#informed about my thoughts into all of this

[rebloggingrexan]

#the plants at my old elementary hit different bruh /lh

INGESTED not just chewed on to clarify lol. based on real responses from my groupchat

[simpjaes]

SWEET LITTLE MONEY MAKER. ― S.JY

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

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

WORDCOUNT― 13.6k

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

nsfw tags under cut::

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

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

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Suspicious.

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

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

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

Best Friend: you need it, trust me. 

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

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

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Little more.” He smiles

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

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

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

Stunning. 

This motherfucker is stunning. 

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

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

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

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

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

You’re uncomfortable. 

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

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

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

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

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

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

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

Expensive. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Are you…waiting to be told what to do? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In fact, he’s hiding his face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go on then, dance.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. 

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

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

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

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

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

He breathes in, seemingly frustrated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Such a confident, well respected woman…fucking whimpering.

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

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

Painfully faster.

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

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

It’s…overwhelming.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve rendered him incapable of speaking. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

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

Surprisingly, you believe him. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait, you’re serious?” 

You nod shyly, blinking at him.

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

Jake nods happily, without question even.

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

You narrow your eyes at him. 

“Jerk off like a normal person?”

Fair enough.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

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

[navybrat817]

Feeling in a mood today. Would you consider some angst with Bucky? You can ignore!

I feel like angst isn't my forte, nonnie, but I'll try?

Stood Up

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky asks you out on a date and doesn't show.

Word Count: Almost 1.2k

Warnings: Angst, sadness, insecurities, embarrassment

A/N: This may get a Part 2. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You chose a simple black dress for your first date with Bucky. It wasn't too dressy or over the top, but still nice enough that you hoped it caught his attention. If the sight of you could put a soft smile on his face and warmth in his stunning blue eyes you'd consider it a win. Maybe he'd even tell you how beautiful you looked.

But your date was supposed to start almost an hour ago, and he still hadn't arrived.

You perked up when you looked toward the door, only to feel disappointed yet again when it wasn't Bucky who walked in. Checking your phone, you scrolled back through the messages. You had texted him earlier in the week to be on the safe side and he confirmed all of the needed date information; date, time, restaurant. You arrived at the right place at the right time on the right date. It was all you looked forward to this week.

You thought Bucky was looking forward to it as well since his last message was, “Can't wait to see you, doll.”

The sergeant looked almost nervous when he asked you to grab dinner with him. You were pretty sure he ran a hand through his hair three times before he got the question out. But the way his eyes lit up when you said yes, it was a look you’d never forget.

“It’s a date,” he had smiled, your heart fluttering. “Maybe we can go dancing after? Or we can dance in one of our apartments? Or we can play it by ear.”

“I’ll wear my best dancing shoes.”

You were trying to stay optimistic that he would show, but the knots in your stomach tightened when you realized he still hadn't replied to your follow up messages since you got to the restaurant. Did he have to take a last minute mission and couldn't let you know? Was he just running late? Or did he simply change his mind about the date?

“Where are you, Bucky?” you whispered, praying he wasn't hurt or worse.

The server cautiously approached your table once you set your phone down. “Is there anything I can get for you?” she asked.

“Oh, I’m fine,” you forcefully smiled, gesturing to the untouched glass of wine in front of you. “I’m still… waiting,” you added, your voice cracking on the last word.

A look of pity crossed the server’s face. Maybe you were imagining it, but you felt other eyes on you, too. You didn't want their sympathy or anything else for that matter. “Please let me know if you need anything.”

You managed a nod and nothing more, your eyes burning as you blankly stared at the menu. It didn't make sense. Bucky wasn't the kind of man to stand someone up. He wouldn't leave you in the middle of a restaurant by yourself without a good reason. Right?

Your hands shook when it went past the hour mark and you typed one more message to Bucky. “I’m still at the restaurant and worried since you aren't here. I hope you're okay.”

It took another fifteen minutes for it to finally sink in that Bucky wasn't coming. As much as you didn't want it to, it hurt. So much. Luck wasn't on your side when it came to relationships, but you thought this would be different because, well, Bucky was different. You should've known better though. You should've known him asking you on a date was too good to be true.

The server made eye contact with you across the room and quickly made her way over when you took out your wallet. “Oh, that glass is on the house. Unless there's anything else I can get for you?”

“Oh. Um. Thanks.” The gesture brought tears to your eyes, and you wished you could bury yourself in the ground then and there. “I don't need anything else, but I still owe you a tip for taking up the table for over an hour,” you said, leaving some cash on the table and giving her one last smile as you stood up on shaky legs. “Have a good night.”

“Ouch. Stood up. Been there before.”

“Oh, shit. I think she’s crying.”

“Poor thing. She was sitting down before we got here.”

The whispers from the patrons were practically screams in your ears as you left, and you had to steady yourself once you got outside. The cool air did nothing to soothe you, and wiping your cheeks didn't stop the tears from falling. Humiliation aside, your heart ached. Putting yourself out there wasn't easy, but this sort of rejection hurt more than a firm “no”.

Worry seeped in because you didn't want to believe Bucky would do this on purpose. What went wrong? Why didn't he show up? There had to be a reasonable explanation.

You dialed his number, your heart stopping when his voicemail popped up after a few seconds. “Hey, this is Bucky. Leave me a message.”

You cleared your throat to speak. “Hey. It’s me. I waited for you… at the restaurant, but I guess… I guess you just couldn't make it, so I'm heading home.” You paused to sniffle and prayed he wouldn't catch it if he listened. “Can you just… let me know you're okay? Please, Bucky?” you asked, hanging up before you could say more.

The little optimism you had left faded completely when you checked your messages one last time. The messages had gone from delivered to read. He got them and didn't respond. Not one single word. He just… ignored you.

Maybe everything was fine with him after all and he realized you weren't good enough to go on a date with.

Choking on a small sob, you tucked your phone away. You didn't bother with a cab. The walk could help clear your head. You didn't care if the distance would ruin your shoes. It wasn't like you had anyone to dance with tonight or any other night.

“I’ll be fine,” you whispered to yourself, curling in on yourself as you walked. It hurt, but you’d be fine. You'd suck it up, put a smile on your face, and convince everyone that all was well because that was the way it had to be.

But how would you face Bucky come Monday? You still cared about him, but how would you be able to look him in the eye and hide the hurt you felt from being left all alone in that restaurant? How would you move forward together if he didn't want you?

No, not together. There was no togetherness at the moment since Bucky stood you up. He clearly didn't want you. Maybe he never did and he only asked you out as a fluke or some obligation so people would stop trying to set him up.

You wiped at your cheeks again. The unknown was going to keep your mind racing until he told you why he didn't show. He owed you some sort of explanation.

But tonight, you'd walk home alone with a heavy heart and hoped that whatever Bucky was doing that he was okay.

I need a happy ending for them immediately. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[whorelaud]

reader crying to drew about tiktok getting banned, and him comforting her about it  warnings fluff!!! hurt/comfort (?), cringe, reader being dramatic & drew being chronically offline

Drew wasn't typically a social media person. Sure, he posts from time to time, but that's only to promote stuff when it's required, or sometimes when he wants to show you off. Other than that, the boy chose to live by the book, letting his manager take care of the business, and keep his fans updated only from time to time. 

Therefore, when he was suddenly startled out of his slumber to your muffled cries, of course he was confused, swiftly blinking the sleep out of his eyes, as he rubbed comforting circles to your back. 

"What's wrong, baby?" He muttered through a yawn, squinting one of his eyes closed. "Did sometbing happen, why are you crying?" 

"What do I do?" You cried out loud, attention fixing on your tear soaked phone. "It's actually gone." 

"What's gone?" He asked, gaze following yours. "Tell me what's going on, you're scaring me." 

"Tiktok's banned," you sniffled, gesturing towards the screen, where it loaded the information regarding the ban. "What do I do with myself now? I hate instagram, it's scary!" 

"Tiktok's banned?" Drew asked, grabbing the phone from your side. He eyed it with puzzlement, reading over the statement displayed on your device. "Since when?" 

"You clueless old man," you muttered under your breath, snatching the phone from his hold. His eyes trailed back to you with confusion, pupils glistening with innocence that had your heart skipping a beat. "They've been talking about it for a whole two weeks now! I thought it would be like all the other times, but they actually did it, and now it's gone!" 

"Okay, it's alright, baby." He reassured, cupping your face in between his fingers. "It's not worth all those tears, yeah? Don't want my precious girlfriend crying over a dumb app." 

"Shut up," you shyly shoved the touch away, merely for him to dodge the gesture, stilling his hands around your cheeks. His thumb rubbed soothing motions to the curve of your jaw, lips breaking into a sheepish grin, one that had you smiling like a fool. "I'm actually sad, what about my Drew Starkey edits collection?" 

"What do you need the edits for?" He chuckled, pecking your nose, then the corner of your mouth, trailing light, open-mouthed kisses all over your face, till he eventually plants a soft kiss to your lips. "I'm right here, you can look at me all day." 

"Still..." you trailed off, voice barely above a whisper. "They were good edits." 

