakily through her nose, and you can tell she’s getting into it—her hips start moving faster, grinding down on you while Jihoon adds a second finger, stretching her out. “Fuck, that’s tight,” he grunts, scissoring his fingers a little, and Jihyo pulls off Minho for a second, gasping.

“Shit, Jihoon—feels weird but good,” she pants, before diving back onto Minho, sucking harder like she’s channeling it all into him.

You’re losing your mind under her, the heat of her pussy, the way she’s bouncing on you, tits swaying with every thrust. You slide your hands up, cupping them, thumbs flicking over her nipples—hard and pebbled—and she moans louder around Minho, the sound vibrating through him till he’s gripping her hair tighter, fucking her mouth shallow and quick.

Jihoon’s got a rhythm going now, fingers pumping steady, and Jihyo’s ass is loosening up, taking it like she’s been waiting for this. “Ready for more?” he asks, voice rough, and she pulls off Minho again, nodding fast, spit stringing from her lips to his cock.

“Yeah, keep going—want it,” she says, all breathy and wrecked, before swallowing Minho down again, deeper this time, gagging a little but not stopping.

Finally, he pulls his fingers out, and Jihyo lets out this shaky, needy sound around Minho’s dick that makes your pulse jump. Jihoon spits into his palm, a thick wad, and slicks it over his cock—already hard as steel, veins bulging, tip flushed dark. He spits again, right onto her gaping hole, watching it clench and unclench like it’s begging for him. “Alright, baby,” he says, low and gritty, “time to open you up for real.”

He lines up, pressing the head against her ass, and even with all the prep, it’s a fucking fight—her rim’s so tight it barely budges. Jihyo tenses, pulling off Minho with a wet pop, gasping, “Slow, slow—fuck, go slow.” Jihoon nods, one hand gripping her hip, the other guiding his dick, and he pushes—just the tip at first, breaching her with this agonizing, deliberate pressure. She yelps, sharp and raw, her whole body locking up, and you feel it—her pussy clamps down on you like a vise, making you hiss through your teeth.

“Relax, Ji,” you murmur, sliding your hands up her sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of her tits, trying to ground her. “You’ve got this.”

She nods, quick and jerky, sucking in a breath as Jihoon inches deeper, his cock disappearing bit by bit into her ass. “Holy shit,” he groans, head tipping back, sweat beading on his forehead. “Like a fuckin’ vice grip—Jesus.” He’s going slow like she asked, but you can see the strain in his jaw, the way his fingers dig into her flesh—he’s dying to just ram it home.

Jihyo’s got her eyes squeezed shut, lips parted, panting hard as her body adjusts. You start moving again, shallow thrusts up into her pussy, keeping her full from below while Jihoon works her from behind. Minho’s not waiting around—he taps his cock against her cheek, smearing pre-cum and spit across her skin. “Open up, gorgeous,” he says, and she does, tongue flicking out to taste him before he slides back in, filling her mouth again.

Now she’s stuffed—all three holes, proper fucked like some kind of porn fantasy come to life. You’re pounding up into her pussy, feeling the heat of her walls ripple every time Jihoon shifts in her ass. It’s a tight fit—too tight, almost—like her body’s not sure it can handle this much, but she’s taking it anyway, rocking between you, her moans turning into these desperate, throaty cries that Minho’s dick only half-smothers.

Jihoon’s picking up the pace now, still careful but deeper, his balls brushing your thighs as he sinks halfway into her ass. “Fuck, she’s loosening up,” he grunts, spitting again where they’re joined, making it slicker. You can see it—his cock stretching her rim, the skin pulled taut, pink and shiny with spit and friction. Jihyo’s trembling, her tits bouncing with every thrust, nipples hard and dark, begging to be touched. You grab one, pinching it between your fingers, and she arches, a high whine breaking free around Minho’s shaft.

And he is losing his damn mind up there—his hips twitch, fucking her face in short, sloppy thrusts, his cockhead hitting the back of her throat till she’s gagging, tears prickling her eyes. “Goddamn, this mouth—fuck, Jihyo, you’re killing me,” he rasps, pulling out just long enough to let her cough, spit stringing from her lips to his tip, before he’s back in, chasing that wet heat.

You’re synced up now, you and Jihoon—when he pushes in, you pull back, then switch, keeping her full, keeping her guessing. Her pussy’s dripping, soaking your hips, the mat, everything—slick and hot, squelching loud with every thrust. You can feel Jihoon through the thin wall between you, his cock rubbing against yours inside her, and it’s fucking wild—intense, dirty, like you’re sharing her in ways you never imagined.

Jihyo pulls off Minho again, gasping for air, her face a mess—cheeks flushed, mascara smudged, spit glistening on her chin. “Oh my God—fuck, you guys—it’s so much,” she chokes out, voice hoarse but dripping with lust. She’s shaking, thighs quivering, but she doesn’t tell you to stop—just leans forward, kissing you hard, all teeth and tongue, while Jihoon keeps grinding into her ass.

“Too much?” you ask against her mouth, smirking, thrusting harder to test her.

“No,” she fires back, fierce, nipping your lip. “More—fucking give me more.”

Jihoon laughs, low and dark, smacking her ass lightly—red blooms under his palm, and she yelps, clenching around you both. “Greedy little thing,” he says, then slides deeper, almost all the way in now, his hips flush against her. She screams, muffled quick as Minho shoves his cock back in her mouth, holding her head steady while he fucks her throat.

The room’s a furnace—sweat’s dripping off you, off her, off them, the mat slick under your back. Your hands roam her body—tits, hips, the soft curve of her belly—feeling every shudder, every tense. Her ass is bouncing now, Jihoon’s fully in, his thrusts long and slow, stretching her out while you hammer up into her pussy, fast and rough.

You’re all going at Jihyo like she’s some kind of dirty dream come to life, this K-pop diva turned full-on slut in your hands. She’s moaning like a goddamn porn star, muffled around Minho’s shaft, her tits bouncing wild with every thrust, nipples brushing your chest as she rocks between you. Jihoon’s got her ass in a death grip, slamming in deep, his hips smacking her cheeks so hard the sound bounces off the cinderblock walls. “Fuck, this tight little hole—Park Jihyo, man, who’d have thought?” he pants, voice all gravel and awe, like he’s still processing that he’s balls-deep in a K-pop goddess. His thrusts are steady, relentless, splitting her open while you pound up into her pussy, feeling her walls flutter and squeeze like she’s trying to crush you. Minho’s up front, one hand tangled in her messy bun, the other braced against the stack of mats as he fucks her face, spit bubbling at the corners of her mouth, her eyes watering.

“Bro, this is insane,” Minho grunts, pulling out just enough to let her gasp, her lips swollen and glossy, before sliding back in. “Fucking Jihyo—Twice’s Jihyo—like she’s some cheap whore. I’ve been stanning her since ‘Cheer Up,’ and now she’s gagging on my dick.”

You smirk, hands digging into her hips as you thrust harder, making her whole body jolt. “Yeah, well, I’ve been hitting this for weeks, dude. Secret’s been worth it—her pussy’s fucking unreal.”

Jihoon laughs, a dark, filthy sound, smacking her ass again—red handprints layering over her skin. “You lucky bastard! Keeping this goddess under wraps? I’d have been bragging day one.”

Jihyo pulls off Minho with a wet pop, coughing, voice hoarse but dripping with sass. “Keep talking like I’m not here, assholes—I’m the one taking all your cocks.” She grins, then dives back onto Minho, sucking him down like she’s proving a point. You feel her clench around you, loving the dirty praise, the way you’re all losing your minds over her.

“Let’s switch it up,” you say, voice rough, pulling out of her pussy with a slick, obscene sound that makes her whimper. “New holes, new vibes—let’s keep this shit fresh.”

She nods, eager, wiping spit off her chin as you all shuffle around on the mat. You lie back, pulling her on top of you again, but this time you’re aiming for her ass—Jihoon’s already stretched it good, and you want in. She straddles you reverse, facing Minho, her ass hovering over your cock as you spit on your hand, slicking yourself up. Jihoon steps up front, claiming her pussy, while Minho stands close to her face, ready to stuff her mouth again.

You grip her cheeks, spreading them wide, and guide her down slow—her ass is still tight as fuck, even after Jihoon’s work, and the way it grips you as you sink in has your head spinning. “Holy shit, Ji,” you groan, watching her rim stretch around you, pink and shiny, “this ass is something else.” She hisses at the burn, but keeps going, sinking lower till you’re buried to the hilt, her body shaking against you.

Jihoon’s already sliding into her pussy, his cock pushing through her soaked folds, and she moans loud, head tipping back. “Fuck—two at once again, you guys don’t play,” she gasps, voice cracking as Jihoon starts thrusting, shallow and fast, stretching her cunt while you rock up into her ass, slow and deep to counter him. Minho grabs her jaw, tilting her head forward, and she opens wide, letting him fill her mouth again, his tip hitting her throat with a wet gurgle.

Now it’s a whole new beast—her ass is tighter than her pussy, hotter, the pressure unreal as you fuck up into it, feeling Jihoon’s cock rubbing through the thin wall separating you. He’s grunting with every thrust, her pussy dripping down his balls, smearing onto your thighs. “Man, this angle—her cunt’s hugging me so damn good,” he mutters, eyes locked on where he’s disappearing inside her, her lips puffy and slick around him.

Minho’s got her face in a vice, hips snapping forward, his cock sliding past her tonsils till she’s drooling all over him, spit dripping down her chest, coating her tits in this glossy mess. “Look at her, dude,” he says, voice shaky with lust, “fucking Park Jihyo—queen of K-pop—taking it like a street girl. I’ve jerked off to her fancams a hundred times, and now I’m wrecking her throat.”

You thrust harder, making her bounce, her ass cheeks jiggling against your hips. “Yeah, and I’ve been railing her on the DL this whole time,” you fire back, smirking. “You don’t even know—her stamina’s insane. She’s a freak behind closed doors.”

Jihyo pulls off Minho, laughing through a moan. “You’re all obsessed—fuck, keep going, don’t stop.” She dives back onto him, sucking harder, her tongue swirling around his shaft like she’s starving for it. Her ass clenches around you, tighter every time Jihoon slams into her pussy, and you can feel every twitch, every pulse.

The new position’s got her body on full display—tits swaying, sweat streaking down her spine, her thighs flexing as she balances on you. You grab her hips, guiding her up and down your cock, loving the way her ass swallows you whole, the slide slick and hot. Jihoon’s hands are all over her front, pinching her nipples, making her yelp into Minho’s crotch, her cries vibrating through him till he’s gripping her hair tighter, fucking her face with zero restraint.

“Shit, this is a fucking masterclass,” Jihoon says, voice low, almost reverent, as he pounds her pussy, the wet smack of his hips against hers loud and lewd. “Never thought I’d be learning how to fuck from Jihyo herself—K-pop royalty turned cockslut.”

Minho nods, dazed, his hands trembling as he holds her head. “Yeah, man, she’s the dream—those vocals, that face, and now this? Bro, you’ve been living the goddamn fantasy.”

You grin, thrusting deeper, making her scream around Minho’s dick. “What can I say? She picked me first—guess I’ve got the magic touch.” You smack her ass, hard, leaving a fresh red mark, and she bucks against you, driving you even deeper.

“Yo, let’s flip it,” Minho says, pulling out of her mouth with a sloppy, wet sound, his cock glistening with her spit, veins popping like he’s barely holding it together. “I want a piece of that pussy—Jihoon, you take her mouth.”

Jihoon grins, wiping sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. “Fuck yeah, been dying to feel that tongue on me.” He slides out of her cunt, leaving it dripping and pulsing, a slick trail of her juices stringing from his tip to her lips as he steps back. Jihyo gasps, catching her breath, her chest heaving—those heavy tits rising and falling fast, nipples dark and stiff. She licks her lips, smirking, like she’s ready for whatever’s next.

You keep her steady, hands clamped on her ass cheeks, spreading them wide as you thrust up into her, slow and deep, savoring the way her hole stretches around you. Minho’s already moving, stepping up between her legs, his cock bobbing heavy and thick, shiny with her spit and his own pre-cum.

Minho grabs her thighs, yanking them apart like he’s claiming territory, his fingers digging into her soft flesh. “Fuck, look at this—pussy’s begging for it,” he says, voice low and hungry, rubbing his tip against her folds, teasing her clit till she squirms. She’s soaked, dripping down onto your hips, and he doesn’t wait—just plunges in, hard and fast, filling her cunt with one brutal thrust. Jihyo cries out, sharp and loud, her body jolting against you, making your cock twitch inside her ass.

“Shit, Minho—easy,” she gasps, but her hips roll forward to meet him, contradicting her words. He’s already moving, slamming into her pussy with these wet, nasty smacks, his balls slapping her skin, her juices splattering every time he bottoms out. Jihoon’s up by her head now, his dick hovering over her face—hard, flushed, dripping a little from the tip. “Open wide, babe,” he says, smirking, tapping her cheek with it like he’s marking her. She doesn’t hesitate—parts her lips, sticking her tongue out flat, letting him drag his cock across it before he shoves in. She moans around him, muffled and desperate, her hands reaching up to grip his thighs as he starts fucking her mouth, slow at first, letting her adjust.

“Goddamn, that’s it,” Jihoon groans, head tipping back, his toned arm flexing as he holds her head steady. “Suck it good, Jihyo—fuck, your lips look unreal wrapped around me.” Her tongue’s working him hard, swirling around the head every time he pulls back, spit bubbling at the corners of her mouth, dripping down her chin onto her tits. She’s sloppy with it, gagging a little when he hits her throat, but she doesn’t stop—just takes him deeper, eyes watering, loving the mess.

You pick up your pace, thrusting up into her ass harder now, matching Minho’s rhythm. Her body’s bouncing between you, caught in this brutal push-pull—your cock splitting her ass, Minho’s stretching her pussy, Jihoon’s filling her throat. She’s shaking, thighs quivering, tits jiggling with every slam, her skin slick with sweat and spit and her own slick. The mat’s a disaster under you—wet patches spreading, the air heavy with that raw, musky scent of bodies colliding.

“Man, this pussy’s insane,” Minho grunts, his hands sliding up to her waist, pulling her down onto him harder. “Tight as fuck, wet as hell—Jihyo, you’re killing me here.” He’s going deep, his hips snapping fast, her cunt squelching loud every time he drives in, her walls pulsing around him like she’s trying to squeeze him dry.

You laugh, rough and breathless, smacking her ass so it jiggles against your hips. “You’re just figuring that out? Been tapping this for weeks, bro—she’s a fucking goldmine.”

Jihoon’s got her hair fisted now, guiding her head as he fucks her face, his voice all gravel and awe. “Weeks, huh? You’re a legend. Fucking Park Jihyo in secret? I’d have lost my mind day one—her sucking me off like this, now I get why you kept it quiet. She’s a goddamn dream.”

Jihyo pulls off him for a second, gasping, spit stringing from her lips to his cock, her voice wrecked but dripping with fire. “You guys—fuck—talking about me like I’m some trophy. Keep fucking me, I love it.” She dives back onto Jihoon, sucking him down hard, her cheeks hollowing, tongue flicking wild against his shaft.

Minho smirks, thrusting deeper, making her moan around Jihoon’s dick. “Oh, she’s a trophy alright—K-pop’s finest, taking all our cocks like a pro.”

You feel her ass tighten at that, like the dirty talk’s lighting her up, and you ram up harder, making her whole body shudder. “She’s been my slut for a while,” you say, grinning, “loves it nasty—can’t get enough. Right, Ji?” You smack her again, and she whimpers, the sound vibrating through Jihoon’s cock till he’s groaning loud.

“Fuck yeah, she does,” Jihoon says, his hand slipping down to cup her jaw, guiding her deeper. “Look at her—those big eyes, that voice, and now she’s choking on me like it’s nothing. Been replaying her ‘Fancy’ fancams in my head forever, and this is a million times better.”

Minho’s hands roam up her sides, brushing her tits, thumbs flicking her nipples as he fucks her pussy raw. “Better? Dude, this is the ultimate—her body’s unreal, pussy’s so tight I can feel him through her. We’re living the fantasy right now.”

The three of you are synced up, a filthy machine—your cock plunging into her ass, thick and slow, stretching her wide; Minho’s hammering her pussy, fast and greedy, her slick coating his shaft; Jihoon’s fucking her mouth, his tip hitting her throat with every thrust, her gags and moans blending into this raw, desperate soundtrack. Her body’s on fire—sweat streaks down her spine, pooling at the small of her back, her thighs trembling against you, her hands clawing at Jihoon’s legs for balance.

She’s close—you can tell by the way her body’s starting to shake, her rhythm getting messy, her moans turning into these high, broken cries that Jihoon’s dick can’t fully muffle. You pick up your pace, slamming up into her ass, your hands gripping her cheeks, spreading them wide so you can watch your cock vanish inside her. “C’mon, Ji,” you mutter, voice rough, “let go—fucking cum for us.”

Minho feels it too, her pussy fluttering around him, and he leans forward, one hand sliding up to her tit, pinching her nipple hard. “Yeah, baby—cum on my cock, let me feel it,” he growls, hammering her faster, his balls slapping her skin, wet and loud.

Jihoon pulls out just enough to let her breathe, her face a wreck—cheeks flushed, mascara streaking, mouth open and panting. “Do it, Jihyo—fucking cum,” he says, voice low and urgent, stroking himself fast as he watches her unravel.

She’s teetering, her whole body tensing—then it hits. “Oh fuck—fuck, I’m—” Her words cut off into a scream, sharp and wild, her pussy clamping down on Minho so hard he hisses, his thrusts faltering for a second. Her ass locks around you, tighter than ever, pulsing like it’s trying to crush your cock, and you groan loud, hands digging into her flesh as you keep pounding through it. Her eyes roll back, mouth hanging open, spit dripping free as her whole body bucks and shakes, caught between you all.

“Shit, there it is,” Minho grunts, his hands sliding to her waist, holding her steady as he fucks her through it, her pussy gushing, soaking him, dripping down onto you. “Fuck—feels like she’s breaking me.”

You feel it too, the way her ass spasms, milking you with every clench, her body a live wire. “Told you—fucking unreal,” you say, voice strained, thrusting harder to chase her high, her cheeks rippling against your hips, the sound wet and obscene.

Jihoon’s watching, stroking himself, his cock twitching as she gasps and moans, her throat exposed, raw from his pounding. “Goddamn, look at her—cumming like a fucking slut on all of us,” he says, then he slides back into her mouth mid-moan, cutting her off, her lips closing around him as she sucks through the aftershocks, her tongue sloppy but eager.

Her orgasm’s ripping through her, relentless—her pussy’s flooding Minho, her ass gripping you so tight you can barely move, her cries vibrating through Jihoon’s cock. She’s thrashing now, caught in this wild, shuddering rhythm, her tits bouncing hard, sweat streaking down her spine, pooling at her lower back. You reach up, grab her shoulders, pull her down onto you harder, making her scream louder around Jak.

You keep your cock buried in Jihyo’s ass, her tight heat pulsing around you after her orgasm, her body slick with sweat and trembling like she’s barely holding it together. She’s sprawled over you, her ass cheeks jiggling with every slow, deep thrust you give her, while Minho’s pounding her pussy like a goddamn jackhammer, his cock slick with her juices, leaving a wet trail down his thighs. Jihoon is fucking her throat with these lazy, sloppy thrusts, her lips stretched wide.

Her climax has left her shaky, but you’re all too far gone to slow down—her pussy’s still spasming around Minho, her ass gripping you like it’s begging you to stay, and her moans are vibrating through Jihoon’s cock, raw and wrecked. You’re thrusting harder, excitement buzzing through you, your hands digging into her hips, feeling the heat build in your gut.

Minho’s grunting, his rhythm getting jagged, his hands leaving red welts on her waist. “Fuck, she’s still so tight—gonna lose it soon,” he pants, his cock plunging deep, her slick gushing out with every hit, soaking the mat. Jihoon’s not far behind, his jaw tight, sweat streaking down his neck as he pumps into her mouth, her throat bulging with every thrust. “Shit, man—her tongue’s working me over, I’m close,” he groans, his grip on her hair tightening, pulling her deeper.

you are close too, that electric rush creeping up, your cock throbbing in her ass, her walls clenching like they’re trying to milk you dry. “Ji,” you rasp, voice rough and ragged, “where you want it? Where you want our cum?” You slam up into her hard, making her yelp around Jihoon, her body jolting, ass rippling against you.

She pulls off Jihoon with a wet, gasping pop. “My face,” she chokes out, voice hoarse but dripping with need, “all of you—fucking blast it on my face.” Her eyes are wild, dark and desperate, locked on you like she’s starving for it.

You nod, pulling out of her ass with a slick, nasty sound, her hole gaping for a second before she scrambles off you, dropping to her knees on the mat between you, Minho, and Jihoon. She’s on the ground now, thighs spread, her pussy dripping onto the floor, tits heaving as she catches her breath. You’re all towering over her, cocks in hand, stroking fast, the air thick with tension and that musky, primal stench of sex. She looks up, smirking through the mess, her sweat-streaked hair sticking to her neck, and it’s like she’s daring you to ruin her.

You step up first, gripping your cock tight, the tip still slick from her ass. “Open up, Ji,” you say, and she does—parts her lips, sticks her tongue out flat, ready for you. She grabs your shaft with both hands, guiding you in, and fuck, she sucks you like it’s her last mission on earth. Her mouth’s hot, wet, sliding over you deep and slow, tongue swirling around the head, flicking at the slit till you’re hissing. Then she goes lower, popping off your cock to lick at your balls, sucking one into her mouth, rolling it with her tongue till it’s drooling with her spit. “Fuck—Jihyo, that’s it,” you groan, stroking the base as she works you, her dedication pushing you right to the edge.

Minho and Jihoon are stroking themselves hard, watching her with you, their breaths short and sharp. “Goddamn, she’s a fucking pro,” Minho mutters, his hand a blur on his thick cock, pre-cum beading at the tip. Jihoon’s grinning, his shaft twitching in his grip. “Look at her go—fucking Twice’s Jihyo, sucking him like she’s thirsty for it.”

She pulls off you, leaving your cock and balls dripping, spit stringing from her lips as she looks up at all three of you, her voice raw and filthy. “C’mon, boys—gimme your cum, fucking cover me, I want it all,” she begs, her tone pure cumslut, hands cupping her tits, pushing them up like a canvas. It’s obscene, the way she’s pleading, this K-pop queen on her knees, and it’s got you all buzzing, cocks throbbing, ready to explode.

Minho’s the first to break—he steps in, grunting like an animal, his hand flying over his shaft. “Fuck—here it comes, Ji,” he growls, aiming right at her face. His load hits hard, a thick, white rope blasting across her cheek, streaking up to her nose, dripping down to her parted lips. She moans, low and dirty, tongue darting out to catch what she can as another shot lands, splattering her forehead, sliding down to her eyebrow. It’s massive, heavy, coating her skin, some splashing onto her tits, streaking across her chest in messy, glistening trails.

Jihoon’s right on his heels, moving in close, his breath ragged. “Shit, Jihyo—open up,” he gasps, and she tilts her head, tongue out, catching his first shot as it arcs over her lips, pooling in her mouth. Another hits her other cheek, thick and hot, smearing across her chin, dripping down her neck in fat globs. She swallows what she caught, moaning soft, her eyes fluttering as it drips off her jaw onto her tits, mixing with Minho’s load, turning her chest into a sticky, white mess.

You’re last, your hand a blur, the sight of her—begging, drenched—pushing you over. “Here it is, Ji—fucking take it,” you say, voice tight, aiming at her face. It hits like a fucking firehose—a fat, pulsing shot right across her nose, bridging over her tongue, then another, coating her lips and chin, dripping thick and slow. It’s endless, heavy, splattering off her jaw onto her tits, blending with the others till she’s a goddamn cum-soaked masterpiece, skin shining, chest heaving.

She sighs, this deep, satisfied sound, her face a canvas of chaos—cheeks plastered, forehead dripping, lips smeared, all of it pooling and sliding down her neck, her tits a slick, cum-streaked mess. She smiles, slow and smug, like she’s just conquered the world, her tongue flicking out to lick her lips, savoring the taste. “Fuck, you guys—look at this,” she murmurs, hands sliding up to her chest, smearing the cum across her tits, rubbing it into her nipples, making them glisten. It’s insane, the way she’s basking in it, this idol turned cum-drenched fantasy, and you’re all just staring, panting, cocks still twitching.

She’s not done—she leans in, grabbing your cock first, licking the sensitive tip slow and deliberate, sucking off the last drops, making you shudder hard. “Mmm,” she hums, moving to Minho, her tongue flicking over his head, tasting what’s left, leaving it slick with her spit. Jihoon’s next, and she gives him the same, lapping at him like a cat, her eyes half-lidded, drunk on the filth. “So fucking good,” she whispers, sitting back on her heels, her hands scooping the cum off her face—thick, gooey strands—spreading it over her cheeks, her chin, her tits, till she’s coated, glistening, a total fucking wreck.

You’re all wrecked too, chests heaving, the mat a disaster—sweat, cum, her juices everywhere, the air heavy with it. She looks up, grinning, her face a work of art, painted white and dripping, and you can’t believe this is Jihyo—Twice’s leader, now your cum-soaked secret, kneeling there, satisfied as hell. “Fucking perfect,” she says, wiping a finger through the mess on her chest and sucking it clean, her smile wicked, like she’s just won the dirtiest game imaginable. You’re all just standing there, exhausted, awestruck, watching her revel in it, this moment burned into your brains forever.

The storage room’s now a fucking crime scene—sweat, cum, and the echoes of pure filth still hanging in the air as you all come down from the high. You glance at each other—Minho wiping his forehead, Jihoon running a hand through his damp hair—and there’s this unspoken agreement that you can’t just walk out like this.

“Shower time,” you say, voice rough but casual, pushing yourself up off the mat. Your shorts are halfway across the room, crumpled in a heap, and you grab them, not bothering to put them on yet. Jihyo sits up, stretching, her tits jiggling as she moves, cum still dripping down her chest in slow, sticky trails. “Yeah, I need to wash this off,” she laughs, wiping her face with the back of her hand, smearing it more than cleaning it, then she starts to pick up her clothes scattered on the floor. Minho and Jihoon nod, grabbing their own gear, and you all head for the gym’s locker room, a quiet buzz of exhaustion and satisfaction trailing you.

The showers are down the hall, past the empty weight racks and cardio machines, the gym eerily quiet now that it’s late. You each peel off what’s left of your clothes—your shorts, their gym tanks—and pile them on a bench. The water kicks on with a hiss, steam rising fast as you step under separate showerheads, the cold tile a shock against your feet. The hot spray hits you first, pounding your shoulders, washing away the sweat and grime, the faint ache in your muscles melting under the heat.

Jihyo’s in the next stall over, her silhouette visible through the frosted glass divider, water cascading down her curves, sluicing the cum off her skin. You hear her hum, soft and low, some Twice melody she’s probably sung a thousand times, and it’s almost surreal—minutes ago she was begging for your loads, now she’s showering like it’s just another day. Minho’s scrubbing his arms, soap suds bubbling up, muttering, “Fuck, I needed this.” Jihoon’s across from him, water pounding his back, grinning like an idiot. “Best shower of my life.”

You soap up, lathering your chest, your junk, feeling the grime slip away, the hot water working miracles. Your legs are still buzzing from holding Jihyo up, your arms sore from gripping her tight, but you’re refreshed, lighter, like the shower’s washing away more than just the sweat. You rinse off, the water turning cloudy for a sec as the last of it swirls down the drain, and step out, grabbing a towel from the stack by the wall. It’s rough, gym-issued, but it does the job—drying your hair, your back, your balls—till you’re dripping less and feeling human again.

Jihyo steps out next, towel wrapped loose around her, water still beading on her shoulders, her hair slicked back dark and wet, the sneakers already on. She looks fucking radiant, cheeks flushed from the heat, skin glowing like she didn’t just get railed by three guys in a storage closet. Minho and Jihoon follow, towels slung over their shoulders, shorts back on, hair damp and messy. You all linger for a minute, the steam curling around you, the vibe easy but charged, like you’ve all shared something monumental—and you have.

Minho and Jihoon glance at each other, then at Jihyo. “Be right back,” Minho says, jerking his chin toward the staff room down the hall. “Gotta handle something.” They duck out, leaving you and Jihyo alone for a sec. She’s drying her arms, smirking at you, and you lean against the locker, watching her. “You good?” you ask, casual but real.

She nods, grinning. “Better than good. That was fucking wild.” Her towel slips a little, showing the curve of her tit, and you catch it but don’t stare—professional, sort of. “You guys are something else.”

Before you can reply, Minho and Jihoon are back, stepping in with this chill energy. Minho’s got his hands in his pockets, Jihoon’s rubbing the back of his neck. “All clear,” Minho says, looking at Jihyo. “Security footage—wiped it clean. No trace of anything. You’re safe.”

Her shoulders relax, a little breath slipping out. “Fuck, thank you—seriously. If that got out…” She trails off, shaking her head, but then smiles, big and bright. “You guys are lifesavers.”

Jihoon laughs, leaning against the wall. “Nah, you’re the legend here. That was unreal—like, thank you. Never thought I’d be saying that to Park Jihyo after… well, that.”

Minho nods, smirking. “Yeah, hands down the craziest shit I’ve ever been part of. You’re fucking incredible.”

“Well, good news—we can do it again sometime. I’m down if you guys are.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, a grin tugging at your lips. “Oh, hell yeah, I’m in. No question.” Minho and Jihoon are quick to agree—Minho with a “Fuck yes,” Jihoon with a “Count me in, any day.”

“It was unforgettable,” Jihyo says, her voice softer now, reflective. “Like, I’m still buzzing from it. By far one of my best experiences.” Then she removes the towel, not caring about the presence of either of you and begins to get dressed, she opens one of the lockers to take out the bag she stored there earlier and takes out a hoodie, putting it on over her gym clothes. After finishing, she adjusts her bag on her shoulder, ready to head out, but there’s this glow about her—exhausted but alive.