"Yeah?" The corner of his lips tugged into a teasing smirk, tone filled with amusement. "Want me to recreate them?" 

"No, yeah, I'm no longer sad." You joked, playfully rolling your eyes. Your lips pursed into a thin line, merely to supress the smile forming around your lips. 

"See, you're smiling!" Drew giggled, pulling you into a hug, as you practically melted in his embrace. "Let's jus' sleep, I'm sure they'll have things figured out soon." 

You nodded in silence, burying your face in the crook of his neck, instantly intoxicated by his scent as it filled your nostrils. 

Although it was an idiotic thing to cry over, Drew didn't shame you for it, choosing to comfort you instead, no matter how stupid it truly was. 

And that alone was enough reasons to take your last breath with him. You couldn't ask for a better, chronically offline, partner. 

–

My love ❤️: yo nvm everything is good tt is back up 😇

Drew: 🫤

a/n i live for silly and cringe content idc :'c

[tuttle-did-it]

My friend! I would not stone you, I would not eat you over this. You may very well be right about all of this. We're having a conversation, it isn't about who is right. Everything you're saying is valuable and important. I don't know if you're right. I don't know if I am. We're going off what we have, and that's cool. I am always interested in anyone's thoughts, especially if they are different from mine, as long as there is no screaming and bullying going on.

We are both looking at this what-in-the-ever-loving-fuck is happening on this absurd planet right now, and why is the most powerful country imploding, and why does this feel like we are all in 1933 Germany? We're all lost. It's cool. I like hearing your thoughts.

So, I was very curious about some things you said. I went to look up some stats. Here's what I found. (apologies for the numbers. I am NOT a numbers person. I am dyslexic, dyspraxic, and numbers bounce around a page for me. So bear with me, here.)

According to this site https://backlinko.com/tiktok-users#us-tiktok-users-by-age 55% of TT users in the US in 2024 were between 18-34. (This site didn’t talk much about teens. But that’s 55% of known users who are Voting age. So this is NOT just teens. Only a combined 14% of users are 55+. Similar but not exact numbers here https://www.pewresearch.org/short-reads/2024/12/20/8-facts-about-americans-and-tiktok/ that use it, and this one says about 63% of teens say they use TT. I can only assume that combined teens+ under 34 is about 80%+ of their base. And this is exactly why I think he wanted TT shut down in the first place. The boomers and silent generation are already supporting him, 45 is able to control what information older people get through Faux news and Facebook because of Zuckerberg. He’s able to get all the unretired adults of voting age (20s-60s) through twitter because of Musk. For the people under 25, or even under 30, he didn’t have nearly as much control over the one app that younger people use. Silencing the younger generation is precisely what I meant. This isn't just about how fast posts can spread. This is about WHO is getting information he doesn't want. This is about shutting down anyone he cannot control. (get ready for some revolting and frankly soul-breaking stats, here:) According to https://apnews.com/article/election-harris-trump-women-latinos-black-voters-0f3fbda3362f3dcfe41aa6b858f22d12 60% of white men and an unbelievable 53% of white women supported 45 in 2024 (sorry for lots of numbers here, it is what it is.) 51% of voters over the age of 65 voted for him; 47% for Harris. 52% of voters between 45-64 voted for him; 46% for Harris. 47% for him, 50% for Harris for voters 30-44. 47% voted for him, 51% for Harris in 18-29. The ONLY age groups where 45 was beat was in the younger generations. And that happens to be in the age group that is the highest TT users of voting age.

You want to silence these kids? Stop them from sharing facts? You shut down their app.

You want the kids to stop protesting about Israel? Shut down their app.

Stop them from calling out misinformation on other platforms? shut down the app.

You want the kids to stop getting news about what fuckery 45 is up to? Shut down the fucking app.

You want to stop kids who are legally allowed to vote from getting access to voting places, registration places, and places where they can learn if they’ve been taken off the register? Shut down the app.

You want to make it impossible to find out anything beyond the propaganda? Control the media. All the media. That is precisely what he is doing. And, even better: you want to be the hero for 're-instating the app' that you demanded was shut down? shut it down and then say you're going to ignore the law and let the kids have it back. See, kids! I'm on your side! You better support me from now on, or I'll take away your app again.

Agree to your note about American education system, and the dangers and problems of social media in general. But I think what is far more dangerous is having all four of the most influential social medias under the power of one psychopath who compliments Hitler on being a good person. Whose best bud-- literally today--- did a Nazi salute in front of the world to see.

I have NEVER met a country that was SO under-educated, over-inflated importance and so unaware of the absolute catastrophe they are causing not just to themselves, but also to the rest of the world. And I fucking live in Britain— the home of the Imperialist coloniser who rapes countries, destroys their governments, sucks countries with resources dry and then abandons them with no recovery plan. Like, I am used to absurdities. But America? Not a patch on Britain. Which is terrifying.

As for the form of the different social medias… I’m going to be honest… I don’t think it matters. Yeah, a 30 second video with misinformation probably spreads around faster than a tweet. But if 45 has control of the people who control twitter, Facebook, instagram and TT… honestly, I do not think it will matter where the misinformation comes from. Not now. Not that he’s got them all in his pocket. People don’t read blogs anymore, they get their info on social media. If four out of the four most used social medias are controlled, it won’t matter. He can control the oldies from Facebook. He can control the 30s on insta. The 40s-50s on twitter. And now, he can control the teens and the 20s on TT. It just doesn’t matter — not now. All that matters is that he controls them all.

We’re both Europeans, so we are probably thinking more about the apocalypse this is going to cause to not just to america, but everywhere else— far more than many Americans ever think about this stuff.

We can see what's going on from the outside-- because, as stated, they just use social media for news, and now all 4 SM sources are under this man's control.

As they are in the most powerful country in the world, they don’t always see (or care about) the ramifications of all if this on their own country-- let alone the rest of us. If they are not marginalised people (POC, queer, disabled, immigrants, neuroatypical, etc), they don't even have to think about it.

They get all they ‘yay america! We’re the best!’ And see none of the chaos and destruction their own votes cause. If they’re not impacted, they don’t seem to care. Which is somehow worse to me, but that’s neither here nor there. Honestly, even if they are impacted, they just seem to blame immigrants and people of colour, queers and disabled people sooooooo....

Reminder for when he “saves” it. He was the one who wanted this, and now he gets to be the hero and win favour with young constituents. Don’t give him the credit for fixing his own problem.

[melanchoire]

PRICE OF CONCENTRATION ──── yu jimin

── ( 📓 ) your focus is laser-sharp on the lecture, but your classmate karina, ever the mischievous one, decides boredom is a personal invitation to drive you wild; first with innocent attempts to catch your eye, then escalating to a secret game of teasing touches that slowly melt your resistance, until a shared, unspoken look seals the deal – textbooks forgotten, and the dorm room beckons for a different kind of study.

pairing. switch!student!yu jimin x switch!student!fem reader

warning(s). cunnilingus, fingering, making out, pet names, scissoring.

word count. 4,5k

request. for some reason this request disappeared from my inbox 💔 anyway, almost all requests are finished and prepared in my drafts to be published in the next few days 🙌🏻 so keep sending stuff, requests or thoughts are always welcome.

the bright  lights of the lecture hall hummed, a monotonous drone that mirrored the professor’s voice, droning on about something you were sure was important, but karina couldn’t for the life of her care. you, however, were a model of academic focus, a bastion of attentiveness in a sea of glazed—over eyes and restless fidgeting. she watched you, her gaze tracing the neat, precise strokes of your pen as you filled your notebook with information. you were a machine, a perfect student, and it was honestly a little vexing.

you were a study in contrast to her current state. your posture was impeccable, your focus unwavering, your pen moving with a rhythmic precision across the page, capturing every nuance of the lecture. karina’s eyes seemed to trace the smooth lines of your handwriting, the neatness a stark contrast to her own messy scrawl.

she straightened a little, trying to emulate your focus. she leaned forward, eyes darting to the screen where the professor was projecting dense formulas and colorful graphs. you could almost see the struggle in her face, her brow furrowing in concentration as she attempted to follow along. but it was like watching a car try to start on a cold morning, sputtering a few times before succumbing to silence. her concentration faltered, her gaze drifting to the window behind the professor, where a few brave sparrows were flitting about.

karina leaned back in her own chair, stretching her legs out beneath the desk, a silent protest against the suffocating boredom of the class. she crossed her arms over her chest, a gesture that screamed, “i’d rather be anywhere else.” she turned to you again, a small frown creasing her brow as she watched you. how could you be so engaged in this? it was like you were a different species entirely. she tried. oh god, did she try. she tried to mimic you, focusing her attention on the professor, willing herself to absorb the words, the concepts. but it was like trying to grasp water — the harder she tried, the more it slipped through her mental fingers. it was as if her ears were working, registering the sounds of the lecture, but her brain was refusing to process them, like a stubborn computer refusing to run a program. her mind was a tangled mess of “why was she even here?” and “does this really matter?”