You sling your own bag over your shoulder, stepping closer. “You know, Ji, this is a hell of a way to boost your stamina. You were a fucking beast today—killed it. I’m telling you, a few more rounds like this, and you’ll be unstoppable on stage. Choreo won’t stand a chance.”

She laughs, loud and bright, the sound bouncing off the lockers. “Oh, you think this is my new training regimen? Fuck cardio—give me three cocks and a storage room, right?” She’s joking, but there’s a spark in her eye like she’s half-serious. “Honestly, though—if this is what it takes to get tireless, sign me up. I felt like I could go all night.”

Minho smirks, grabbing his keys off the bench. “Shit, you basically did. Your dance trainer gonna wonder why you’re suddenly out-dancing everyone.”

Jihoon’s already at the door, turning back with a grin. “Yeah, tell her you’ve got a secret weapon—three trainers putting you through the ultimate workout.”

You all crack up, the vibe loose and easy now. Jihyo adjusts her hoodie, pulling the hood up, ready to slip out unnoticed. “For real, though,” she says, looking at you, then Minho, then Jihoon, “you guys are the best. Let’s make it a thing—whenever the schedule’s clear, we’re back here.”

“Deal,” you say, fist-bumping her, the others following suit. “Next time, we’ll push you even harder—stamina training, level two.”

She winks, stepping out into the hall, her voice echoing back. “Can’t wait, boys. See you in the next session.” You watch her go, that sway in her hips still lethal, then head out yourselves, the night air cool against your skin, a fresh contrast to the heat you’ve just left behind. You’re all grinning, buzzing, already counting the days till round two with the goddess Jihyo—your dirty little secret, and the best damn workout of your lives.

[specialgradefckr]

it's been two days, and nerd!gojo is nowhere to be found.

as his one and only bully, you can't help but be worried.

did he get hurt when you shoved him in the locker that one time? did he get sick when you made him eat out of the trash?

weak nerd with his weak ass immune system. you should've been feeding him more dirt.

more importantly, what if you get in trouble for his skinny, frail, weak ass?

not on your watch.

you tell the teacher that you'll deliver gojo's homework to him, which she completely believes for some reason ("oh, how sweet! you two are always together") and she gives you his home address, too, with a wink.

weird, but whatever.

when you get to his house you want to beat his worthless ass all over again. ugh. of course gojo lives in a beautiful, massive house in a super upscale neighborhood you're sort of embarrassed to be seen in.

you think about your clothes, second-hand, not quite fitted right. your worn but comfy shoes. just... ugh.

but there's an intercom, and after you say your name, school, and class that you're delivering gojo's schoolwork for, the door gate opens.

when you get in, it's immediately obvious which room is gojo's - he's got an asuka poster on his door. it's completely out of place in the modern, sleek decor. only gojo could be so tacky.

you don't waste any time striding up there, throwing open the door and glaring at the pitiful wet paper towel of a boy on the bed.

and, well... he is sick, of that you have no doubt.

laying back in bed, half-propped up on pillows. his pale skin looks even paler with the dark circles around his eyes, his red nose, a pile of crumbled up tissues on either side of him.

there's a dampness on his shirt, a graphic tee, and an empty water bottle at his bedside.

"you look like shit," you say, shutting the door behind you and setting his papers on the table.

gojo half-laughs, but mostly it just comes out as a cough.

"no, it's just the flu. been going around. i think i got it from the housekeeper, actually, she took some time off recently."

a housekeeper? fucking gross. you hope he dies. rich people. ugh.

but you can't help but notice. there's no more water, plus you can't see any food around here. and gojo looks absolutely miserable.

you've only been sick once when you were a kid, but it wasn't so bad. things were different back then, though.

"well, since i'm here." you plop the homework in front of him, generously allowing him your pen, "get to work."

he's staring, blankly, at the sheet. eyes scrunching as if in consternation.

before he can insist that you need to work on it together, you stride out of the room.

a faint "wait!" sounds behind you as you shut the door, but you don't mind it.

it's a quick trip to the kitchen. you spend a couple minutes searching through cabinets full of wine glasses (wine glasses? seriously, in his home kitchen?) until you find a cup.

you fill it with water, and then, in a fit of generosity, you fill up a second cup for gojo. let it never be said that you hit a man while he was down.

somehow, when you come back up, gojo is still contemplating the homework sheet as if it held the secrets of the universe.

"hello?" you say out loud. gojo blinks, looking over at you with that blank, dopey expression.

"did you get anything at all done?" there's nothing on the paper. "drama queen."

"ah," gojo says, sniffling, eyes wincing shut, "sorry, it's hard to concentrate... i have a raging headache."

absolutely useless. you set the water down beside him, but gojo slumps back against the pillows.

he looks up at you with big, blue, pleading eyes.

"can't reach... help me?" his voice is high, his expression utterly pitiful. like some kicked puppy.

maybe it's because his throat actually does sound pretty raw. his hair is even more unkempt than usual, in a greasy, scraggly way, his tired eyes and miserable expression squeezing a drop of undeserved sympathy out of your stony heart.

mostly it's because you want him to do your homework that you begrudgingly hold up the water to his mouth and tip it carefully for him to drink.

"what," you grouse, "mommy and daddy not here to coddle you?"

gojo takes a long gulp, swallowing heavily, and letting out an exaggerated ah~ afterwards.

"the housekeeper does that," he says, shifting against the pillows to get comfortable, "but she's not here. i really was dying before you arrived. you saved me," he crows, somehow proud of his utter display of weakness and ineptitude.

you stare at his legs pointedly. "do you have a cold and leprosy? at least go get yourself some medicine."

the puppy dog eyes, again, "i tried! but i got lightheaded and dizzy! it's in the bathroom cupboard, the one closest to my room, pleeeeease-"

"what, now i'm your errand girl?" you snap, already standing up.

something flashes in gojo's eyes, and he keels forward, lurching to grab you by the hand.

"wait, wait! i didn't mean it like that, please don't leave!"

the tone in his voice sends a pang through your chest.

"...i have to leave to get the medicine," your voice comes out awkward, like something's stuck in your throat. "idiot."

gojo's so easy to read, relief on his face clear as day. "oh! okay! we can - we can order delivery, too! my treat! you just have to pick it up for me!"

"i get to choose the restaurant," you grumble, and gojo's already on his phone.

it's a pretty good deal. even though you'll have to endure his presence for a while. and do your own homework without help.

but whatever. it's not like you couldn't do it yourself. you just didn't want to, and it was better having gojo check your answers.

there's just... something weird about this.

"gojo," you ask, hesitant. "i told the intercom i had your homework for you and it let me in. are your parents home?"

he shrugs, "oh yeah, probably."

then why aren't they helping, you want to say - for once in your life, you stop yourself.

why aren't they helping their precious perfect son? what, do they think he's a loser as much as you do?

the thought prickles inside you, uncomfortable, unwelcome. you try to brush it aside. it's none of your business.

maybe gojo's parents find him as unbearable as you do -

even that thought seems a bit too harsh. he's not actually that annoying.

your walk to the bathroom is uneventful. you don't run into anyone, but you do see it - a light under a door at the end of the hallway.

"...if he needs to go to the hospital... no, he won't, a classmate came by with his schoolwork."

the voice is distant, faint. unconcerned.

"...so they want to meet tomorrow night? i'll have to get the reports ready..."

what a drama queen. even his own parents aren't worried about him.

you ignore the bad taste in your mouth as you re-enter gojo's room, where he's looks far too chipper for a sick person.

satoru smiles at you, quickly maneuvering his phone underneath his blanket.

getowo: stop crying, you big baby, i'm on my way over. satoruwu: nvm!!! dont come satoruwu: youll never guess who came to nurse me back to health getowo: so you're hallucinating satoruwu: im not! my bully does house calls <3 we're gonna eat together hehe~ getowo: i'll be there in ten. satoruwu: I TOLD U DONT COME

"gojo?" he drops the phone in his lap, internally cursing.

"yeah?" satoru slumps back, sniffing again, giving you his best pathetic face.

you roll your eyes, "I got your stuff. what did you order?" actually, you don't care. "i want pizza."

"i know this place that makes the best soup," satoru pulls his phone right back out again, "i can get you pizza, too, what kind?"

when you tell him your favorite, he tells you his.

"why are you telling me this? i thought you wanted soup?"

"yeah, but now you know what my favorite is~ we should order some for one of our study dates. we can do halvsies! actually, your fave sounds good-"

you cut him off (so decisive! super hot of you) and tell him to just put in the order. he puts the pizza idea in his notes app, just in case.

"help me take the medicine?" satoru says, half-hopeful, giving you his best puppy dog eyes.

"if you can order delivery, you can drink some water," you say, setting your homework on his desk on the other side of the room.

it's way too high, which makes sense, for his freakishly long limbs -

"oh, it's height adjustable! there's a button, you can lower it!"

you take in his words, leaning back, and you see it. there's an electric whirr as the table falls down. "huh." neat.

"nifty, right!" satoru coughs extra pitifully, "do you think you could help me out? just for a minute?"

you ignore him. it's so obvious he doesn't actually need your help. why is he even asking? it would be faster to do it himself.

whatever. he'll do it when he wants to.

you snatch one of his pens and start working.

it's silent for a bit, the sound of pen scratching against paper filling the air. a little sniffle from the far corner interrupting you.

"...please?" his voice sounds terribly small.

you take a deep, sharp breath. then you stand up and walk over to him.

just to shut him up, obviously. he's so whiney.

only, when you sit down next to him with the cup of water and the pills, his big blue eyes gazing up at you while he gives you a weak smile, that assessment feels a little... mean.

whatever. so you feel a little sorry for him. fine, he's sick. and he's playing it up, too, although his skin does feel a bit feverish when you touch it.

you press the back of your hand - chilled from holding the water glass for him - against his forehead, and gojo sighs in relief, slumping back into the pillow.

he really should be sleeping. he probably needs a shower and a change of clothes, but you're not sticking around for that, and if he needs your help taking meds, he'll need your help with the soup, too.

absently, you run your fingers through his hair. it's so white. and soft, but you can feel some dampness from the fever.

gojo's eyes flutter shut, and he gives out a gentle sigh.

he's quiet for a moment, and you almost think he's falling asleep.

"...can we watch neon genesis evangelion? i have the latest movie."

naturally, his room has a giant flatscreen in it. it's not that messy, either, but you attribute that to the housekeeper.

you roll your eyes, "god, you and your freaky anime. fine, whatever you want."

he's eager, then, lighting up at your words. it's such a weird look on him, all exhausted and sick but still happy.

"we can start from the first one, so you know what's going on!" gojo babbles, "i bet you'll love asuka. she's just like you - "

your cheeks flush, "it's fine! we can just watch your latest movie. i don't need a whole marathon."

you'd looked it up in your free time, just to see what gojo's rambling was about. and maybe you'd gone through some of it online. just to know how bad his taste was.

it's not a bad night, though.

maybe you don't get your homework done - you'll have to get to it tomorrow - but you sit there, next to gojo, on his super comfy (probably super expensive) bed.

the soup arrives before the pizza. you're hungry, and you take great pleasure in blowing on the spoon, pretending to guide it into gojo's mouth, then diverting it to yours at the last moment.

but you're generous enough to feed him, after. it's all with the movies playing in the background.

gojo started with the first evangelion movie, but you're not about to give away that you know.

he likes to narrate over it, and it's fun telling him all the reasons why his takes are wrong. but you have to tell him to shut up once his voice grows hoarse.

then the pizza comes. he looks at you so sadly whenever you head to the door. like a dog watching its owner go to work. ugh.

so maybe... you lose track of time it's a comfy bed, comfy pillows, nice soft blankets once you clean up all his used tissues and the takeaway boxes.

definitely no funny business or anything. you wouldn't be this close to him if he weren't deathly sick.

he says he's deathly sick. maybe this feels like dying for a crybaby like him, you don't know.

but you know, briefly, with your shoulder pressed into his; you're tired. you ate way too much pizza. it's warm in here, safe - gojo is a wet paper towel most days, and today, he's a used tissue, totally unthreatening.

so if you lose track of time and fall asleep... well. nobody will care anyways.

when satoru wakes up, he has to admit - he feels a lot better.

last night was pretty great, even if he'd been sick. it was like a dream! he got to spend all that time with you! just relaxing and watching shows and being hand-fed!

and you even got him water and medicine! and you helped him eat!

it was a while before suguru got out of school, and this night was worse than last night. with the housekeeper gone, he could barely get up for water or food.

even suguru wouldn't have been able to stick around. he hadn't been looking forward to spending the night sick and miserable and all alone in his bed, body full of aches and pains and hunger.

but you saved him! you even stayed the night - heheh. in a way, you basically slept with him, right?

suguru might not ever believe it, but satoru knows. you're really warming up to him. you actually like him, deep down -

when he looks around, though, you're already gone.

[si3nn4]

Bakugou Katsuki started dating you in his first year of university. Now, three years have passed.

Mina, ever the observer, noticed slight changes in her friend’s demeanor.

"Kiri. Is Bakubro talking to someone?" She leaned against the windowsill of the lecture hall, carefully watching the blonde boy walk calmly off-campus.

"No. Why?" Kirishima slung his bag over his shoulder and walked over to where Mina stood. His eyes followed Bakugou as he walked away, starting to wonder.

Was Bakugou talking to someone? Nah, can't be.

"He seems... calmer?" Kirishima snickered, causing Mina to smile slightly. "Y’know what I mean. He's just, I don’t know, different now."

While the two of them came up with various scenarios, Katsuki himself had just reached his car and was texting you. A small notification pinged on his phone, and the boy smiled, pocketed it, and hopped into his car.

A few weeks later, during a small get-together with the group, Kaminari, drunkenly blurting out random thoughts, caught everyone's attention.

"Heyy, Bakus." Kaminari slung his arm around Bakugou's shoulders, leaning into him. "Come with me on this double date. This cute girl will only go out with me if you come for her friend."

Katsuki sighed at the sight of his childhood friend.

"I can’t."

Mina and Kirishima, sitting next to each other, lightly knocked knees, their ears perked up to catch the reason behind his refusal.

"Why not, Bakubro? It’s a free day. You busy?" Kirishima asked, taking a sip from his cup while keeping an eye on Bakugou, who looked bored.

Bakugou glanced at his phone, which buzzed with another notification. Mina quickly averted her gaze toward the screen, trying to catch a glimpse of the name—too slow to see anything.

Wait, what was that on his back-

"I have a date with my missus."

Bakugou continued texting, unaware of the sudden silence that had fallen over the entire group. All eyes were fixed on his relaxed figure as he typed away.

"YESSSSSSSSSS!" Mina jumped up, fists pumping the air in celebration. Her face lit up with pure joy as Kirishima chuckled beside her, shaking his head.

Katsuki looked up, confused by their reaction. Then he felt a small splatter on his forearm and turned to see Kaminari sitting next to him, his mouth open, spilling his drink.

"OY! Dunce face, you’re fucking spilling everything—"

"YOU HAVE A GIRLFRIEND??" Kaminari grabbed Bakugou's shoulders, lightly shaking him.

"Yeah, I thought I told you guys that."

Kaminari’s face fell, then he lunged forward and hugged Bakugou while sobbing, "You have a girlfriend!"

"Dunce—You're getting my shirt wet. Bro, get off!" Katsuki was shocked by the reaction of his friends. He glanced around at their expressions before his eyes landed on the entrance to the bar.

"Kaminari, off me." He grabbed his sobbing friend by the shoulder and gently tipped him back. "Move over. Make some space."

Mina whipped her head toward the entrance, gasping loudly.

And there you were, already smiling as you clutched your bag anxiously.

Bakugou stood up and walked over to you, a small smile tugging at his lips. Kirishima scoffed in shock as he heard him greet you.

"Hey, mama. You okay?"

You nodded, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. Katsuki wrapped his arm around your waist and led you toward the booth.

"Well, since I must have forgotten to mention it to you guys... meet my fiancée."

[stagefoureddiediaz]

Thoughts on the “E”?!

Hey Nonnie

Oh I have many thoughts on the ‘E’ on the bomber jacket!! @lover-of-mine and I have been talking about it and doing some research to find out when it first appeared and if anyone else has letters on their jackets.

I can confirm that no one else appears to have a letter on their jackets, so this is a Buck exclusive thing. That in and of itself is important and revealing - it means it’s intentional and relevant in some way.

As you can see above - nothing on Bobby or Hens jackets in this up coming episode.

As for its first appearing - well - the bomber jackets have been part of the uniform since the crossover episode with Lonestar - back at the beginning of season 4. There is no ‘E’ on the jacket we see buck in during that episode. I’ve messed around with the brightness to make it easier to see on most of these screen grabs, so ignore the slightly weird colouring!

After that - we see the bomber a couple of times in season 4 and it bears no ‘E’ - this is a still from 411!

The same in season 5 - the bomber appears a few times and there’s never an ’E’ present on the sleeve, this is a still from 511.

It’s the same through season 6 - the bomber is worn but there is no ‘E’.

Then we get to season 7 and things start to get interesting! Below is a still from 701 - no ‘E’ is on his sleeve here.

But when we get to 704 - oh hi there ‘E’ you’ve decided to appear - in a scene that kickstarts Bucks bi arc, and from then on - the ‘E’ is present on bucks jacket sleeve!

Right up to the next episode!

As for what the ‘E’ means and the significance of its connection into Bucks bi arc. Well I have a couple of theories.

The fact that no one else has a letter on their sleeve means it’s not about his name - so it’s not meant to represent Evan in any way - if it was I would expect a ‘H’ on Hens and on Chim’s, and an ‘R’ on Bobbys and Ravi’s and to have seen an E on Eddie’s (I’ve just realised that we have two names for each letter as I typed this out - which is very fun!)

So that leaves us with it having a different meaning. Buck as a character is someone who tends to wear his heart on his sleeve and so it’s a fair thing to come to the conclusion that it’s connected to that idea of his heart being on his sleeve. It’s also his left arm - which is important in connection with the red string of fate which is supposed to run from your heart down your left arm and connect to your lover or family etc through your left hand.

So buck having an ‘E’ there can only really mean one thing - Eddie. There’s literally no one else it could conceivably be linked to. So in my opinion (and if that makes me a clown then I am a clown and I’m prepared to die on this hill) it’s been put there at the start of 704 to very subtly inform the audience that Buck is misunderstanding the assignment yet again and misdirecting his feelings for Eddie onto Tommy. It’s a way of telling the audience that we are correct in our opinion that it’s all about Eddie and not about Tommy at all.

Nothing else makes sense to me, it can’t be an allergy information thing, it’s not a brand thing or everyone would have an ‘E’. I guess there’s a vague possibility that is signalling where emergency information is located for Buck, but that seems very unlikely.

So in summary it’s metaphorically buck wearing his heart on his sleeve and his heart is Eddie shaped! I also expect that him wearing a jacket on the job with this ‘E’ on in this episode is very intentional - playing into bucks sense of loss over Eddie leaving and his heartbreak - even if he can’t recognise it for what it is.

I’d love to hear if anyone else has any theories on its appearance and meaning m, and there is plenty of room in the clown car if anyone wants to join Anna and I in this theory🤓💜💜

[verdancy-hime]

It's trying to kill her.

She's trying to kill herself instead.

Her alarm clock says "It's not a fashion statement, it's a deathwish."

The first time you met her, she was yelling at the cars in the road to get her to hit her to buy her a computer. Or was it that she was wearing all different colors of lipgloss around her neck and coming out of a tunnel full of bats and thinking "I am suddenly certain that the best years of my life are all behind me. I am going to kill myself one day." And you thought "that's a weird thing for a second grader to be thinking. Girls usually aren't that depressed until they have tits."

One of them keeps talking about how she moved on and she's healthy now.

The other has been saying over and over that she tries not to think about it because she knows they'll lock her up one day. She knows they made her wrong on purpose. She knows they have been trying to fix her but she won't fix. There's always some battle of wits and will and they all accuse her of being greedy but she always wins and always wonders why they didn't try bribery when bribery always works. She is lying on a floor at a party among a group of beautiful girls and you don't know why you are listening to her say this instead of them. This keeps happening. You will find her next to a girl with a perfect face for this moment, the girl will lick your shoulder blade. You wind up having a conversation about some book you never read and how you would like it based on this movie you mentioned. The other girl crawls into your lap. She walks over to your friend and starts asking him questions. You buy the book the next day. It sits on the shelf for three years after the girl with the face and the lips and the... other assets is gone. There are other girls in the meantime. You don't read it but you don't throw it away. One night you are in a new place and nothing is unpacked and you can't sleep and you can't even look at any more liquor after the last three weeks and here is this book. And on the first page when you open it up, you are reintroduced to yourself that year back then. And you know which girl is the girl who is telling the truth about who she is because she dies in the book. Unmistakably, she dies. And it's not even the end of the story. It's not the point of it. It's like here you are on the night you met and she dies and here you are going through all these miseries that hadn't happened yet when the book was written. And here you are on the next page of your own life.

You know it was her because she wants to. She talks about wanting everything, how to do anything. How to get away with it. How to make ugly things beautiful and evil things good and stupid things smart. but the one thing that never changes is that she stares into a cup or a light for too long, she writes a story, she tells you about things she's done-

You go to admire her for her bravery or what she's done. She can lie and say what she's supposed to say- yes, I know , I'm great. Or she says "people think I'm brave but really I just already have to live with the things they're afraid of. I'm not afraid of losing the things they have because I don't have them. And If I get stuck, I always think 'I'll just kill myself if this doesn't work."

You know it's her because she keeps getting into cars with boys because she thinks maybe one will murder her. And when she realizes they want to take her home and keep her, she stops doing that and starts asking them why they don't love their empty houses. And when she gets urged to make a wish, everyone offers her things she wants but the only wish she will take is "I wish I was dead." And the only way to talk her out of it is to say someone else will also die. And one day, you turn on your TV and it has a girl and it's not her face and it's not her name and it's not her voice speaking in her register and she dies and says everyone else will live if she does it. And one day you, even you, turn on the car radio and here's a song about her sung by someone who looks like her and sounds like her and you don't remember the story about how she read a book about a vampire hunter with a harem and said she didn't like it because the girl always is smug and mean about other women's makeup but a girl named after a legend in Arthurian myth put it in her face when she went out into the snow and walked around screaming for hours when she fell asleep next to a girl her friends tried to set her up with at a party after finding out she was too young and wrapping her in a blanket and talking to her a while. The cute hacker girl with the knee socks she bought her who begged to be turned into a girl and rescued from her parents who wanted to be a boy was giggling with another teenage girl that if you drink rum and diet coke it tastes just like skittles. Neither one of them were wearing any clothes. She went outside and screamed and screamed and screamed and after that night she couldn't sing anymore. Before that she got compliments. Sometimes. So she went inside and this girl named after a boy who went insane and died as a tree after he drank some potion and fell in love with the king's girl handed her a book so she would have something to do other than throw up from crying. Her father used to yell at her for crying so hard it made her sick. She still does it. Singing or no singing, her lungs still do that. Too big for the rest of her. She tells you the only thing she remembered was "you don't give somebody to the monsters." And the rest was just bullshit. And she tells you that she doesn't want anyone else to die when she dies.

And she tells you that she used to talk to this person. One she made up.

So you know it's worse than the time where she lost her singing voice when one day you see her saying there was this cult that she thinks tricks people into exorcising their own souls, they say it's mindfulness and they used to say it was demons they cast out. But what happens if you have too many souls? What then? She says she beat them but they killed her cat, but now her cat brings the souls back. She says now they want to kill her, but that's okay. Because no one else will die with her.

You know the other her is fake because it's immortal, but it writes songs about how it doesn't want to die. Maybe she might develop jealousy or pettiness or insecurity or rage or grief or anything else. She would never give up her death.

But you turn on the television, you go to read a book

And all the monsters aren't monsters, they're just people she used to know.

"What's that even supposed to mean, 'It's not her'? If it looks like her, talks like her, acts like her, thinks like her, thinks it IS her, who's to say that it is NOT her?"

[jasminedragonart]

Another little fanfic nitpick. For those of you who need it, I will be putting a reference below for those who are writing about children. This is just from my experience as someone who has a nibling as well as someone who has educated children for a good few years now teaching a wide variety of ages.

So, here is your child chart:

Ages 0-1: Blob. They can barely function without help. They need carried to do the most basic of things. Some of them can walk but not all, and their walking is not without a LOT of hand holding. They can make noises that sound like words, and maybe even say one or two, but they have no idea what those words mean. There is nothing behind their eyes. Will primarily be fed on milk for the first 6 months and then move onto solids once their teeth come in.

Ages 1-2: They can say a few more words. They can recognise those who look after them and say simple things. My nibling knows tractor and cat. They can walk. They will have a fascination with something weird, like their feet and putting and taking off not only their own shoes but other people's. There's a little bit behind their eyes but for the most part they don't know where they are or what is happening around them. They may still be on milk for the first half of their first year but they'll move onto primarily solids and water for most of their diet.

Ages 2-3: They're a little more switched on. They know what behaviours will give them attention and be it good or bad they'll do it. They might be toilet trained but it's all dependent on the parent. They babble. A lot. It's mainly a string of words they'll know but they'll all have different meanings. Shoe could mean, where are my shoes. It could also mean, hello, how are you, I haven't seen you in a while. It's all part of the communication process. They might move onto actual sentences midway through their second year but they will be short and the words extremely simple. They like to run around but their attention spans are still small so they'll lose interest after a while. They will climb out of their cribs and across the baby gates as they've figured it out. My nibling is currently costing my sibling hundreds of pounds because they now have to buy a new toddler bed despite my nibling not necessarily needing one yet. This is because they've figured out how to climb out and the crib is now a safety hazard.

Ages 3-4: They're at a really interesting phase here. They're a lot more independent than they were at 2, which for some is pretty independent, but they also regress a lot. They might not sleep very well, they'll fall down a lot more. This is because they know a lot more and understand a lot more around them. They're actually turning into a little person at 3. On the tail end they'll be a sort of mentor to those younger than them, babies and toddlers fascinating them as they try and understand what's happening around them.

Ages 4-5: Whatever progress they've been making is gone. They now have nothing once more behind their eyes. They are just chaos, turning in circles and licking the floor. As someone who had to teach 4 and 5 year olds, their attention spans are horrific and they will wander off back to their parents to sit on their parent's knee while they glare at you for not understanding that they don't know what left and right are. There will be the odd one or two who find sentience again but this is rare. Sentience is usually not found until age 6. that being said they can communicate a lot better, speaking in bigger sentences. They can also start to learn to write and retain some knowledge imparted on them.

Ages 6: They're back and meaner than ever. They can and will tell you the truth. They will tell on their parents, teachers, friends just because you've told them lying is bad. They are brutally honest and will share their opinion. They will talk for hours on end and call your name seventy times if they think you haven't heard them properly.

Ages 7: They're a fountain of knowledge at this age. They usually have specific hyperfixations and interests that will influence their lives from this point onwards. They'll love getting messy, playing outside and watching cartoons. Their reading level should be fairly decent if they go to a good school and have a good support group around them. This is the best age to get them interested in a sport as they actually have the attention span to enjoy it, maybe even compete in it if they want to join a football club or something. But they are still really young so they will take everything as truth if you tell it to them.

Ages 8: This is one of the last truly childhood years. They're still ignorant of the wider world, and not much truly changes between seven and eight save a lot of friendship building and deeper interest and understanding in their interests.

Ages 9: This is where they start to understand a bit more grown up things. They might be taught about puberty at this age, by that I mean, in my school we had someone come in and warn us about periods. It might seem young, but some girls can get their periods earlier than others and develop earlier than others. They'll understand that girlfriends and boyfriends are a thing and while they'll still thing it's disgusting there will be a deeper understanding that it's something that might happen to them rather than the bliss of years before when pretend weddings were something fun they emulated because they saw it on TV or in their family and wanted a big party like that too.

I might do a separate post for ages 10 and up but this is the basic stages of childhood. So next time you think your five year old in your fic can run away successfully from home just remember, they can't. They are five. There is nothing going on up there except big feelings and big emotions. They will likely cling to their parents and if they do run away, it's literally just around the corner and they will come back inside when it gets cold enough or they want more attention. Your five year old doesn't know left and right never mind can wield a sword. At least make them eight. Dick Grayson was 8 when he became Robin, I feel like that should be the benchmark for every child who is put into a situation. Make them 8 otherwise they don't know what's going on.

If there's more to add, please feel free to. This is, again, just what I've observed from years of working with little kids.

[evendimmer]

"I hear you, angel, I hear you."

Pairings: Soft!Agatha x Reader Summary: Agatha helps reader feel seen. Or heard, in this case. Word count: 592 Warnings: 18+ MiDNI Mommy kink (A referred as "mama"), fingering (R receiving), slight mentions of bullying, prawn with lots of feelings A/N: A short one, but no less smutty and with a lot of feels.

Agatha always tells you how much she loves your voice, although you never truly understand why.

Growing up, you’re used to being told by grownups and peers alike that you’re too chatty, too loud, too squeaky and even too annoying. Pipe it down, they’d tell you, nobody wants to hear it.

It might not even be true but when you hear something for so many times, a little voice within you started asking questions. Soon enough the questions became a fact, and the fact turned into your truth.

Nobody needs to hear you.

You stopped talking. Not unless it’s absolutely necessary anyway. No small talk, no chitchat, the little chatterbox died together with your childhood, buried away deep in the depths.

But Agatha is different. 

“Mama loves hearing you say my name. Please, angel, let me hear you.”

Agatha looks at you like you’re the sole reason of her existence, cupping your face in her hand and kiss you deeply and hurriedly, all the while pumping into you with her other hand and you feel your chest almost bursting.

She pulls back to look at you so intently that you have to look away, tears welling in your eyes— you’re not sure if it’s because of how good Agatha is fucking you or because of whatever the fuck that is exploding in your chest— 

Agatha notices the state of you and immediately panics.

“Angel— angel, shh it’s ok,” she scrambles to cup your face and coos. “Please, keep your eyes on mama, please.”