giving up, a defeated sigh escaping her lips, she decided to go for a different approach. she scanned your pencil case, a kaleidoscope of brightly coloured pens and highlighters, and plucked out a vibrant purple one. she made a pathetic attempt at taking notes, the pencil scratching against the paper, but her handwriting was a chaotic mess of angles and loops, completely devoid of the neatness you possessed. vague, disconnected words filled the page, interspersed with doodles of abstract shapes and grumpy—looking faces.

boredom gnawed at her, a restless beast demanding attention. she turned towards you, poking your arm with the end of the pen. she wanted to talk, she wanted your attention, she wanted anything but this agonizing lecture. you didn't even look up. you knew what it meant. she was like a bored child, seeking attention, eager to find someone to share her misery with. you continued to transcribe the professor’s words, unfazed.

you didn’t miss a beat of the professor’s monotone, your hand still moving across the page. karina felt an inexplicable urge of annoyance bubbling up within her. then came the poke again, this time a little harder. she was persistent, you had to give her that. still, you refused to acknowledge her. so, she poked you again, a third time this time, it was quick as if giving you the pencil. that’s when you reached out, taking the pencil from her fingers. you didn’t even break eye contact with the professor. you didn’t see the small scoff that escaped her lips, the way her eyes narrowed in playful frustration.

she wasn’t going to be brushed off that easily. karina reached for the cord of your headphones, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. she yanked it from your ears, the soft humming of the song you were listening to floating into the air, a low, rhythmic pulse. you finally turned to look at her, one eyebrow arched in a silent question. karina knew that look. she was going to get a lecture about class soon if she didn’t diffuse this now. she’ll take the risk. she loved when she got you going.

you gave her a light punch on the arm, just a playful tap, but it still stung a little. “pay attention.” you mouthed, your voice low, a clear line drawn in the sand, but she couldn’t help but notice the slightest hint of a smile at the corner of your lips.

“class is boring.” she retorted, hitting you back in the arm, a little harder this time. “i’m bored.”

“well, if you paid attention, you might not be.” you whispered back, a hint of exasperation in your eyes, but it was clear you weren’t actually mad.

“you’re weird for actually liking this.” she teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief. you chuckled lightly.

“you know i like learning.” you said. “It’s not my fault you can't focus for five seconds.”

“hey!” she exclaimed, her voice a little louder this time, drawing a quick glare from the professor. you exchanged a quick look, a silent agreement that she had pushed it, before you returned to your notes, effectively shutting her out.

for a good five minutes, she was silent. you figured she had finally run out of energy. then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw her pick up a pen and begin to write in her notebook. “okay.” you thought, that’s unexpected. you didn’t let it distract you, though, because you were focused on the next set of formulas.

that is, until you felt it. a touch, feather—light, on the side of your knee. you glanced down, your heart doing an unexpected leap in your chest. karina’s hand, warm and soft, was resting there, seemingly innocent. she was still writing in her notebook, her attention appearing to be fixed on the professor, but that hand, though, was doing more than just resting.

you tried to dismiss it. maybe she was just being absent—minded, maybe she didn’t realize she was touching you. but then the hand started to move, inching upwards slowly, tracing the curve of your leg as it went, the subtle graze of her fingers sending shivers up your spine. it reached your thigh, the warmth of her palm making your skin tingle.

you shifted slightly. surely she would stop now. it was a blatant invasion of your space, and you were certain she was doing it on purpose. but no, the hand kept moving, its fingers now pressing gently into your flesh. it was heading higher, angling to slip under the hem of your skirt.

your breath caught in your throat. the lecture faded into background noise, the formulas on the screen becoming a blur. your heart was pounding in your chest. you could feel the blood rushing to your face, your cheeks getting warmer, and you were sure you were turning as red as a tomato. you glanced sideways to meet her eyes, not before letting out a small cough, trying to sound as subtle as possible.

“karina.” you hissed in a low, barely audible whisper, a warning laced in your breath. you tried to sound stern, but there was a tremor in your voice that was quite embarrassing. her gaze flickered from her notebook to meet yours, the corner of her lips twitching upwards in a knowing smirk. she raised an eyebrow, as if to say “what?”, her eyes wide and innocent.

“stop.” you mouthed, your voice barely a breath.

she simply shook her head, her fingers now almost touching the edge of your skirt, and whispered back, “pay attention.” her voice an innocent whisper that barely reached your ears. the smirk never left her face, the mischievous glint in her eyes telling you everything. she was playing with you, teasing you, testing your patience. and you had a feeling she was enjoying every second of it.

karina’s hand, a warm, persistent weight on your knee, was the culprit. it had started subtly, a gentle brush, and had gradually escalated, inching higher with each passing minute. 

it was a battle against your own body, a struggle to focus on the quadratic equations scribbled on the chalkboard when karina’s hand rested, bold and possessive, on your thigh. it wasn’t just on your thigh, not really. her fingers were creeping higher, inching towards the hem of your skirt, the whisper of fabric against skin sending shivers that had nothing to do with the overly air—conditioned room. 

now, her fingers were perilously closer to the edge of your skirt, threatening to slip beneath and find the delicate lace of your panties. your breath hitched. you couldn’t focus on the teacher’s droning lecture; every nerve ending was screaming under the tantalizing pressure of her touch.

a simple glance, a fleeting lock of your eyes with hers, was all it took. you saw the same anticipation mirrored in their depths, a shared understanding of the unspoken desires crackling in the air between you. a silent promise of something more, something that couldn’t happen within the confines of the brightly lit classroom.

you knew the dance by now; the way her eyes, dark and mischievous, met yours, a coded language spoken only between the two of you. it was a simple exchange, a silent understanding of the desire that simmered beneath the surface.

you were barely registering the teacher’s droning voice, your attention consumed by the escalating heat radiating from karina’s touch. your breath hitched, a small, involuntary gasp that you hoped went unnoticed. you glanced at her, a question in your eyes, and her answering smirk sent a thrill through you. it was time.

karina’s voice, smooth as honey and laced with a playful urgency, cut through the monotonous lecture. “excuse me, mr. kim?” she called, her hand still firmly planted on your thigh. your skin prickled with anticipation. “i think that… well, maybe we should go to the bathroom. she’s not feeling too well.”

all eyes turned to you. you felt your face flush even more, a blush that wasn’t entirely faked. the combination of karina’s touch and the sudden attention had your heart hammering against your ribs. you felt the familiar clamminess of your palms, and the slight sheen of sweat on your forehead was real enough, lending truth to karina’s claim. the teacher, a middle—aged man who barely registered his students beyond the first row, glanced at you with a perfunctory frown. “you alright, miss…?” he squinted, searching his register your face.

you could feel the heat rising more in your cheeks, mirroring the flush you already felt from karina’s touch. you pressed your lips together, trying to look convincingly ill. a slight sweat dampened your forehead, the nervousness and anticipation adding to the charade. you gave a weak little cough, hoping it added to the effect.

mr. kim, ever the gullible academic, peered at you with concern. “oh my, you do look a bit pale. are you alright?”

you managed a feeble nod, grateful for the dramatic flare that karina had instigated. “yes, just a bit lightheaded.”

he seemed convinced enough. “alright, go along then. but don’t take too long.” he dismissed you with a wave of his hand, turning back to the whiteboard, utterly unaware of the charade playing out before him.

you practically bolted from your seat, grateful for the reprieve. you expected karina to lead you toward the bathrooms or the infirmary down the corridor, but instead, she took your hand again, her grip firm, and guided you in the opposite direction, toward the dormitories. a thrill shot through you. you glanced at her, raising an eyebrow in question.

“the infirmary is that way.” you murmured, a hesitant question hovering in your tone.

“we’re not going to the stupid infirmary right now. of course, we’ll get there, don’t worry.” karina replied, her hand now resting on your lower back, guiding you forward. “but first things first.” she said, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “my room is closer. we can… recharge there."

“but what about class?” you asked, trying not to let your voice betray your excitement.

karina winked. “after the fun, we'll go to the infirmary, get a note. problem solved. you’re still 'sick', after all.” she said, emphasizing the last word with a mischievous lift of her brow. “we’ll get a medical certificate, and we can give it to your professor.”

“he’ll probably notice that there’s a big time difference between when we left the classroom and when we went to the infirmary. and he’ll wonder why it took us so long to get to the infirmary after we left class.” you pointed out, trying to sound like you were trying to be responsible, even though your heart was already racing at the prospect of what was about to happen.