So you oblige, locking your eyes with her while your tears stream down your face and Agatha smiles, so soft and warm like the autumn sun and somehow it makes your core even more sensitive, your moans getting higher with her each thrust. She can tell you’re close. 

Agatha leans closer to kiss your temple, murmuring right in your ear, “please angel, please,” while carefully caressing your very sensitive clit.

You whimper at the contact. Your hands flying up to reach for her shoulders, only to find her pulling back to look at you through furrowed brows, almost begging as she mouths out another silent “please”.

You know what she wants.

It’s already near impossible not to give in to her, not with Agatha begging you like this, nor with the tide of emotions welling deep inside you, urging, pushing, tugging at your heart. So in a shaky voice, almost too quiet to be heard, you say her name.

But Agatha hears you. Her eyes widens as if taken by surprise, then there’s a flash of joy, quickly replaced by an almost feral want.

“Again, angel, please, again.” She grunts as she thrust into you harder and faster than ever, fucking you like her life depends on it.

And you hear yourself saying her name again, louder this time, over and over as your climax draws near. Agatha must have known it too, either from the way your nails dig into her back, or the way your pussy clamps down hard onto her fingers, or maybe how you’re crying out her name. 

She presses her thumb on your clit before swiping firmly, “Come for me, angel, please, come for mama.”

That’s what did it for you. You feel your climax rushing all over you and you keep chanting her name like a prayer. Agatha holds you tight with her free arm as you’re riding out your orgasm, all the while whispering I love you, I love you, I love you my angel with her lips pressed on your ear.

[rainydayathogwarts]

heyy i’m the same anon who just sent the one abt james. i think i accidentally wrote spring instead of summer? i honestly don’t remember.. very sorry😭🙏

but also ngl spring could be cute with this prompt if it was like fake dating or smthn ("come on, you're my only option"). ok sorry for rambling! i love your work

only woman - James Potter

ʀᴀɪɴʏᴅᴀʏᴀᴛʜᴏɢᴡᴀʀᴛꜱ' 3ᴋ ᴄᴇʟᴇʙʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ! summary: the first time you and james have a friendly conversation after your breakup leads to something more... (smut) wc: 1.6k+

James potter was not happy. No, not now, and not since an hour ago, when you’d cornered him with your beautiful smile — the one that made him fall in love with you in the first place. Sitting on the couch in the common room with his cock hard as a rock, James was forced to listen to the other marauders’ jokes while you insisted on hearing whatever gossip Lily had to tell you. James didn’t know how to pull you away from your shared group of friends, because since the two of you had broken up, you’d barely even been in the same room together.

It was only today that you decided you were ready for that next step in rekindling your friendship, calling out James’s name in the hallway as you caught up to him, hooking your arm through his and eagerly asking if he’d read the newest book in your shared favourite comic book series. James had engaged in your conversation with a wide smile, communicating how happy he was for things between you to finally be normal again.

But now, as he sat with a pillow over his lap, he was sure things would never go back to normal with you. He’d taken too many not-so-subtle glances down the front of your shirt, like he always did when he was your boyfriend. The only difference was that now, he couldn’t tug you closer to him by the hips, pressing desperate kisses against your lips until you were stripping your shirt off.

Your breakup was stupid, James now decided.

The both of you should have talked things out like adults instead of arguing and deciding on the spot that your relationship wouldn’t endure the inevitable long distance that would come due to your varying interests for further education. James remembers seeing your puffy face the day after the breakup, Lily leading you away from James and the rest of the marauders so you could have a somewhat peaceful breakfast. By not having an amicable breakup, you created tensions in the friend group. Awkwardness that had only begun healing two months after you’d separated. It took more than those two months for you to speak to each other, and nearly six full months after your breakup — today — you’d had your first friendly conversation.

And James was already regretting everything. He shouldn’t have broken up with you, he shouldn’t have spoken to you today, he shouldn’t have let his thoughts wander, because now he was stuck in this situation. This situation, with you glancing up at him from across the room with a friendly smile, though you had a mischievous glint in your eye he would recognise anywhere.

He had enough.

Abruptly standing, James grabbed his bag, which conveniently hung just in front of his hips, covering his unfortunate situation. “I think I’m going to go give Professor McGonagall the essay we started in class. I want to get her feedback on it.” James knew he didn’t have to direct any of his words to you for you to get the hint, his eyes having previously burned into you. And he stood correct, watching as you eagerly jumped up, grabbing your roll of parchment off the table. “I’ll come too! I just finished mine!” None of your friends suspected anything as you ran after James out of the common room, exchanging their gratefulness for your awakening friendship.

You hooked your arm through James’s as he led you out of the common room, though it wasn’t long before he was pulling you into a hidden room, its door wedged behind a statue. You called out your ex-boyfriend’s name and he spun to face you, a pleading look on his face. James dropped his book bag at his feet, and your eyes were instantly attracted to the bulge in his trousers. You suppressed the smile that so desperately wanted to make its way onto your face, instead raising your eyebrows at James, putting both hands on your hips. “This is what you dragged me out here for?” You sassed, and James immediately retorted with “You followed me.”

Huffing, you spun on the balls of your feet and reached for the door, but a hand on your wrist stopped you from leaving. You held your breath suddenly, feeling the warmth of James’s body radiate onto you. “James.” You uttered in a warning tone, but the man only shoved himself in the tight space between you and the door, forcing you to look at him. “Please. I don’t know what overtook me but I’m just- please.” Stepping away from James, you looked him up and down. He came closer to you, finally placing his hands on your hips, lowering his volume as he pleaded “You’re my only option.”

Offended, you slapped one of James’s hands off your body, scoffing “Why? ‘Cause no one else will take you?” But the boy only shook his head, saying “Because you're the only one I want.” Your breath hitched in your throat and your face immediately softened for James, putting a hand on his face. You almost forgot how loving and sweet James naturally was.

Okay, enough playing hard to get, you decided, finally pushing yourself up against James to press your lips against his in a passionate kiss. A grumble sounded in James chest as he brought a hand up to cup your face, the other one securely wrapping around your waist. You sighed into the kiss and James pushed his tongue past your lips and into your mouth with a desperation that had an intensity thickening in the room. You tripped backwards over James’ discarded bag, but his hold on you immediately tightened, and he dragged you over to the window nook, where you fell onto your back when the back of your legs hit its edge.

Gripping James’s belt, you messily undid it, gasping when his hands trailed under your skirt to tug your panties down. The second you released James from his boxers, sitting under his leaking cock, he broke the kiss to grab hold of himself, biting his bottom lip as he blindly tried to find your entrance. You hooked your leg over James’s hip, and almost immediately, you felt his tip probe your wet entrance, desperately pushing into you. You gasped, moaning when James slammed his lips back onto yours and you snaked a hand into his hair, tugging softly at his loose curls.

James wasn’t going to last long. You could tell by the way his thrusts were unusually short and desperate, fast instead of hard. James whined into the kiss, his hips barely pulling out of you every time before thrusting in again, balls-deep. You gasped as his tip grazed that spongy spot that never failed to make you lose yourself in pleasure, wrapping your arms over James’ shoulders to pull him closer to you. James averted his kisses to your neck, sucking eagerly on your skin and biting whenever particularly strong moans overtook him. “I love you.” He suddenly panted, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. “Fuck, haven’t had sex since you.” You moaned at James’s unexpected words, throwing your head back onto the thin cushions behind you. “Fuck James!”

“Tell me you’re mine.” He begged, his thrusts becoming sloppy as he lifted his head up to hover above yours, his lips barely grazing yours. "’M yours Jamie! No one can fuck me — oh my god — like you.” James moaned, letting his forehead drop against yours as he shut his eyes. “Fuck, you like when I fuck you like this?” He asked, trying to snap his hips into yours with more power. You hummed out an answer, barely able to form a coherent sentence when James brought his hand down to toy with your clit. “Just you.” You mumbled, bringing your hand up to push James’s face closer to yours, finally connecting your lips in a kiss again. You bit down on James’s bottom lip, unaware that immediately, the sting of your bite would have his hips stuttering to release his load of cum into you. You gasped loudly as James moaned your name, willing himself to give you a few more thrusts that finally pushed you over the edge.

James’s breath hitched in his throat when your nails harshly dug into his skin and your thighs tried clamping shut around his torso. He stared at you lovingly as you arched your back, eyes bracing shut and your mouth falling open to let out a string of high-pitched moans. James brushed a few hairs away from your eyes, smiling at you when you finally caught your breath and opened your eyes.

“Fuck, I better be the only woman you fuck for the rest of your life, Potter.” You panted, wincing slightly when he chuckled. James pulled out of you, a tint of blush on his cheeks. “So, uh… You’ll be mine again?” He asked sheepishly. You sat up, putting a hand on James’s bicep. “I’ll be yours again if we can talk about what broke us up in the first place.”

When you re-entered the common room, Lily, Remus and Sirius weren’t surprised to find you were both friends again, but they were more than shocked to find the hickeys on your neck, and to discover that James had decided he would follow you anywhere in the world if it meant you were happy. At least they also found out that you’d knocked some sense into him and said his career was just as important as yours.

Who knew, maybe you two were perfect for each other: one blinded by love and the other to provide them vision.

[demonic0angel]

Hi. Uhhh I thought this ask was funny so…

At some sort of event where both the bat fam and the phantom siblings are there. (How they’d know each other is up to you) one of the phantom siblings drops a bombshell about their lore and they continue on like it didn’t happen. But the one to do it isn’t one of the Dannys or Dan it’s Jazz. Cause Jazz is just as feral as the other three and I need to see it. Cause she is Danny “I like to drop lore bombs on people over dinner.” Feton’s sister.

I thought this was funny so uh here. *Shoves ask on a silver platter at you and runs away.*

(*eats the ask so fast that I choke on the platter like a seagull that doesn't know its limits*)

They all congregated around the food table, chatting and gossiping.

"Did you see that fucking haircut?" Jason said with a snicker. "His parents don't give a fuck about him."

"Not a single goddamn bit," Steph said.

Bruce hummed. "That's not very nice," he said, though he looked like he agreed wholeheartedly.

Dani leaned in and asked, "Which one is the one who tried starting a gang in Crime Alley but couldn't because she was a nepo baby and everyone was too embarrassed to join her even though she had a lot of money?"

Tim chuckled and pointed. "That one."

Danny laughed. "Hah! I can't even imagine that! No one joined, even though she had money?"

Jason joined him, almost cackling. "Right?! She has a reputation of being bad luck in business too, it's literally a thing. She sank three different companies before no one bothered hiring her, so when she made a gang, no one joined."

"And in Crime Alley? It's literally a meme now," Stephanie said with a grin.

"Can't imagine starting something and failing because no one wanted to follow me," Jazz said then, an amused smile on her face.

"Yeah," Dani snorted. "Because you successfully created a cult in Danny's name."

It was like a record scratch as everyone paused, but none of the Nightingales noticed, continuing on.

Danny groaned. "Don't remind me! I can't believe it became so popular that it's the most practiced religion amongst the dead! Do you know how embarrassed I feel when one of my worshippers come up to me and start kissing my hands?!"

Jazz beamed. "I'm a very good cult leader."

"Until I had to overthrow you for it," Danny snarked back.

Jazz continued, "Still, I had a good run being Queen Regent of the Infinite Realms until that happened, right?"

"The second only human in a seat of power within the Ghost Zone and also the only human to have completely changed the laws of the Infinite Realms? I'd say it's pretty good," Dani mused.

The rest of the Waynes & Co. stared at them in shock and confusion. None of the Nightingales seemed to think it was strange that Jazz Fenton, one of the Arkham psychiatrist and sister of Phantom, was a cult leader. And a successful one too.

Stephanie looked around and then asked, "So I'm not hallucinating this conversation, right?"

[multifangirll]

Late evening Adar thoughts: I like to imagine Adar was also part of the The Dagor Dagorath (Battle of all Battles) prophecy about the Middle Earth heroes and the Valar coming back to defeat Morgoth once and for all in the last battle, bringing life back into the two trees of Valinor and restoring Arda to it’s original glorious state, to simply put it. He might not have been remembered as any “hero” but he was to me. And to see him finally get revenge on Morgoth, the one who first caused his suffering and torment would be so satisfying and relieving tbh 🥺

Another thing… the tragic downside of the trop writers adding such a wonderful canon-like original character like Adar to the show is that he feels like a “forgotten hero” that is erased from anything the lore masters ever wrote and how they didn’t care to keep his name alive, because he’s an orc, a corrupted elf who isn’t worthy of any true acknowledgment from the actual “heroes”, even though he was very much worthy. The fact only a few would remember him, and the songs that were sung of him never left that small circle of elves who might’ve treasured his memory in secret. Even the offspring of his children probably don’t/didn’t know anything about him either. It’s just so sad that even when I think of wholesome hcs, I immediately get depressed because non of it matters in the end. He’s gone, forgotten, but at least we will remember him for a long time 😭

This can apply to the other original characters like Arondir, Disa, Bronwyn etc as well, but with Adar it’s different because of what and who he was and how his life ended so unfairly. He was literally RIPPED from us and we are expecting to just “move on”… it’s hard to deal with

[hgfictionwriter]

Revelations - Part Ten

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: An unexpected person reaches out to you and the pieces of your broken life continue to finally fall back into place.

Warnings: None.

A/N: The rest of the series is here.

"Hi Y/N. This is Sara. It's been a while and I hope you're doing well. I hope you don't mind me reaching out, but I'm doing so because Zoie would like to formally invite you to her birthday party this Sunday."

"Full disclosure. She's asked Jessie for weeks, but as I understand, Jessie's being very respectful of your wishes and doesn't want to push. That said, a soon-to-be 6-year-old doesn't really get it and doesn't care about things like that and is fairly relentless lol."

"She says she has so much fun with you and Jessie, and she doesn't know why the three of you can't keep doing that. And for the record, she loves her dinosaur shirt and gives me hell anytime I try to take it away to wash it. And when I asked her what she wanted for her birthday, one thing she said is she wanted you there - for all those other reasons - but also because Jessie was happiest when you were there. So, will you come?"

"If it doesn't feel right to you, that's okay. I get it. This entire thing has been a lot and I'm beyond sure none of it is what you pictured or wanted. I really didn't mean to crash your life. I really, really thought long and hard about bringing Jessie into Zoie's life. I ultimately felt I owed it to Zoie to. And I was terrified when I learned Jessie was engaged. I knew how this would potentially blow things up and I really didn't want that. I'm truly sorry it turned out the way it did."

"Anyway, you didn't ask for my story. My point was - not that you've asked - the way Jessie loves you is next level. She doesn't have to tell me a thing. It's apparent. It's special. I can tell any time she's talked with you. She's so much happier. It shows. And it's none of my business, but, if I were you, I'd maybe want to know."

"Okay. Now I'm done lol. If you don't reply, I'll leave you alone. No hard feelings."

You stared at the messages you came back to after your meeting. The last person's name you expected to show up on your phone was Sara's. She obviously thought you'd deleted her - you hadn't.

You and her had talked very minimally one on one, and always in a - more or less - forced capacity. And certainly never about topics like this. Again, you'd never hated her as a person. She seemed, well, perfectly fine. She just represented the force that brought your world as you knew it crumbling down.

But now here she was offering you a lifeline.

You needed a breath.

You backed out of your conversation with Sara and over to your one with Jessie. She was still in Canada with Zoie and you'd been texting intermittently since your impromptu reunion.

The texts had been light, both of you purposefully evading critical questions and topics knowing you were going to talk more when she got back. That said, the messages between you were more easy than before. And even if they weren't explicitly affectionate, there were undertones.

You smiled at the last messages from her. A picture of Zoie all done up in her snowsuit and playing in Jessie's parents' backyard along with a message of, "Someone loves the snow."

A dull ache formed in your chest, but it wasn't the same as before. Before, the ache had torn at you, gnawing, painful and malignant. But this new ache was different. It was longing and sweet. Something to chase; something to not be scared of.

You went back to Sara's messages.

“What does Zoie want for her birthday?”

-----------

While you'd felt eerily calm leading up to the weekend, as you parked your car down the street from Sara's place your nerves started to make themselves known again.

You stared steadily at the house, spotting Jessie's car parked out front.

Jessie didn't actually know you'd be here today. You don't know why you chose not to tell her. You even asked Sara not to mention anything. Who knows, maybe Sara thought you wanted to keep it down low in case you bailed. No expectations and no hurt feelings for anyone, then.

Maybe you were woefully misreading things, but you almost felt like it could be a good surprise.

You took a deep breath and picked up the gift you'd wrapped for Zoie and got out of your car and walked towards the front door. Your heart raced, hoping, for whatever reason, Jessie wouldn't see you before Sara did. You needed to get some things off your chest.

Sara told you prior to just open the door and come inside. So you did. Quietly. Tentatively.

Your eyes darted around the room.

There was a handful of kids running around - Zoie was still pretty new at her school, but had clearly managed to forge some friendships there, at dance, at swimming.

No surprise. She was just as likable as Jessie.

Then, there were a few adults mingling about. Mostly parents, you assumed, watching over things, playing with the kids, or chatting idly amongst themselves.

That former sense of 'otherness' threatened to rise up within you again, but you dismantled it this time. You weren't going to feel that way again. You were invited. You were asked to be here. You were wanted.

Then you saw a glimpse of them. Jessie was in the other room where the kids were running in and out of. Zoie was hanging off of Jessie's back, a kid latched onto each of her legs as she playfully lumbered around, the kids all laughing and yelling as they hung off of her.

You turned as Sara was coming out of the kitchen and you almost collided.

"Oh my god," she said with a laugh. Her eyes lit up as she took you in. "You came! I'm so glad."

As you saw this woman for the first time in months - this woman who was the source of so much angst and upheaval in your life - you felt a flash of anxiety. Like some emotional PTSD.

But it faded as she smiled at you. She was just a girl whose own life had been turned upside down many years ago. Her own future permanently changed; visions and dreams as she’d planned them no longer the same.

She’d gone it alone. Turned her circumstances into something to be cherished. And, in time, and justly so, decided to do right by her daughter. And Jessie.

She wasn’t a monster. She didn’t come into your life with malintent. You’d been caught in the shockwaves and fallout, but it wasn’t her fault or her intention.

She certainly didn’t need to try to save your relationship with Jessie. To keep you in Zoie’s life. In fact, it would’ve been much easier on her to have Jessie and Zoie to herself.

But she reached out to you anyway.

You felt your cheeks heating up. "Yeah. Thanks again for inviting me."

She shook her head. "Of course. You were very much wanted at this party. Someone had to tell you," she said with a smirk.

"Here. This is for Zoie," you said as you extended the gift. Sara gently pushed it back to you.

"Why don't you give it to her," she smiled, before adding with a smirk, "But she can't open it until after cake. Don't let her tell you otherwise."

You chuckled. “Sure. I’ll watch out for that.”

A beat passed and your pulse picked up again. You'd gone over in your head countless times what you wanted to say, and if you were going to say it, now would be the time.

"Um, this day is about Zoie, so I'm not going to take your focus away for long, but I want to just say something really quick," you said. Sara listened attentively.

“I wanted to say thank you for what you said the other day. I think I needed to hear it from someone other than Jessie. And, honestly,” you bit back a weak laugh, “you’re the most impartial, in a way. If it was Janine. Sinc. Elysse. Whoever, I feel like it wouldn’t have been the same. So, thank you, it means a lot.”

“I’m glad you weren’t upset that I reached out,” Sara admitted. “I mean, yes, Zoie absolutely kept badgering me and Jessie to invite you," she chuckled, "but beyond that, yeah."

She took a breath.

"I know it’s not my business. I mean, yes, Jessie’s life impacts Zoie’s, but Jessie’s obviously free to make her own choices and decisions. And honestly, I have no clue what ultimately went down between you two. None of my business either! I'm really just piecing things together from glimpses I've gotten during drop-off and pick-up, and things Zoie mentions.” She shrugged vaguely. “Jessie plays things very close to the vest, but - even if she never says anything - it’s obvious where she’s at and how she feels about you even now. And I wasn’t kidding - Zoie’s enchanted by you. Must run in the genes,” she said with a sly smirk before growing serious again. “So, this seemed like the right opportunity to say something.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you processed her words. You weren't expecting her to say more than she did the other day.

But again, here you were. Jessie wasn't exactly confiding in Sara. She hadn't fallen into Sara's arms in your absence. It was even obvious to Sara, her ex, the mother of her child, that Jessie was still in love with you.

Your mind sharpened once more and you remembered what you planned to say. You cleared your throat.

"Thank you. I, um, I know things have been complicated. I don’t know how much has fallen back on you, or Zoie, during all of this. I hope not much at all. And I'm sorry for anything that did. I know things couldn’t have been easy for you either. A lot of big decisions along the way, uprooting your life and Zoie’s, rebuilding, introducing new family and friends into her life and yours. That’s a lot of change for anyone. You didn't know what you were going to find. That took a huge amount of courage. And I know you did it for Zoie and I respect that.” You took a quick breath. “But it really means a lot that you shared what you did. I know you didn't need to. So, thank you for this."

Your eyes drifted away before returning to her.

"I don’t exactly know what the future holds. But, I know that if I’m a part of Jessie’s life, I’m a part of Zoie’s. And I want you to know I don’t take that for granted. You've raised a really, really special girl. Zoie's wonderful. And even if I’ve been in and out of the picture, I really do care about her. A lot. I mean, she's great - full stop. But she's also a part of Jessie, which means...," you trailed off, not quite ready to declare to her that by proxy alone you'd of course love Zoie.

You took a quick breath.

"Anyway, I'm sure this is no surprise to you, but Zoie's made Jessie's life infinitely better. So, please don’t ever feel bad for bringing Jessie into her life. That little girl deserves to have her mama in her life, and Jessie deserves her just the same.”

Sara smiled appreciatively, taking a moment of her own. “Thank you. That really means a lot.”

Her gaze shifted over to the other room where Zoie was.

"And yeah, Zoie's pretty's amazing," she said as she faced you again. "I'm grateful for her. She was - certainly - a surprise. But an incredible one and I can't imagine my life without her now. And she just adores Jessie. If Zoie's made Jessie's life infinitely better, well Jessie has 1000% done the same for Zoie. I'm grateful to have her presence in Zoie's life."

Her tone was earnest already, but it grew more-so and she held your gaze pointedly. "There's lots of room for you in that life too, if you want it."

You were about to respond when you heard your name yelled from across the house.

"That's your cue," Sara said under her breath with a laugh.

You turned to see Zoie haphazardly climbing down off of Jessie and running towards you. Your attention was split between Zoie sprinting your direction and Jessie standing there shell-shocked, two other kids still hanging off of her.

"Happy birthday!" You greeted with a bright smile as your mind righted itself. You extended the gift to Zoie, but she bypassed it, running straight into your legs in a tight hug, sending you back a step with the force behind it. You laughed, reaching an arm down to embrace her.

"Zoie, my God," Sara laughed. "Take it easy, sweetie."

"You came!" Zoie exclaimed as she pulled back to look up at you.

"I couldn't miss your birthday," you told her as your hand came to her head affectionately. You knelt down in front of her and gave her a more fulsome hug.

"Mama, you invited her," Zoie smiled as she turned partially in your arms to look at Jessie with a laugh.

You looked up to see Jessie, now disentangled, tentatively approaching. Her mind obviously still processing everything. She looked between you and Sara perplexed, but a smile of awe and surprise crossed her face.

"I, um," Jessie stammered and Sara cut in.

"Honey, let's let mama and Y/N catch up. You'll get some more time with Y/N later, okay?" She said.

Zoie pulled back a touch, her arms still around you and pouted slightly. You held out the gift to her again.

"Here, this is for you. Why don't you go put it with the others," you said. The gift seemed the perfect distraction and she grabbed it and ran to Sara's side.

"What do you say?" Sara prompted her, disbelieving and mouthing you an apology.

"Thank you!" Zoie said with a toothy grin before running off once more.

Jessie was just closing the space when you rose to your feet, now face to face with her. Her eyes searched you in wonder, that smile still tugging at her mouth.

"W-what are you doing here?" She asked, eyes curious and hopeful.

"Sara invited me," you answered. Jessie's expression changed immediately and her head snapped around to look in the direction the woman had departed. She looked back to you right away with a frown.

"It's all good," you said as you nervously tucked your hair behind your ear. "She, um, she told me that Zoie wanted to invite me. She said you wouldn't - but I know why."

Jessie opened her mouth to defend herself and you held up a hand, gently coaxing her to stop.

"You're not mad that I showed up, are you?" You asked, though a faint smile pulled at your lips. Jessie did a double-take, adamantly shaking her head.

"No. Oh my God. No, of course not," she readily assured you. She frowned before giving an airy laugh. She took a moment to find her words, her cheeks growing red. "I'm...I'm very happy that you showed up."

"I wondered if you might be. Hence why I didn't say anything when you were away," you said, a playful smile now finally crossing your face.

She smiled wider with another shake of her head. "Yeah. Wait, when did this all happen?"

"This week. You were already at your parents' with Zoie," you relayed. She nodded slowly, an adorable frown on her face as she put the pieces together.

"And, thanks for texting me while you were away," you added. "It was nice to get updates. Felt like I was almost there sometimes," you finished more shyly than you'd intended. She gave you a grateful smile.

"Of course. You were-" she stopped for a second, centering herself and giving a nod as she offered you a quiet smile. "You were missed."

You nodded, much the same as her and wearing a quiet smile of your own.

You felt light.

"Okay. Well, this is Zoie's day, so I don't want to get too deep into things. But," you said slowly, your gaze drifting away momentarily before you smiled at Jessie once more, "if you'd like to take me up on that offer to talk, you could ask me out for coffee sometime." You held her gaze and added in emphasis. "Not as friends."

Jessie stood before you and you could see quiet shock come over her. Her eyes didn't leave yours, but you could see them dart across your face, looking for any signal of a misunderstanding.

Her eyes started to well and she let out a breath that sounded more like a stifled sob.

"Are you serious?" She asked, her eyes shimmering further as her eyebrows furrowed together, her emotions plain.

You smiled softly back at her and simply nodded.

"I mean, I could ask you out if you like," you said before you rest a hand on your hip and tapped your lips facetiously. "Hmm, you seem like someone who would like...[whatever we think Jessie's coffee of choice is]."

Jessie let out a watery laugh as she stepped forward and pulled you into her arms, hugging you tightly to her. You reciprocated immediately as you laughed gently in her ear.

"Oh my god," she said, her voice thick with emotion as she rocked you in place.

She sniffled and wiped at her eyes as she stepped back. Her face was bright red as she looked at you and your heart felt like it could burst.

"W-will you go out for coffee with me?" She asked, a slight stutter in her voice as she rode out her emotions. She laughed, wiping at another stray tear. "On a date."

You nodded readily, echoing her soft laugh.

"I'd love to."

"Mama?"

You both glanced down to see Zoie coming up, tugging lightly on Jessie's pant leg and looking up at her very concerned.

"What's wrong?" Zoie asked, looking so worried.

Jessie nearly started crying again. She gave a tearful laugh and bent down to scoop Zoie up into her arms, hugging her tightly.

"Nothing's wrong, sweetie. I promise," she said as she kissed Zoie's cheek. "I'm not sad. I'm great. I'm really happy. These are happy tears," she said with a sniffle as she held her close.

Zoie seemed to contemplate Jessie's explanation. She watched her carefully, though still a bit confused.

"Well, what are you happy about?" Zoie inquired. Jessie's gaze flit over to you before returning back to her daughter's.

"Y/N and I were just having a good conversation. And it made me very happy," she said. "Sometimes people cry when they're happy."

Zoie was still skeptical.

"Well, what were you talking about?"

Jessie shot you a look and you stepped in.

“Your mama’s right, Zoie. Tears aren’t always sad,” you reinforced. “In this case? Just boring adult talk.”

“What adult talk?” Zoie asked innocently. With this amount of determined curiosity, she was certainly Jessie’s child.

"Coffee," you said flatly for effect. "Kind of boring? Right?" Zoie made a face and you smiled at her before distracting. "Hey, how has dance been?"

Zoie's eyes lit up and she wriggled in Jessie's arms to be let down. Jessie set her down with a laugh and Zoie grabbed you by the hand to pull you into a more open area.

"I want to teach you my routine," she said excitedly. "I tried to teach Mama, but she’s not very good at it," she relayed very matter of fact and you stifled a laugh.

Zoie began showing you her routine and you played along, following her disjointed, but enthusiastic motions.

When you weren't paying attention to Zoie's choreography, your eyes were drawn to Jessie who now leaned back against the wall watching you both with a weepy smile, wiping at her tears with the sleeve of her hoodie now and then.

As Zoie showed you the steps, her hair wispy and wild in a messy pony tail, her cheeks rosy, smiling up at you and looking so much like Jessie’s baby photos - you recalled what Jessie told you so many months ago.

“How can I look at her and feel like my life is ruined?”

That argument seemed like another life now. The sorrow and insidious pain that coursed through you every moment during that period was a mere memory now.

As you smiled down at Zoie and over at Jessie who watched you both adoringly, you understood what Jessie meant. You felt it.

When you finished, Zoie ran off to rejoin her friends and Jessie approached you, still sniffling. She exhaled in self-effacing exaggeration.

"I'm a mess," she said.

"You're lovely," you countered without missing a beat.

Jessie shook her head slowly, looking at you with love like all the years before, but part of it felt new - deeper - as well.

"I love you so damn much," she said. She cracked a smirk a moment later. "That's totally appropriate to say before a first date, right?"

You laughed and you drew her into a kiss, soft and slow.

"Completely."

A/N: Not quite done yet. One more chapter.

Tag requests: @ryuushou @marvelwomen-simp @valuyhh

[salsakiyoomi]

“i can feel your heart aching.”

sukuna states, looking over your curled up form on your bed.

he hears you sniffle, then your voice comes out in a shaky and wobbling tone, “does it matter? it's not like you care.”

he clicks his tongue, “foolish girl.”

what he meant to say was ; no, he did care, and that he will always care. but of course, his pride seemed to come above all else.