“we’ll say that we were in the bathroom because you were nauseous or you went to wet your face and cool off. or maybe even that you felt dizzy and almost fainted? i don’t know, but we’ll figure something out.” she says, her grin growing at the look of disbelief on your face. karina bit her lip, her eyes sparkling. “too extreme, isn’t it? well… how about we just say we went out onto the terrace or something because you needed some fresh air? maybe we can even blame it on the awful school lunch, if he still asks.” she added, her voice laced with amusement. “he never pays attention anyway.”

you couldn’t help but laugh, any lingering doubts swiftly melting away under her infectious energy. as you approached her dorm door, you noticed a name tag next to it. “wait, what about your roommate?” you asked, remembering the other girl whose name you vaguely recalled being “giselle”.

karina chuckled, pushing the door open and waves a dismissive hand. “don’t worry about her. she hasn't been in the dorm since the party last weekend. she always crashes at someone’s place after parties… she’s probably sleeping off a hangover at her boyfriend’s place. i haven’t seen her around since then, at least.” you had to admit, you had expected her to be there. you found yourself thanking her party habits internally. “don’t worry about her. let’s just focus on what matters, okay?”

she pulled you into the room, the door clicking shut behind you, and suddenly, you were alone. the room was neat, a stark contrast to the controlled chaos of karina’s personality. it smelled faintly of vanilla and something uniquely hers, a scent that made your senses swim. 

but the air in the small space crackled with a palpable tension. karina turned, her eyes locking with yours, and all the words, the worries, the questions, evaporated.

she reached for you, her hands cupping your face, her thumbs tracing the line of your jaw, and you were lost. her lips met yours, a soft, gentle pressure that quickly deepened into a hungry kiss. you tasted her, the sweet tang of her lip gloss, the warmth of her mouth, and you melted into the sensation.

your hands moved, finding their way to her shoulders, pulling her closer, desperate for any skin-to-skin contact. her fingers tangled in your hair, gently tugging as she deepened the kiss, and you moaned into her mouth, the sound raw and unfiltered.

the world narrowed to the feel of her lips on yours, the soft gasp of her breath mingling with your own. you could feel her body pressed against yours, the soft curves of her hips and the firm press of her chest, sending shivers of desire through you. you could practically feel her grin against your lips, as if she was just as giddy as you were.

but of course, you two couldn’t stay as two lovey—dovey people for long. 

now the kiss was hot, demanding, a release of all the pent—up tension that had been simmering between you since earlier in class. her hands, now free from the confines of your skirt, tangled in your hair, deepening the kiss. you leaned into her, your body pressing against hers, the soft texture of her shirt against your skin igniting a fire within you.

karina broke the kiss, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. she was a sight to behold, dark eyes shining, cheeks flushed, lips swollen and red: an absolute goddess. “wow.” she whispered, her voice husky. “that’s... more than i was expecting.”

you, a little flustered still, managed a breathy laugh. “better than boring classes, right?”

she grinned, a flash of white teeth against her flushed face. “absolutely. come here.” she murmured.

she grabbed your wrist and practically dragged you towards her bed, her nails digging into your skin. as soon as you two reached it, she pushed you down onto the mattress, crawling over you with a predatory grace.

she straddled your hips, her knees on either side of your thighs as she loomed over you. her hands gripped the hem of your shirt and in one swift motion, she yanked it up and over your head, tossing it carelessly to the side. she took a moment to admire your bared skin, her eyes roaming over your curves hungrily.

leaning down, she pressed her lips to your collarbone, her tongue tracing the delicate bone before she nipped at your skin. her teeth grazed your neck, leaving a trail of red marks in her wake as she made her way up to your jawline.

she captured your bottom lip between her teeth, tugging on it gently before soothing the sting with her tongue. she kissed you deeply, passionately, pouring all her lust and desire into the kiss. her hands slid down your sides, her fingers splaying across your ribcage.

karina’s hands slid further down, her fingers hooking into the waistband of your skirt. with a wicked grin, she tugged them down your legs, taking your panties with them. she tossed the pleated fabric and lace aside, leaving you bare and exposed beneath her.

she took a moment to admire your naked form, her eyes darkening with unbridled lust. she licked her lips, her gaze lingering on the juncture between your thighs. slowly, teasingly, she ran a finger along your slit, feeling the slick heat gathering there.

“fuck, baby, you’re so wet already.” she purred, her voice low and dripping with desire. “i’ve barely touched you and you're already dripping for me. such a needy little thing, aren’t you?”

she circled your clit with the pad of her thumb, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp. her other hand slid up your stomach to your breast, kneading the soft flesh roughly. she pinched your nipple between her fingers, rolling the hardened nub between them.

karina leaned down, her hot breath ghosting over your aching core. she inhaled deeply, the scent of your arousal filling her nostrils. a low, approving moan rumbled in her throat before she dragged her tongue along your slit, tasting your essence.

”mmmh, you taste even better than i imagined.” she murmured, her voice vibrating against your sensitive flesh. she circled your clit with the tip of her tongue before suckling on the hardened bud, sending jolts of electricity through your body.

she dipped a finger into your entrance, pumping it in and out of your tight channel. she curled it upwards, stroking that special spot inside you that made your toes curl. her thumb continued its relentless assault on your clit, rubbing quick, tight circles around it.

karina could feel your walls fluttering around her finger, your body tensing as she brought you closer to the edge. she added a second finger, stretching you further, filling you completely. she pumped them in and out of you, her palm slapping against your clit with each thrust.

karina could feel your body trembling beneath her touch, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. she knew you were close, teetering on the brink of ecstasy. she doubled her efforts, her fingers pumping into you harder, faster, determined to push you over the edge.

“that’s it, baby, come for me.” she growled, her voice rough with lust. “i want to feel you come undone on my fingers, i want to taste your pleasure on my tongue.”

she sealed her mouth over your clit, sucking hard as she thrust a third finger deep inside you. she curled them, stroking that sensitive bundle of nerves, pushing you ruthlessly towards your peak.

your back arched off the bed, your hands fisting in the sheets as the coil of tension in your belly snapped. you cried out, your voice echoing off the walls of your dorm room as your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave.

karina didn’t let up, continuing to work you through your climax with her fingers and tongue. she drank down your release, moaning in satisfaction as your essence flooded her mouth. finally, as the aftershocks began to subside, she slowed her movements, gentling her touch.

she crawled up your body, her fingers trailing over your sweat—slicked skin. she captured your lips in a searing kiss, forcing you to taste yourself on her tongue. she smiled against your mouth, a wicked, triumphant smile.

“not bad for a warm-up, gorgeous.” she purred, nipping at your bottom lip. “but we’re far from done.”

her fingers find the waistband of her jeans, unbuttoning the button and lowering the zipper, pulling down her pants along with underwear from her long legs in the blink of an eye. a wicked grin spread across her face as she rolled onto her back, pulling you on top of her. she gripped your hips, her fingers digging into your soft flesh as she guided you to straddle her waist.

“c’mon baby.” she purred, her voice low and dripping with lust. “let’s see how well you handle being on top. impress me.”

she reached up to cup your breasts, kneading the supple mounds in her hands. she rolled your nipples between her fingers, pinching and tugging on the hardened peaks until you gasped.

karina’s other hand slid down your back, her nails raking over your skin until she reached your ass. she gripped your cheeks, squeezing the firm globes in her hands before pulling you forward, grinding your slick heat against her own.

karina’s eyes darkened with lust as she felt your wetness coating her skin, your arousal evident in the slick slide of your folds against her own. she rocked her hips up against yours, the hard ridge of her clit rubbing against your sensitive nub in a delicious friction.

“fuck… you’re so fucking wet.” she groaned, her voice strained with desire. “i can feel how much you want this, how much you need to fuck me.”

she guided your hips in a slow, sensual grind against hers, the movement allowing you both to feel the heat and pressure building between your thighs. her hands slid up your sides to your breasts, kneading the soft flesh roughly as she watched your face intently.

karina could see the pleasure playing out across your features, the way your lips parted in soft gasps and moans as you moved against her. she leaned up to capture your mouth in a searing kiss, her tongue delving deep to dance with yours.

she nipped at your bottom lip before trailing her mouth down to your neck, her teeth grazing the delicate skin. she sucked hard, intent on marking you as hers, on leaving her claim for all to see.

“ride me, baby.” she commanded, her voice low and rough with lust. “take what you need, what you want. ise me for your pleasure.”

karina’s hands gripped your hips tighter, guiding you as you began to move. you rolled your hips in a slow, sensual grind against hers, your slick folds sliding against hers. the sensation of your wetness mingling with hers was intoxicating, the friction sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your core.

as you found a rhythm, you started to bounce on her lap, your breasts jiggling with each downward motion. karina’s eyes were glued to your chest, watching the mesmerizing dance of your curves. she leaned up to catch a nipple in her mouth, suckling hard as her hand kneaded your other breast roughly.

her hips jerked up to meet yours, the head of her clit catching on your own with each thrust. the pressure built inside both of you, the heat coiling tighter and tighter in your bellies. you could feel karina’s muscles tensing beneath you, her body drawing closer to the edge.

karina’s fingers dug into the flesh of your ass, spreading your cheeks wide as she pulled you down harder, urging you to give her more. she could feel your walls fluttering around her, your body tightening like a coiled spring.

“that’s it, baby, fuck me just like that.” she panted, her voice ragged with desire. “i’m so fucking close. come with me, come on my pussy. i want to feel you fucking soak me.”

karina could feel your movements becoming more urgent, more desperate. your hips were moving frantically, grinding and rolling against hers in a wild dance. the obscene sound of your wetness filled the room, the slick slap of skin against skin echoing off the walls.

she could feel her own release building, the tension in her core winding tighter and tighter. she was so close, teetering on the brink of ecstasy. she needed you to come with her, needed to feel your pleasure as you rode her hard and fast.

“fuck, don’t stop.” she growled, her voice strained and rough. “i’m gonna come, baby. come with me, fucking soak me with your cum. i want to feel you fucking drench me as i come undone.”

she slammed sharply her hips up against yours, her clit rubbing hard against your own. the sensation was electric, sending a jolt of pure pleasure shooting through your core. your body stiffened, your back arching as your climax crashed over you like a tidal wave.

karina let out a guttural moan, her voice echoing off the walls as her own orgasm consumed her. her hips jerked and twitched beneath you, her body shaking with the force of her release. she could feel your walls clenching around her, your essence gushing out to coat her skin.

she gripped your hips hard, holding you in place as she ground against you, riding out the aftershocks of her climax. she panted harshly, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. finally, she collapsed back onto the bed, pulling you down with her.

karina wrapped her arms around you, holding you close as she peppered your face with soft kisses. she smiled up at you, her eyes shining with satisfaction and contentment. “... that was incredible.” she murmured, her voice soft and sated. “we’re definitely doing that again, baby. and again, and again…”

just as she was about to continue, a knock on the front bedroom door brings you two out of the intimate moment you were having. 

“karina? are you in there? it's me, giselle. can you open the door? i lost my keys during the party last friday! actually, i think i lost my entire handbag…”

[txkby]

My experience with the Void State.

Before I discovered the Void State, I practiced meditation regularly in 2022 (literally the year of the Void State on Tumblr), the sensations I had when meditating were truly exquisite, that tranquility and peace are simply incomparable with people, material things, etc.

I swear that nothing has filled my soul like those sensations.

(This is very important, remember it)

I stopped meditating afterwards because I didn't have time and when I wanted to do it I fell asleep, like when you want to get to the Void, don't you think? LOL

I discovered the Void around the beginning of 2023, but I never gave it any importance, I've almost never liked the methods, because it became obsessed, and that's what I did, I became obsessed.

I became so obsessed with the Void that I was constantly looking for information everywhere, on Google, here on Tumblr, Twitter, YouTube, and in endless places.

And every day I spent time doing methods to get there, meditations, affirmations, etc. But I just couldn't get there, I couldn't.

I felt so bad guys, I felt tired, have you ever felt that tiredness that feels more like giving up? That's what I felt.

I felt dissatisfied with my life, and it's hard because you feel ungrateful to the universe, to people, to everything.

But I kept on trying every day to get to the Void, but again, I never got there, not that way.

So I went back to the beginning, I went back to the basics, what is the Void? How do you get there? And I realized that I forgot what the Void really was, I forgot everything because of my desperation and obsession to get there.

What I did to get to the Void was the following:

- I gave up, but not giving up by throwing in the towel, but by letting myself go.

- let it go, detach myself from it

- remember that the Void is a state, it is something attached to us that simply cannot be prevented

- I stopped trying to reach the Void with extreme methods, I stopped trying to get there with steps, with rules.

- I stopped forcing myself to reach the Void, because the Void is not effort, it is relaxation, it is letting go, it is surrendering

- I changed my focus, instead of wanting to reach the Void by manifesting my desires, I changed it to simply having a good time, to relax

- I started doing simple meditations, nothing like "meditation to reach the Void, meditation for this, meditation for that", no, just simple meditations.

- don't look for symptoms because that takes you away from relaxation, it takes you away from the key to reach the Void

- relax, that's the Void, never forget it

And I remembered that the sensations I had when meditating for 2022 were the same as the Void, which means that I had possibly reached the Void State at that time, but since I didn't know about the subject, I didn't make an effort to reach the Void, I just wanted to meditate for fun, and this is very important because when we concentrate and force ourselves to reach the Void, we don't get there, when we are desperate to reach the void we won't get there, when we are anxious to reach the Void we won't get there.

So, after doing all that, remembering all that, I reached the Void.

And it didn't take me more than 1 week after to understand everything I just said.

In the Void I felt what I felt when meditating, that exquisite tranquility, that peace, that happiness, and of course you have no emotions, thoughts and you don't feel your body at all.

I didn't manifest much, I only changed my name, time of birth, my personality, my mentality and voice, because that was why I wanted to get there, I felt bad about myself because during 2020 to 2022 I suffered from depression, my father passed away, the changes that occurred in those times affected me mentally, I had social anxiety, I suffered, it was horrible.

But by manifesting my change of mentality and personality my perspective on life changed, therefore now I am happy.

The thing about my time of birth was simply for fun LOL, and my name, my old name, mmm 🫤 , I never felt identified with it, I was not her.

Like all of you, I suffered for wanting to get to the Void, for looking for symptoms

And not letting myself in getting there, because of my focus, because of my low self-confidence, because of my obsession, because of my desperation.

Give up to enter the Void.

And well guys, that's my experience with the Void, this post is so long but necessary, byee.

(I hope the translation is correct LOL) 🫂😝

[lukolathoughts]

Nicola loves the girls, the gays, and Luke Newton.

Dearest gentle readers,

Well! What an interesting few days. I'm not sure where to even start. I just want to let Jakeholes know, this isn't the blog for you, so it's best you move along now before you start foaming at the mouth.

In my first blog, I touched on subtext and reading between the lines. This is something I teach to my students and encourage their critical thinking skills. I will give out a photo and ask my students to 'infer' from what they can see in the photograph. 'Inference is a process of deriving logical conclusions from premises known or assumed to be true. It is also a guess or an opinion that is formed based on the information that you have.' In an exam, if I gave the students a photograph and they simply told me that all they could see was that the sky was blue, the grass was green, the lady is wearing a green coat and the man a hoodie and a baseball hat, they would not get very many marks.

However, if they described what they could 'infer' from the photo, such as that handhold does not look genuine and his fingers are stiff, their laughter seems over the top, the man isn't wearing a coat in January. They seem to be looking directly at the photographer, they never make eye contact in any of the photos. This would get them some more marks. Then if they went that one step further and asked WHY to all these points and backed it up with a statement explaining why - they would get even more marks. For example, why isn't the man wearing a coat in January? This could suggest the weather is not that cold in London at the moment, or the this picture might be from an earlier time period. They could look at the shop displays for evidence. Why does the lady never make eye contact with the man, could it infer that she is uncomfortable doing so or the thought never occurred to her? Why are they looking directly at the photographer? Could it possibly indicate they knew the paparazzi were there? And why would they want the paparazzi to take their photo's? What do you say to that class? Are they a couple happily in love? Write me a story on it, one, two, three go! They say a picture paints a thousand words.

Now since Deux Moi dropped the photos just as I was cooking the kid's tea (British slang for dinner) I have once again been glued to Twitter. I had to take a break for a bit and ensure my offspring didn't starve, but I thought oh god another shitshow and the day isn't even over. But I open Instagram and I swear I had the best laugh I have had all day really. I'm not sure when these photos were taken. The weather does look mild to be January and Jake is wearing a hoodie, but my husband is stupid like this and walks around in board shorts. In January. In Wales. When I tell you it's baltic cold, I mean it. But men apparently don't feel the cold especially if you're 24 and plastered to the side of your bestie or PR girlfriend, however you prefer. Us Brits love analysing the weather, probably because it's so shit here. So the timing is not really the issue for me. What made me laugh was was those two belly-laughing in some London alleyway looking like, 'look at us, we're so funny, everything is hilarious haha.' This was quite surprising to me as I genuinely did not realise Jake had a sense of humour, especially around Nic. What did she say that was so funny? We know she has the ability to make Luke belly laugh just by scratching her nose really. It was almost as if it was all a bit orchestrated for the cameras they were staring directly at. 'Smile and laugh for the camera Jake! You've been framed!'

So what was this? A PR set up that Nic and Jake were clearly aware of? Call me sceptical, but I've never seen anything so obviously fake and staged in all my life. Well except the motorbike segment on Graham Norton on the 13th of December last year. I have thought a lot about this and I know I might get some hate, but it's my opinion and I'm sorry Nic if you ever read this. Another thing us English teachers like to do is DESCRIBE things. Describe it to me Peter, or it didn't happen. Touch, smell, sound, taste, sight. Those are the five senses and if you write me a story, you bet your ass they better be in it or it's an F for you. So Nicola, describe to me how it felt racing through London on the back of a motorbike driven by a geriatric, Guinness drinking granddad (do you like my use of alliteration here fellow English teachers?). Graham Norton - 'we have a picture of you on the bike!' Erm, no you have a picture of Nicola stood next to the bike with her thumbs up. There was a video released by her PR company simultaneously that shows Nicola in a STUDIO sitting on the bike and it moving very, very slowly. We do not see her whizzing away up the road on the back of said bike into oblivion, screaming like Michelle Phieffer in Grease 2, clutching on to cool rider Guinness granddad for dear life. In fact, when asked about the experience she recalls literally nothing. If it was me, I'd have been like OMG Graham I almost died! The wind was howling, I was freezing, all I could hear was the rush of wind and the honking horns of cars. All I could see was the glare of lights and traffic and I tasted my own tears through fear.

Watch it if you don't believe me. There was nothing. Am I positive it didn't happen? Actually yes, show me the footage and I'll believe. Why did she go through this elaborate scheme? I have my theories and I will not share them here. I have said enough. But I did get an image in my mind of Luke in Rome rubbing his forehead and thinking, what is she up to now? He was probably secretly a bit proud.