“now, are you going to tell me what's bothering you?” he asks, crossing his arms.

when you don't reply, he grunts, settling down on the mattress beside you. his hand grabs your arm, and he forces you to face him.

you whimper, quickly attempting to wipe away the tears at your eyes and he clicks his tongue once more.

“you're crying.” he states and you huff, rolling your eyes as you sit up, “what do you think?”

“don't jest with me, woman.” he warns, before shuffling closer to you.

his hand cups your cheek, tilting your face up so that you meet his gaze — he tries to ignore how the sight of your glassy eyes and wobbling lip tugs at his heart strings. he was the king of curse's for fuck's sake, he did not have heart strings for you to tug on.

and yet.

“do you plan on telling me what's bothering you?” he asks, and of course, his voice comes out soft, and of course, his heart is fluttering in his chest at the thought of whatever could've made you cry, and of course he cares.

curse you and your beautiful, doe eyes that stare up at him, and curse you and your beautiful, full and plump lips that always feel so soft and fit perfectly against him, and curse you and your stupid, foolish kindness and naivety that had him on a chokehold because you were so different from him.

you must’ve put a hex on him or something, he thinks. how dare he let himself care for you this much?

“woman,” he grunts when he gets no response, “tell me what's on your mind.”

“you favor her.” you finally say.

he raises an eyebrow, confused, “favor who?”

“yumi — or whatever her name is,” you huff, “the new concubine. you favor her.”

he scoffs, “that is what's bothering you?”

you whine, “i told you, you don't care!”

“petal.” he huffs, “i don't favor a measly concubine like her.”

“then why have you been spending so much time with her? you've barely called me to your chambers those past three weeks.” you say, and god, when you look at him with those tearful and big eyes of yours. all he wants to do is get on his knees and worship you, show you just how much he truly favors you.

“i didn't think about it that way,” he finally says instead, shrugging, “i didn't think it would…hurt you.”

“of course it'd hurt me!” you exclaim, “you-you always told me about how i was your favorite, and now that there is a new concubine in the picture, you suddenly favor her?”

“that's not true.” he says with a scowl, “i've always favored you, and you know that.”

“then prove it.” you say sternly, “prove to me that i'm your favorite.”

he scoffs, “goddammit woman, i'll get rid of the whole harem if that's what you want.”

your eyes widen and your mouth falls open, “...really?”

he rolls his eyes, “yes.” he says, then quietly, almost bashfully, he asks : “would that make you happy?”

you look down at your fingers, fiddling with them, “...yes.” you murmur.

“good.” he huffs, “now wipe away those pathetic tears of yours and quit your whining.”

you laugh, wiping down your face with your hands, “oh, ‘kuna.” you coo, “you've gone soft.”

“i have not.” he hisses.

but oh, he has. actually, he's always been soft for you — damn hex you put on him.

“sure.” you giggle.

he huffs, then he slowly pushes you back down on the mattress and he hovers over you, his hands on either side of your body, “let me just show you how much i favor you.”

that night, he spends it worshipping you.

[visionsofyouandme]

two tickets north (here’s to never looking back)

𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜: Joel comes to your rescue.

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 4.8k

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜/𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚜:  No Outbreak!Joel Miller x F!Reader. Sort of dbf!Joel. Reader has absolutely no descriptors other than having messy hair. Legal age gap (reader is in her 20s, Joel is in his 50s). Established secret relationship. Reader has a bad relationship with her father. Mentions of/allusions to domestic violence (brief). Names of affection (“babygirl,” “darlin’,” “sweetheart”). SMUT (18+MDNI) Unprotected p in v. Pathetic!Joel. Body worship. Creampie. Joel cannot get enough of you (for real). Not proofread.

𝙰/𝙽: Well, well... I have returned? Sort of? Writer's block is a bitch. I have a million WIPs that I'm trying to work through, and this is one of them. Watched a movie that inspired this, and I just couldn't get it out of my head. Hope you enjoy! <3

Read here on AO3!

You awoke to the sound of knocking on the trailer door. You sat up, glancing at the clock on the nightstand. You frowned, seeing it read 1:26am. If it was your dad, he wouldn’t have knocked so gently. More like barreled through the door and drunkenly run into the coffee table like he always did.

So, you knew it could only be one other person, and you jumped to your feet. You grabbed a robe just in case and pulled it over your shoulders, clad only in one of his shirts and a pair of shorts that didn’t leave much to the imagination. If no one was home, you didn’t care about modesty. 

So you tightened the tie around the waist and pulled the main door open, and his frame awaited you on the steps of the double-wide trailer you called home. 

Joel Miller. Your father’s employer, and casual friend. 

And, as fate would have it, your secret lover. 

You were surprised to see him, seeing as he typically calls to alert you of his coming. You threw the screen door open, and beckoned him to come in. You stole a glance around the dirt road leading between the rows of trailer homes and saw no one being nosy. It was late, after all, on a Saturday night. People were out at bonfires or drinking at crusty bars with their friends, lovers, and others. 

So, you were thankful for the privacy.

Closing the door, you turned around to face Joel, opening your mouth to scold him, knowing your father could have been home if he showed up-

But, he took your face in his hands, and kissed you fiercely. He seemed to be vibrating with energy, and you put your hands around his wrist, prying yourself away from his kiss as much as it pained you to.

“Joel, what are you doing here?” you questioned breathlessly, and he looked down at you in the dim yellow light of the kitchen light not too far away. He smiled lightly, though you could tell he was holding back. 

“Pack your things, babygirl.” he said, and you looked at him with a confused expression. He smoothed down your wild bed-head, looking over your face like it was the first time he saw it. “We’re goin’ north.”

“What?” you questioned tiredly, having just worked a double shift at the local diner all day. Nearly 12 hours of smiling and running around, taking orders and then closing up shop wore you out. You were trying to process the information while still half asleep.

“I cashed out the business.” he said, and you raised your eyebrows, then frowned. 

“What? Why?” 

“You always talked about runnin’ away, going someplace different, away from your dad. You remember when I said I would take you one day, away from all this? Well, this is it, darlin’.” 

You looked up at Joel in disbelief, your heart seemingly stopping in your chest. 

This was it? Finally, your opportunity to leave Texas behind?

“Where up north?” you questioned, and Joel’s hands dropped from your face, turning and heading to your room with a purpose in his step. 

“I’ll tell you on the way. You gotta pack now, darlin’. Your dad, he could be home any minute. I left him at the bar, but he could find Neil or somebody to give him a ride.” he explained, and you could only watch in shock as Joel fished out the suitcase from the closet. It was covered in dust, rarely used. But now, it finally had a purpose again. He picked it up and turned into your room, flicking the light on. You hurried after him, pausing at the doorway as he began opening your dresser and tossing clothes in the suitcase. 

“Joel, I can’t leave, not like this. I need time.” you said, and Joel looked up quickly, pausing with a handful of your socks.

“Honey, we’ve talked ‘bout this. He’s no good. You do more around here than he ever does. He wastes all of his time and money on beers and hookers.” he said, and you cringed at the truth of it all. You put your money towards rent and groceries every month while he sat on the couch with a beer in hand and staring at the latest game on TV if he wasn’t “working.” Joel had told you  he noticed that his drinking had gotten worse, and therefore his productivity had plummeted. 

You couldn’t stay here any longer. All of that, and the marks on your arms and back were also evidence that this wasn’t a place for you to call home anymore. The diner barely paid, and you had nothing else tying you here other than the sad excuse for “family.” 

“I can’t just sit by and let all of this happen to ya. Not anymore. We’re leaving.” he said, and began putting more clothes in the suitcase. He opened the closet and flicked on the light, and looked around at what to take first. 

“Joel,” you began, and he put his hands on his hips, assessing the row of clothes in front of him. You put your hand on his shoulder, and he turned his head to look at you. You weren’t sure what he saw on your face, but his certainly fell to something pitiful. “I-”

“Please, babygirl, say you’ll go. I can’t leave you like this, I won’t leave you like this-”

“Joel. I’m coming with you.” You said, breathing out at your own admission. He regarded your face for a moment, and then took your face in hand and kissed you deeply. The kiss was less fervent than before, but one of pure and utter relief. You lingered in his touch for a moment and then pulled away, your hand coming to rest on his chest. 

“Can you go to the bathroom and get my stuff there?” you questioned, and he looked down at you, pressing his forehead against yours. He nodded gently, and gave your cheek a firm peck before speeding past your side to the bathroom. You then shoved clothes in your suitcase, moving about the room to pack anything you could that was sentimental. You took what was left of your jewelry that your dad hadn’t pawned off and put it in a small container. Fishing out a small felt box in the depths of your dresser, you pulled out your late mother’s ring and put that in your suitcase safely. 

You had to lay on the suitcase, putting your body weight on it to shut it tightly, and Joel came in with a small bag of toiletries. It was smaller than you thought, and you frowned,

“I’ll get some stuff for you on the way. But we have to go now.” He said, and picked up your heavy bag with ease, turning and heading to the living room. Your heart hammered in your chest and you grabbed your handbag, giving one last look at the room where you spent nearly 15 years of your life in. You looked at the stack of records longingly, and the mixtapes beside it. Pictures of old friends and family long gone from your life. Trophies from high school sports and a diploma. Things you would have to let go. Some replaceable, some forgettable, and others? Not at all.

But right now, you didn’t have a choice.

You headed out to the living room to find the front door slightly ajar, Joel nowhere to be seen. You stuck your head out the screen door and saw him loading the bags into the bed of his truck, where you already saw several of his own bags resting there. 

You touched your messy hair and figured you could fix it in the car, headed God knows where with Joel in the driver’s seat. You had traded your pajamas and robe for a pair of jeans and a faded grey t-shirt with your dirt-covered tennis shoes. Your life was now in two bags packed away in Joel’s truck, and you were finally getting out of this damn house. 

Joel turned to you when you came to the truck, and he opened the passenger door for you. You gave him a light smile as you loaded yourself inside, sliding your handbag between your legs on the floor. Joel was in the driver’s seat in a moment, and kicked the truck into gear. You looked back at the trailer one last time, the realization that you’d never see it again not hitting you yet. With a jerk the truck swung out of the driveway, heading down the rows of other mobile homes just like yours. You spotted Mildred Oliver standing on her porch, smoking a cigarette, her eyes narrowing in the streetlight as she watched you and Joel ride by. You should have felt ashamed, worried that she would tell your dad. Worried that this could all fall to ruins.

But, with how fast Joel was driving, you didn’t think your drunk father would ever be able to catch up. You liked to imagine him coming home to an empty house, your presence wiped from the place and as desolate as the desert you and Joel were setting out across to get to wherever the hell you were going. 

You could hear your father’s anguish, see the way his lips would turn into a sneer, and he would be at a loss of where you could have gone until Mildred would come and deliver the news to him. It would be only then that he would realize his boss had run off with his daughter, promising to give her a better life than the one she had here.

Coming to the entrance/exit of the trailer park, you breathed out softly. Just before Joel was about to turn, you spotted Neil Wells’ truck pulling in to the entrance.

You saw your father in the passenger seat for a fleeting moment- eyes glazed over, leaning against the window, clearly in a drunken stupor. He didn’t even look your way, and your chest deflated when he disappeared from view. Joel said nothing, but put a comforting hand on your thigh as he turned right.

Joel pulled onto the highway, the buildings of outer Austin, Texas disappearing as the desert came into full view. It was still pitch black out, and the light pollution turned less and less as you drove away from the city you used to call home. 

And when you saw the stars, the moon, the Milky Way- they were all so clear and beautiful that it finally settled in at that moment. You could feel the relief come over you like a wave upon the shore, and you leaned back into the seat a little easier, your shoulders dropping from your ears. You felt Joel’s hand wrap a little tighter around your thigh, and you turned to see him staring straight ahead with a hard expression. But, his touch was soft, gentle, comforting. You put your hand over his, and leaned your head back on the headrest as you sighed into the air conditioned truck cabin. It smelled so familiar and so like Joel that it was almost as good as being wrapped in his arms. He spent so much time on this truck fixing it up lately, and now you understand why. 

A getaway car.

“Where are we going?” you questioned quietly after the sign for the next city was briefly illuminated by the headlights:

Dallas    178 Miles

“I had some arrangements made for us up in Wyoming. My little brother- you remember Tommy? He lives up there now with his wife and son. Said it’s real nice. Good community. I think you’d like it there.” Joel explained, his thumb beginning to rub circles on your thigh. Your eyebrows furrowed, but understood everything perfectly clear. You knew the younger Miller brother from years ago, as he used to work with Joel at his contracting business before moving north for greener pastures. Last you heard he had married a woman named Maria and had settled somewhere in Wyoming, so you stored all of this new information in the back of your mind. 

“And he’s okay… he’s okay with us?” you whispered, and Joel glanced over at you with a half smile. He nodded, his eyes flickering between you and the road.

“‘Course he is.” he said.

You felt he was lying, though you weren’t sure about what.

But, you couldn’t fight it. You were too tired, and the clock on the dashboard read 2:17am. Joel could sense your tiredness and took your hand in his and gave the top of it a kiss,

“Get some sleep, darlin’. I’ll wake you when we stop.” he said, and you nodded, trying to get comfortable against the door of Joel’s truck. It only took moments as you had fell asleep, dreaming of a new life.

When the truck rumbled to a stop, you were roused from your sleep before Joel could give your shoulder a shake. You looked up, blinking up at the neon “motel” sign, and rubbed your neck gently, sitting up. Joel said something about waiting in the car, and he went to the lobby tucked away to the left. You looked around, seeing the place was somewhat deserted with only a few cars parked in front of the rooms. Joel returned moments later with a key in hand, and telling you softly and gently that he had a place for you to really sleep. 

You slid out of the truck, and while Joel insisted on carrying your things, you managed to wrestle one from his grip and grabbed one of his own for good measure. You lugged the bags to one of the rooms thankfully on ground level. When Joel opened it, you didn’t care for the musky scent that smelled vaguely of cigarettes or the barely illuminating light above. You just wanted to sleep. 

Joel seemed to be worn down from the drive, and you truly didn’t know how long you had been driving. There was only one bed, though you didn’t complain about that. You always felt you slept better at Joel’s side anyway. 

You set down your things and walked to the bathroom to splash water on your face, coming back to see Joel pulling off his boots. Kicking off your shoes and shimmying out of your jeans, you crawled into the scratchy sheets, hearing Joel shuck his own jeans off. 

When the bed dipped, signaling his arrival, you sighed as he wrapped you up in his arms. He had taken his flannel off and was just in his dark blue undershirt and boxers. You rest your arm over his stomach, nestling your face in his neck. This was what you wanted, just to be close to him. To finally feel at peace, to finally feel loved, to finally feel safe. 

“It’s alright, darlin’, I got you.” he whispered into your forehead, and you nodded soundlessly, falling back asleep with ease in Joel’s arms. 

When you awoke, you blinked to let your eyes adjust to the stream of sunlight escaping between the curtains pulled tight in the motel room. It was already getting to be hot again, the Texas weather wafting it’s way through the thin walls of the motel and into your climate. You shifted, and you felt Joel next to you, most likely still asleep. Your thoughts began to rise up, rearing their ugly heads and demanding to be addressed. What possessed Joel to let go of his thriving business? Why did he come in the dead of night? Why was he so… out of sorts? So many thoughts, so little time to deal with them-

You felt a hand on your hip and you looked over your shoulder to see Joel watching you sleepily. 