Ok back to tonight's debacle. After the shit show that was Luke's disastrous family weekend than had more taps dripping than the Leaky Cauldron in Harry Potter, I find it highly convenient these photos drop today of all days. I know that Nicola HATES Deux Moi and the feeling I believe is mutual. Wouldn't DM have looked at these photos logically and thought, well these two look like besties out for a stroll? I suppose she does not care, whatever sells right? Was this to yet again spite Nicola?

Or was this Nicola who saw everything that Luke endured this weekend, and quietly told her PR team to 'drop' the photos of me with Jake to divert some attention away. Did she come charging in on her white horse (motorbike) to save the day? There is also the highly suspicious tanned photo of Nic at the WT premiere and then Luke's photo from the funeral, (I do not condone this by the way and I was upset for him this morning and his invasion of privacy) which also shows a bit of a red, sunburned face. Did Nicola once again panic and try to control the narrative? I am lately still picking up on her nervous, scared energy in my readings. She is very nine of swords in her head. Losing sleep etc.

I do love a good mystery and folks, I guess if you are reading this and nodding and not screaming obscenities at me through your screen, I guess you are stuck here with me on the ship for the long haul. I actually loved these photos tonight as it gave me a good laugh and and it proved to me even further that Jake is to Nic what Kurt Hummel is to Rachel Berry. Besties. It is also quite ironic that the first pap pics of them last October dropped the week his trailer for WT dropped and these photos land the week his film is released! What are the chances! Coincidence, Sherlock?

PS. No I do NOT believe Antonia was at Luke's family member's funeral. We have to stop treating this girl like the bogeyman. Let her go and live her life. Luke is living his I have no doubt.

PPS. It is not homophobic to recognise someone is gay. I INFER this from his own Instagram and his friends and partner's posts. I am fed up of being called homophobic when I have a lot of gay friends and two gay cousins.

PPPS. Luke and Nic sitting in a tree, KISSSING. I see you Nic, you savvy little mamma ;,)

[knife-enby]

Image ID: a comment from user figgypuddings reading: Adding on to the plan B point: MAKE SURE YOU READ THE WEIGHT REQUIREMENTS. Plan B is made for people under 160lbs and shows to be less effective if over this limit. There is an alternative called Ella for us plus sized folks which you can also still access online rn /end ID Description Writer's Note: in this version of the post, OP's original post is edited to include the information this commenter added. you can copy and paste this image description in any other reblog if you do not want the rest of my post commentary.

compilation of additional points from the notes:

if you have pride stickers on your car, backpack, etc. and do not feel like you will be safe in your community these next 4 years, go scrape them off now

keep asserting (to yourself and your allies) facts about the situation which are likely to be skewed by propaganda. look for information from sources you trust and find reliable

be cautious, but build community. find people you CAN trust. we cannot hunker down and be isolated -- they want us to be isolated. safety in numbers. love is necessary to grow

in addition to "abortion", don't say someone had a "miscarriage", either. several people in the notes are suggesting this may also be dangerous for the person's safety

surviving is the most important thing you can do right now. stay alive, by any means necessary.

lastly, i'd like to add some thoughts of my own:

if one is cruel and wants power, one of the most important things they must do to achieve it is break the people they want to control down. physically, emotionally, spiritually. exhausted people are easy to control; desperate people are easy to direct. things are rough right now, and lashing out is often much, much easier than any of us would like to admit. it is vital to our survival that all of us find joy, ways to unwind, victories in our personal life, and tangible forms of good. otherwise, we become susceptible to despair.

if you start feeling restless and agitated from looking at the news, you need to step away from the news and find something materially good you can do in your community. you can't make the news stop happening, but you can volunteer at a shelter for a weekend. you can go pick up trash by the lake. do something, anything with your body that makes you feel like you're capable of making a change. the news will paralyze you and then slowly kill you. social media and doomscrolling will, too. talk to someone. breathe. go to a library. do anything other than succumb to helplessness and hopelessness.

things can be okay again. i believe that genuinely. we'll get through this together, you and me.

reminders for today:

if you or someone you know might need it in the next few years, purchase plan b. the shelf life of plan b is 4 years, and we might not be able to access it as easily as we can now in the days ahead.

if you are larger/plus size: go online and purchase ella instead of plan b. plan b is less effective if you aren’t under 160 pounds.

if you can, purchase books that project 2025 is looking to ban.

mass deportations are starting. if you see ice vehicles or agents, yell ice raid and la migra as loud as you can.

if someone asks who you voted for, keep your mouth shut. they’re fishing for traitors.

if anyone, anyone at all asks about your neighbors or their legal status in the us, you know nothing. don’t be the reason that their family is separated.

if anyone asks about your religion or lack thereof, keep it vague. this administration will look for any excuse to persecute you.

your friends are trans or queer? for the next four years they’re not. don’t expose anyone’s status as a trans or queer person to anyone else, even if you think you can trust them.

did someone you know get an abortion? no, they didn’t. they were never pregnant.

in short, don’t be a snitch, and keep to yourself these next four years. we’ll make it through this even if it seems hopeless at times.

this is all i can think of at the moment, but i’ll be adding on to this as the day continues.

we can survive this. we’ve survived before, and we’ll survive again.

[haikyu-mp4]

Gorgeous – Oikawa x reader wc 410 – f!reader, angst

In your second year of high school, you were approached by a tall guy who wanted you to be a manager for the volleyball team. You thought he was gorgeous – the kind of guy who would check all the boxes of a magazine, make even a grown woman do a double take on the street and make you reconsider your interests.

Unfortunately, you had no interest in joining another club when you already enjoyed the one you were in, but you were convinced to watch their games. Oikawa knew he was just as gorgeous under the court lights, and it showed.

Learning the rules of volleyball came gradually, and you kept going to the games very regularly, learning the Aoba Johsai chant so you could cheer along.

Oikawa noticed you. Every time, he would find you in the crowd and send you a short wave. Not an overly posed peace sign or a flirtatious wink, just a wave. Then he started finding you in school, showing you every hiding place he knew because he just couldn’t stay away.

“I won't be around after high school,” he informed you one time when you were leaning against him in a broom closet.

“Good. I’m proud of you.” You sighed, lifting your head from his chest to find the chocolate swirls in his eyes. “Would be a pain to fall in love with you now, wouldn’t it?” you whispered while affectionately tucking some of his hair behind his ear. He leaned into your touch, eyes moving away with guilt, just like he would a few weeks after graduation.

Even when you graduated a year later, your gorgeous high school sweetheart was the one who got away. The one who got Argentinian citizenship and recently sent you his monthly update with a picture of the certificate, a silent warning that he wouldn’t come home. Not to you at least. So you start moving on.

Then in ten years, when he’s nearing retirement age and asked more frequently what plans he has for that time of his life, he catches himself thinking about you. You and your husband, Iwaizumi, found each other in your loss of a great friend and recently announced that you were pregnant with your first child.

“I hope to find my peace,” he’ll answer the interviewers cryptically, avoiding any incantation of the word love. Because how can love ever feel the same when it’s not your hand running through his hair?

masterlist

[solelifauna]

Definitely NOT Invincible (Yandere Invincible & Reader)

Pt.5

Guys, I'm cooked. Anyways, thank you for all the kind words!!! Also Y/n's cooked too...anyways! Enjoy!

ALSO!! EVERYONE THANK @oof-spoof!! THIS SERIES IS NOW BASICALLY DEDICATED TO THEM!!! Thank you @oof-spoof for supporting me!

The group fell into a heavy silence, the weight of your words sinking in as if the world itself had pressed down on your shoulders. It wasn’t just about stopping Omni-Man and Invincible or sending that crucial tip to the Guardians of the Globe—it was about surviving long enough to make any of it matter.

The irrefutable fact lingered in the back of everyone’s mind, unspoken but looming: you might be killed again.

Your stomach churned at the thought, the memory of your father’s hand crushing your skull replaying in vivid, excruciating detail. The sound, the pressure, the blinding pain—it haunted you in ways you couldn’t even articulate. And if not that, then what? Would it be a more horrific death this time? Burned alive? Torn apart?

You looked around the table, the same realization written on the faces of your friends. Hallie was biting her lip, staring blankly at the table as her fingers drummed nervously. Connor’s jaw was clenched, his fists curled tightly on his lap. Weston was silent, his expression unreadable, but his tired eyes betrayed him.

Finally, Weston broke the silence. “I’ll figure out how to send the tip,” he said, his voice quiet but resolute. His gaze shifted between each of you before landing back on his hands. “You guys focus on keeping our… other obligation in check.”

Shit. You’d completely forgotten about the Demogorgons. Those damn things hadn’t been on your radar for the past few days, but they were still out there, roaming the town, lurking in shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Judging by the groans and sighs from Connor and Hallie, they’d forgotten too.

“Everyone still has their things, right?” you asked, already mentally cataloging what you had at home.

Hallie sat up straighter, brushing her hair out of her face. “Got my pump action and bolt action in my trunk and in my closet,” she said, her voice steadier than her posture.

Connor leaned back, rubbing his temples. “Got ammo and a G-48, Haymitch's axe, and the machete,” he listed off, his tone bordering on exhaustion.

“I still have the smoke bombs and my dad’s rifle he thinks he sold,” Weston added, his voice low but firm.

You nodded, storing the information away. “Good. We’ll need all that and more.”

The silence that followed was thick with understanding. You’d fought these monsters before. You’d survived the impossible. But this time, it wasn’t just about survival. It was about holding the line, balancing the dual threats of the Demogorgons and the looming Viltrumite takeover.

"I say we prepare for the worst," you finally say, your voice cutting through the silence. "Stock up on ammo when you can, supplies, canned food, and whatever else we’ll need. We have to be ready in case everything goes to shit again, in case… in case what we do doesn’t work—"

“Don’t.” Connor’s voice cuts you off, sharp and sudden. “Don’t say that, (Y/n).”

You flinch at the rawness in his voice, the sheer force of his words.

“Connor—” you start, but he barrels forward, his frustration spilling over like a dam breaking.

“It has to work!” he says, his voice trembling. “It has to, or else—” He looks away, jaw tight, his hands clenching into fists. “Or else that means we fought for nothing. That means all those people who died—who are going to die—died for nothing. That means we came back for nothing.”

His words hang in the air, raw and painful. You feel them hit you like a punch to the gut.

Your lips press together tightly as you try to find something—anything—to say. Connor was always the "strong" one of the group, the silent type, the brash one who rarely let anyone see how deeply he felt things. He was the backbone, the shoulder everyone else could lean on when things got tough. Seeing him like this, unraveling, hurts more than you want to admit.

“I’m—I’m sorry, Connor,” you finally manage, your voice barely above a whisper.

“No, I’m sorry,” he mutters, his eyes watery as he scrubs at his face with the back of his hand. His voice cracks slightly as he continues, “You—you’re just doing what you always do, trying to keep us alive. I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t apologize, Con,” you say quickly, leaning forward slightly, trying to catch his gaze. “I—I get it. Really, I do.”

The tension around the table is palpable. Hallie and Weston exchange uneasy glances, their worry for Connor evident in the grim lines of their faces.

“Connor,” Hallie starts gently, her voice low and careful, “nobody’s saying what happened before will happen again, but—”

“I know,” he cuts her off, his voice quieter now, almost resigned. He lets out a shaky breath and sinks back in his seat, rubbing a hand over his face. “I know. But we have to consider the high chance it will.”

The stakes couldn’t be higher, and the thought of failing—of going through all of it again—was unbearable.

But you didn’t have a choice.

You glanced at each of them in turn, taking in their tired faces, the fear lingering in their eyes. They were your family, your only anchor in a world that felt increasingly impossible to navigate.

“We’ll make it work,” you say softly, your voice steady despite the storm inside you. “I don’t know how yet, but we will.”

You don’t know if they believe you, and honestly, you’re not even sure if you believe yourself. 

Weston’s hand comes to rest on Connor’s shoulder, rubbing little circles in that gentle, soothing way he always did to calm the group down. It was such a Weston thing to do—he had always been physical with his care and affection, expressing his love in small touches and gestures that reminded you all you weren’t alone. You see Connor’s shoulders relax just slightly under Weston’s touch, though the tension doesn’t completely leave him.

You shift closer, moving to sit beside Connor, offering your silent presence as support. Across the table, Hallie slides her water bottle toward him, her brow furrowed in worry. “Here,” she says softly. Her voice doesn’t waver, but her eyes betray the depth of her concern. Connor takes the bottle with a small, muttered “thanks,” and sips from it, his gaze distant.

The weight of the moment settles over all of you, thick and suffocating. No one says anything for a while, and for a brief moment, the only sound is the distant hum of chatter from other tables in the courtyard.

Then the lunch bell rings, cutting through the stillness like a knife, signaling it’s time to go back to class. The sound sends a jolt through you, and you see the same dread reflected in everyone’s faces. None of you want to go. Yet, there was nothing you could do.

You all stand reluctantly, gathering your things in silence. Before you split up, you squeeze Connor’s shoulder gently, hoping it conveys what you can’t find the words to say. He offers a faint smile.

You walk into the crowded hallway, your mind scrambling as you try to recall your next class. What was it? You swear you knew just minutes ago, but now the information is gone, like a wisp of smoke slipping through your fingers.

You glance around desperately, hoping to recognize a familiar face, someone who might share the class with you. But the sea of students around you is a blur of faces you barely recognize. Who the hell are these people? You don’t remember their names, their voices, their stories. They’re strangers, even though you know you should know them.

Panic creeps up your spine as you weave through the hall, your breathing growing shallow. You’re losing it. You’re losing yourself, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. The realization claws at you, sharp and unrelenting.

You hate this. You hate what this world, what this second chance, has reduced you to. What it’s reduced all of you to.

Your hands tremble as you tighten your grip on your bag, willing the shaking to stop, but it doesn’t. You pass classrooms, peeking inside, hoping something will click—a desk, a teacher, a face. But nothing does.

The hallways start growing emptier as students file into their classrooms, the bustling energy fading into a deafening quiet. You glance around, the panic tightening in your chest. Where the hell were you supposed to go?

Your mind scrambles, trying to latch onto something—anything—that will tell you your next class. The answer eludes you, slipping through your fingers like sand. You fumble with your phone, attempting to log into your student portal. At least that would show your schedule, right?

Except the password isn’t auto-saved. Of course, it isn’t.

You sit there staring at the login screen, willing your brain to remember your credentials, but nothing comes. It’s just another blank void. Great. Now you can’t even see your schedule, let alone your grades. Not that grades should be at the top of your concerns right now, but still, the thought gnaws at the back of your mind. You’re so screwed.

You lean against a row of lockers, the cold metal biting into your back as you let out a frustrated sigh. What the hell do I do now? Asking the front desk for help is out of the question. It’s the middle of the school year, and no one forgets their schedule this far in. It would raise questions. And why couldn’t you just look it up yourself? The idea of facing that judgment makes you cringe.

No, you can’t do that.

Instead, you resign yourself to staying in a random, empty hallway, slumping down against the wall. The quiet envelops you, a brief respite from the overwhelming noise in your head. You close your eyes for a moment, letting the silence settle around you. God, you didn’t realize how much your eyes were burning, how much your body ached.

The idea of just staying here, hidden and still, is so tempting. Maybe you could just chill here for a while. Yeah, that sounded nice. Just a little break.

You don’t realize how much time passes as you sit there, your mind drifting between the chaos of your thoughts and the exhaustion weighing you down. For a brief moment, you feel the smallest sliver of peace.

Until a voice shatters it.

“Playing hooky, (Y/n)?”

Your stomach drops. No. Not him. Not now.

Mark’s voice carries that unmistakable mix of smugness and sharpness, the tone that always made you want to squirm. “Tch, Mom and Dad are not going to be happy. Especially after the last meeting your counselor had about your little habit of skipping classes.”

You open your eyes, and there he is, standing over you with a smirk that makes you want to curl in on yourself. His eyes bore into yours, sharp and calculating, as if he’s dissecting you piece by piece.

“W-what? When did—oh shit,” you stammer, the memory hitting you like a brick. He’s talking about the meeting. You’d skipped a bunch of classes last semester to deal with the Demogorgons. Sure, you kept your grades up, but that didn’t stop the school from calling your mom. And to say she was upset was an understatement.

Mark’s smirk widens as he watches the realization dawn on your face. “Ah, there it is,” he says mockingly, leaning against the wall. “I’m sure Mom will love hearing about this. You know how she feels about second chances.”

You glare at him, the panic in your chest now mixed with frustration. “Mark, I—look, just don’t. Please.”

His expression softens, but only slightly. There’s still that edge to his voice, that unnerving mix of concern and menace. “Don’t what? Tell her? You’re not making this easy, you know. Skipping class, hiding out like this… It’s like you want her to freak out.”

“I just—” You falter, your words failing you. The exhaustion, the stress, the sheer overwhelming nature of everything—it’s all too much. You can’t think of a good excuse, and Mark’s gaze feels like it’s cutting through every lie you might try to tell.

He crouches down, leveling his eyes with yours. “What’s going on with you, (Y/n)?” he asks, his voice softer now but no less piercing. “You’ve been off. I know you’re not telling me everything.”

You look away, unable to meet his gaze.

Mark’s words linger in the air like a trap, waiting for you to fall in. “Are you depressed or something? Maybe it’s a boy? I don’t know, (Y/n), but something’s off. I know it is,” he says, his tone dripping with faux concern. “Just tell me. Tell your big brother, and I can make it go away.”

The irony of it all hits you like a freight train, and you can’t help it—you huff, then giggle, and then it all spirals out of control. A laugh bubbles out of you, wild and uncontainable, quickly escalating into full-blown hysterics. You’re wheezing now, clutching your sides, and you know you must look insane. Maybe you are. How could you not be?

It’s funny, really. The idea that he, Mark, could fix your problems. That he could “make it go away.” It’s laughable because a massive chunk of your problems is sitting right in front of you, watching you unravel with that same calculating smirk. How utterly absurd.