“Mornin’, pretty girl.” he mumbled, and you smiled, but it was fast and faint. Joel must have sensed your unease, because he moved and sat up a bit, rubbing his eyes. 

“Are you… are you alright?” he questioned, his hand still resting on your shoulder gently. You turned to him completely, sitting up and blinking away the remnants of sleep, willing your body to catch up with your mind. 

“Joel… is everything okay?” you questioned, and Joel’s eyes moved between your own, and you could tell he was assessing you, trying to see if you were having second thoughts. You weren’t, of course, but you just needed clarification. You needed some kind of reason, some kind of explanation. This wasn’t something to be thought of lightly, this was a big step for both you and Joel. Him coming up in the dead of night to whisk you away to somewhere up north with the promise of a new life was… exhilarating, but also worrying.

“”Course it is, darlin’.” he said quietly, and reached up to touch your cheek gently, and you put your hand over his, but didn’t move away. You still craved his touch despite your worries, and you knew he would never do anything to hurt you. But, you still had a sinking feeling in your stomach. “I want you to have a better life, a place where you can be happy, where you don’t have t’worry. And I wanna be the one to give that to ya.” 

You looked at Joel with a soft expression. He had really done all of this just for you? Given up his life, his business, his home just for you? You wondered what would happen to his house, one you had come to know and love over the months you had been meeting. You would miss the early mornings where you would share coffee, the living room where you would curl up to watch a movie together, the bedroom where you would make love and where you both confessed you loved each other for the first time.

You just had no idea he would go to these lengths just to make you happy.

“You… Joel, that’s so much-” you whispered, feeling tears well in your eyes and he pulled you close, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips.

“I’d do anything for ya, darlin’. Anything you want, you can just ask- in fact, no, you don’t even have to ask. It’s yours, no matter what.” he said, and smoothed his hand over your hair. You looked up at him and he brushed against your cheek as a few tears fell. No one had ever gone to such lengths to make you happy, to get you out. 

But Joel did. He loved you, you knew that. But this? This went deeper than just any regular display of affection. This was the ultimate confession and action of pure love. 

“You can finally paint your- our bedroom whatever you want. You can make your office, or studio, whatever you want it to be. You can make anything and everything happen, sweetheart. I’ll see to it, and help you get there.” he said, kissing your forehead gently. You leaned into his touch, and wrapped your arms around his waist. He pulled you into his lap, shifting your legs to lay across his lap and he held you close, rocking you gently. He kissed your hair gently, pressing his nose there to inhale your scent. 

“I’m yours. Always have been, ever since that Fourth of July celebration.” he murmured, and you nodded gently, wrapping your arms around his neck, pressing your face there. You weren’t sure when you first realized you loved him. It was gradual, but also all at once- every step, every movement, every touch, every glance led to this moment. 

You looked at him, his arm wrapped tightly around you, almost possessively. He leaned his forehead onto yours, and kissed you softly, his hand coming up to hold your cheek gently. Your heart fluttered in your chest, and you moved your body instinctively against his, craving more. You were about to embark on a new chapter of your life, and Joel was the one to make that possible. Kissing him a bit harder, your hands curled into his shirt and he turned his body, rolling over under the sheets to hover above you. He wore only his boxers and the shirt, and it was suddenly too much. You craved his touch, and your hands moved under his shirt, touching the skin of his sides, his belly, and up to his chest. He seemed to pick up on your movements and sat up to pull the shirt off and over his head. You sat up and mirrored the gesture, and he paused, looking down at your nearly naked form, save your underwear.

“You’re gorgeous, darlin’. And you’re all mine.” he murmured, and you gave a light nod of confirmation, a small smile on your lips and he moved back over you. His head immediately dipped to your breast, the perfect size to him, and he kissed the skin around it, then suckled on the nipple gently. You leaned your head back, a hand going through his hair with a soft sigh.

His hips grinded against yours with purpose, measured, but still gentle. He worshipped your breasts as his hand moved to take over the ministrations of the one he had abandoned as he turned to the other and began to suck on it a little harder than the other. You whined softly, lifting your hips for more. More, more, more. 

Joel kissed to your sternum, resting his forehead against your chest as he moved his hips against yours, his erection apparent and aching against your core. Your hand that settled through his hair tightened just a bit, and you pulled him up to capture his lips. Your eyes fell closed, and he moaned into your mouth gently like you had brought him to his knees with only a kiss. His hand moved from your breast to your side, his fingers splaying on the skin there, feeling it like it was the first time. 

“Joel,” you whispered against his lips, and his hands found the waistband of your panties, sliding them down your hips with ease. You assisted in kicking them off, your hand moving to his boxers and cupped him through the fabric. He grunted softly, his hand moving down to your core, his index and middle finger sliding through your folds, coming back with slick coating his fingers. 

“You’re so wet for me… All for me. I wanna feel you,” he whispered, his voice aching with want like this was the first time he had taken you. You nodded viciously, giving his member and gentle squeeze and he leaned his forehead into the crook of your neck, “Fuck, if you keep doing that, I’ll come. Let me- fuck- let me feel you first. Please.” 

He sounded pathetic to the outside viewer, but you could only shiver at the desire in his voice. He slipped his boxers down his thighs and barely had them off until he was pressing his member against your slick folds, using his hand to run the tip through the slick and letting it gather on him. 

“Mmm, , Joel-” you whined, feeling your body become overtaken with fire, and your hand gripped his bicep as the other wrapped around his back. Nails dug into his skin, and he sucked in a deep breath, and nodded in response. He was right- you didn’t even have to ask. He just knew. 

“I got you, babygirl. I’ll take care of you,” he murmured, his free hand moving against your cheek in comfort and he slowly slipped into you, both of you giving a chorus of sighs and moans. 

“That’s it… so good f’me.” he murmured, his voice trembling. He began to rock his hips against yours and quickly pulled your knee up, your leg wrapping around his waist like it was second nature. You shifted in the bed, lifting your other leg up and whined at the feeling of him sliding deeper into you. He kissed at your neck gently, then up to your jaw, his tongue sliding out just a bit to taste you.

“Takin’ me so good,” he murmured, his hips moving back and forth with a steady rhythm, the bed rocking gently and the springs groaning under the movement. You shifted, your fingers digging into his back as the other moved from his bicep to his face. Looking up at him, he was already gazing at you with immense love and adoration. It was enough to make you feel lightheaded- the realization that he was yours dawning on you. 

“Joel,” you whispered, your lips parting in pleasure as he hit a particularly good spot inside of you. He could feel you clench around him, and he groaned softly, kissing at your neck and then chest with reverence, like he was worshipping an altar. 

“I l-love you,” you murmured, and he let his hand move down to your hip, his thrusts getting just a bit harder, the sounds of the bed confirming that. 

“I love you, too, babygirl. I’m not gonna let anything happen- shit- nothing is gonna happen to you. You’re mine,” he murmured, and you stiffened as your peak began to rise. You bit your lower lip, wanting to come with him but knew it was no use. He always took care of you first, even if he was aching for it. His muscles tensed under your touch, and you lifted your hips to encourage him and your own high as well.

“I’m yours,” you echoed, devouring his lips with a hard, bruising kiss. He gave a hard thrust and a soft curse, and your toes began to curl, your body winding up only to let you go with a soft cry, eyes shut and body shaking. 

Joel’s grunts were almost lost on you, his hips becoming sloppy but erratic, like he was chasing the feeling of you and trying to reach every inch inside you. Your hand moved to his hair, leaning your head up, pressing your lips to his ear,

“Are you mine, Joel?” you whispered, eyes fluttering with the remnants of your own orgasm, and he sucked in a sharp breath against your shoulder, and he nodded furiously. His body tried to fuck through his high, but he came so hard that it brought him to a stop. He mumbled words into your shoulder as his member twitched inside you with spreading his spend inside you. You caught words like “yours,” and “love,” and you leaned your head against the side of his face, all that was left in the room was your syncopated breaths of recovery.

He gave a slight thrust, and you whined, your legs sliding from his waist. He slipped out of you, and instead of moving away he lowered himself onto your body gently, his face resting on your chest. He turned his head to kiss at your chest after a few moments, and licked up your sternum to your chest. You laughed gently, your hand resting on his shoulder,

“Easy there, cowboy. I need breakfast before round two.” you said, and a chuckle rumbled low in his chest. He raised himself on slightly shaky arms, and kissed your lips gently. He nodded, and stood up, walking and then returning from the bathroom to clean up the mess you two had made to the best of his ability.

“Shower?” he offered, and you cocked an eyebrow,

“Did you see how tiny that thing is?” you teased, and he shrugged, sitting on the bed next to your relaxed form. “Or is that a thinly veiled suggestion of getting me to participate in round two?”

“It can be whatever you want it to be,” he said with a sideways grin, leaning forward and giving your forehead a kiss before walking to the bathroom. You sat up slightly, admiring the backside of his form as he walked away, your eyes tracing up his back and seeing the red marks there. Reminders that he was yours, and only yours. 

And you were his.

After your respective showers and getting dressed, you and Joel left the safety of the motel and put your bags into the back of Joel’s truck. You sighed, rubbing your eyes and climbed in as he made a quick check out. He came back to the car, sliding inside and put a hand on your thigh, glancing behind him as he backed out and onto the road.

You looked forward as the highway came back into view, and you felt your stomach flip with worry that turned into anticipation. 

Joel had made this future possible for you, and without hesitation, it seemed. You were feeling an array of emotions twist in your chest and swirl in your mind like smoke. But, above all, you were feeling free for the first time in your life. You took Joel’s hand in yours as you looked out the window as the Texas sun shone around you, unaware of his flickering gaze towards you. 

The day seemed so bright, so full of potential.

And your future felt the same way. 

Thank you for reading! Comments, likes, reblogs are appreciated <3

Divider by @/saradika-graphics !

[insomniac-dot-ink]

WANTED

You find the advert face down on the table. You’re picking up after your grandma. She insists her mind is sharp as a tack but her empty tea cups and loose handkerchiefs and day-old newspapers litter every surface. You scan the paper, and a part of you is sure there aren’t any more jobs like this.

The paper is yesterday’s paper and the various jobs match LinkedIn. Nannying and dog walker and kitchen staff. The advert, the one, is stark against the others. You read the tiny printed words over and over, always getting stuck on the word WANTED.

Your friends told you not to go: what kind of job asks you to meet in the middle of the woods? What kind of jobs has no website or contact info? What kind of jobs were advertised in the goddamn paper? You friends wouldn’t get it.

Anastasia, your best friend since third class, tells you to keep your “Find My Phone” on and call when you get there. She really wouldn’t get it. Your grandma tells you that this is the world, the other version of it, and you are her granddaughter. So go.

You walk the three and a half miles in your high heels. This job probably wouldn’t even expect high heels, but old habits die hard. You were once convinced in college your girlfriend cast a curse on you, the sleepless nights and a relentless rash proved it. Now that you’re an adult, an adult-adult, you don't think so anymore. If anything was a witch’s spell, it was LinkedIn. Hours and hours of youth wasted on the same go-around.

5 years of experience and 3 different references and no street parking but the bus is only a block away. You can walk, right? Unpaid overtime and shaving your legs to go sit for an hour in an uncomfortable plastic chair. That’s an unusual last name, is it a family one? Ah. I see.

You can walk for a long while. Your heels slup, slup, slup in the soupy ground and it takes you longer than you’d like to look around. The street lights dwindle. The trees gather. The path disappears. The woods are thick and unfamiliar and an iron fence rises in the distance. Despite the late summer heat, the air smells of frost. Maybe Anastasia was right–whether you are your grandmother’s descendent or not.

She comes out of the woods on rail-thin chicken legs. Her skirt is short, cut at a horizontal angle, and she looks like where the punk scene from the 80s went to die. She has a studded leather jacket and bleach-blonde asymmetrical hair. You shove your hands in your stupid suit jacket and check the skies. Half-moon, just risen, you’re right on time.

“You here for the advert?”

“It’s half-moon, isn’t it?” You say back and flash her a tight smile. You have a sudden sinking feeling about her ability to write you a paycheck. 

She looks you up and down. “Spirit?”

“Ghoul.” You shrug. “Yaga?” She sticks out one of her stalky chicken legs. “Servant of one. Two gens back. On my father’s side.” Your strained smile gentles. “I’m Katie. You?” Her smile sharpens in response. “Stephanie. Come on, let’s take a walk.” “Was that a real advert, Stephanie?” You saddle up beside her despite yourself. “Cause if you’re just here to pull my leg, know that I'm pretty hard to put down.” She lets out a harsh laugh that sounds like it hurts. “I’m counting on it.” She winks. “Now, not sure I know your line so well, what’s the difference between a ghoul and a spirit?” What is a spirit or ghoul? What was a gig worker or a salaried one? Perhaps a whole length away. Stephanie pushes a bush aside to reveal a hole in the iron fence and leads you through. The grass turns from wild heather to manicured green and you emerge into a field of rolling hills. Your skin prickles. You might be hard to kill, but maybe not to capture. You stay low to the ground.

“Can I be paid upfront?” Her breath smells of winter frost and fresh-turned soil. “You down that bad?”

You survey the trimmed grasses and gentle slopes, the unnatural prickle spreads through your skin to your bone. A house rises in the far-distance, and you swallow thickly. “Is this some Scooby Doo shit?”

“Come on.” She pushes your shoulder. “I’ll pay upfront. The only real question is if you’ve got a pair of lungs on you.” You toss your ponytail back. “For as long as you like. But, I gotta ask, are there really not any free banshees right now?” Stephanie’s smile falters for the first time. “Old world is dying,” she snorts. “Or just buried deep enough to feel that way.” “We’re still here.” “Still here.” She slips you two hundred and takes you to the side of a small lake. The water is murky and the edges form an unnatural drop. She hands you a lightweight dress, gauzy and impossibly white, and you wrinkle your nose. You looked back and forth between the far-distant house and the lake.

It took you the whole walk to place the gate and the house and the land: The Turnpikes. Built almost seven generations back and larger than ever. You couldn’t imagine. The old world was dying, but you supposed it was also just right there. You put the dress on and kick your heels off. Gathering your stuff, Stephanie gives you a big thumbs up and backs away. You take a deep breath, you don't need many, but you had a feeling it would count.

A light in the far-distant window turns on. You see your grandma in your mind’s eye, her tangled green hair and wicked little smiles. All this for two hundred? But ghoul isn't a banshee. You jump in feet first.

The wet and the cold and the dank water with no memory swallows you. You submerge in the tiny manmade lake, and when you come out, you come out screaming.

The fear of ghouls is an ancient one–something hard to kill. That can walk forever, fight forever, go Without forever. And you think, as you toss your head back, drip water, and let your lungs rattle in your chest, that you might scream forever too.

For two hundred bucks, a ghoul can be a banshee and a world can be made old and new and when you scream, you can scream until you’re made real again.

FIN