Your laughter devolves into choked breaths as your chest tightens painfully. The tears come next, hot and relentless, spilling down your cheeks. You’re sobbing now, loud and ugly, your body shaking uncontrollably.

Mark’s expression shifts, surprise flickering in his eyes. Then something darker takes hold—something intrigued, almost amused. He wasn’t expecting this, but oh, was he glad. He leans in closer, his lips curling into a softer smile. There was something seriously wrong with you. He knew it now. And that knowledge only made him more eager to figure out what had happened to his weak, adorable little sister.

“Oh, (Y/n),” he coos, his voice deceptively sweet as he cups your cheek with his large, warm hand. His thumb brushes against your tear-streaked skin, wiping away the evidence of your breakdown. His touch is firm but gentle, an unnerving mix of comfort and control.

You try to flinch away, your instincts screaming at you to get out of his grasp, but your body betrays you. Exhausted and overwhelmed, you slump into his hand, your head tilting slightly as if seeking solace. You hate it. You hate yourself for it. But you’re only human, and his warmth feels like the only anchor keeping you from completely spiraling.

“St-stop this,” you choke out between sobs, your voice barely audible. “Puh-please.”

Mark tilts his head, his expression almost mockingly innocent. “Stop what, (Y/n)?” he asks softly, his voice laced with feigned confusion.

“This,” you gasp, your voice trembling. “This—what you—you’re doing. Please, it—it isn’t fair.”

His hand doesn’t move from your cheek, and his thumb continues its slow, deliberate motion, wiping away fresh tears as they fall. His smile softens further, but his eyes remain sharp, predatory.

“Fair?” he echoes, as if tasting the word. “Oh, (Y/n). Life isn’t fair. You know that.” His voice drops lower, almost a whisper. “But you don’t have to worry about that. You don’t have to worry about anything. That’s what I’m here for.”

You shake your head weakly, your sobs growing quieter but no less intense. “You—”

He interrupts you gently, his voice soothing but utterly condescending. “Shh. Just let me take care of you.”

The words send a chill down your spine, the weight of his intent pressing down on you. You know there’s no escaping him now, not when he’s latched onto you like this. Not when he’s decided you’re his problem to solve, his little sister to protect—even if it means breaking you further in the process.

Mark’s gaze lingers on your trembling form, his hand still cradling your cheek. He studies you with a mix of curiosity and calculation, the wheels turning in his mind as he contemplates your place in all of this. Maybe he could make something useful out of you. Maybe you could be shaped into something worthy of the Viltrumite cause.

But as he takes in your tear-streaked face, the way your body shakes beneath his touch, he doubts it. You’re too weak. Too small. Too soft.

It’s almost pathetic how fragile you are, how human you are.

Still, the thought lingers—what if? What if you could prove yourself? What if, against all odds, you showed even the slightest potential? Perhaps then he could convince their father to keep you after the takeover. It would be difficult, of course. Nolan had little patience for weakness, and you were the embodiment of everything the Viltrumite race despised. But if you somehow managed to prove your worth, there was a chance.

Mark’s lips curve into a faint smile, the thought of sparing you for his mother’s sake bringing him a strange sense of satisfaction. You weren’t ideal offspring, no, far from it. But you were her daughter. Debbie would appreciate having you around, he’s sure of it, especially when their father inevitably takes her away from Earth to shield her from the chaos of their conquest.

“You’re lucky, you know,” Mark murmurs, his voice low and smooth. His thumb pauses for a moment, pressing lightly against your cheekbone as his eyes bore into yours. “If it weren’t for Mom, I wouldn’t even consider giving you a chance. But maybe… maybe you’ll surprise us.”

You blink at him, your chest tightening as his words sink in. “A-a chance? Mark, what are you—”

He cuts you off, his smile widening slightly, but there’s no warmth in it. “You’ll see,” he says cryptically, pulling his hand away and standing to his full height. His shadow looms over you, and for a brief moment, you feel like you’re shrinking under his gaze.

“Just remember, (Y/n),” he adds, his tone shifting to something colder, more deliberate. “This world isn’t kind to people like you. But you’re lucky to have me. I’ll make sure you don’t get left behind.”

The words feel like a promise and a threat all at once, leaving you frozen in place as he turns and walks away, his presence lingering long after he’s gone.

You’re left alone in the empty hallway, your breaths shaky and uneven, the weight of his intentions pressing down on you like a vice. Lucky, he said. But you don’t feel lucky. You feel trapped. And no amount of tears can wash that feeling away.

You sit there, slumped against the wall, trying to process what the hell Mark was talking about. “If it weren’t for Mom?” What does that even mean? Why would she have anything to do with whether Mark decided to “give you a chance?” What kind of chance was he even talking about?

Your mind spirals as you try to make sense of his cryptic words, the unease clawing at your insides. The idea that your mother somehow factored into whatever twisted plans Mark had for you only made the knot in your stomach tighten. What was he planning? What did he mean by not getting left behind?

Your thoughts race, one question bleeding into the next as panic wells up inside you. You can’t piece it together. You don’t have enough information. But the way he looked at you—the cold calculation behind his eyes, the way his words felt like a threat wrapped in false care—it makes your skin crawl.

You bury your face in your hands, your breathing shallow as your mind loops through the interaction. What the hell is going on?

Meanwhile, Mark is on his way out of the school building, his phone already in hand. He dials the familiar number, his expression cool and composed. The phone rings only twice before the unmistakable voice of his father, Nolan, answers.

“What is it?” Omni-Man’s voice is gruff, direct, as always.

Mark leans against the wall outside, his tone calm but tinged with a quiet urgency. “It’s about (Y/n),” he begins, cutting straight to the point. “There’s something off with her. More than usual.”

On the other end of the line, Nolan sighs. His voice is bored, disinterested. “Mark, your sister has always been like this. Emotional and a bit erratic. It’s nothing new.”

Mark clenches his jaw but keeps his tone steady. “No, Dad, this is different. She’s acting weird—like, really weird. Come’on, I’m sure you’ve noticed how she’s stopped constantly asking to go out with us? Or how everytime she looks at one of us, her heart rate always increases, hell, I could smell the adrenaline rush that gets triggered.”

Nolan’s silence stretches for a moment. “Dad, why is she having a fight or flight, fear response triggered, huh?”

“Of course I’ve noticed, Mark,” Omni-man sighs out. “If it’s worth worrying about, I’ll handle it. But until then, she’s just…” He pauses, and Mark can practically see the look on his father’s face. “She’s still a human.”

Mark exhales sharply, but he doesn’t argue. He knows better than to push Nolan when he’s like this. “Fine,” he says, his voice tight. “But if I find out something important, I’ll let you know.”

“Do that,” Nolan replies curtly, and the line goes dead.

Mark slips his phone back into his pocket, his expression unreadable. He’s not entirely satisfied with his father’s response, but he’s also not surprised. Nolan has never had much patience for what he considers “mundane human nonsense.” If (Y/n)’s behavior didn’t involve anything worthy of the Viltrumite cause, it simply wasn’t a priority to him.

Still, Mark can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to this than his father realizes. And if Nolan won’t take it seriously, then Mark will.

[nayaesworld]

My favorite Dork

Terry Richmond x Black!Fem reader

Part 2

__

__

“Who that right there?” Your crossed eyes tried hard to focus on his extended finger as it pointed towards the tv screen. Head filled with little to no thoughts or answers that could save you from his incessant pounding into your pussy. If he could just ease up a little then maybe just maybe you could gargle out a answer, fuck it it it was the wrong one..you didn’t care.

Your eyes finally steadied enough for you to focus on the tall,pale, blonde animated character. A few names filtering through your pretty little head as he slowed his strokes enough for your toes to uncross and you became confident in your answer…perhaps too confident.

“Trevor..that’s Trevor” you breathe out quickly, hoping to impress him with your listening skills.

“Aww Peaches baby.. really wanted you to be right and prove me wrong. Guess you weren’t listening as well as I thought you were.” A faux pout came across his face and a mischievous glint in his eyes made your stomach flip.

“You know what happens to sluts that don’t listen…the ones that don’t retain information they were told to?” His heavy hand smacked your cheek just enough for your heavy eyes to widen. Your face heating up from the contact and your rising arousal.

Your shaking hands grip his arms as you shake underneath him, body preparing to release a violent gush of water onto him. You craved to be manhandled and flung about his spacious bed like a lifeless sex doll. To hell with anime…animation..animators. Fuck em all.

“Ouuu Peaches I felt that, give it to me. Because when you do we’re starting from the beginning..can’t have my baby out here not knowing her material, by the time I’m done with your sexy ass you’ll be speaking fluent Japanese.” Pillow soft thighs squeezed tight around his midsection and your pussy came like a geyser, pent up energy in the form of his favorite liquid.

“Bubby please.. I’m sorry I’ll be better just please..my pussy can’t take it.”

“You sure..looks like she can take it to me. Deep pussy swallowing up my dick just fine. My sweet peaches and her sweet pussy.” He pecked your forehead, quickly rubbing the back of your thighs.

“On your knees..I don’t want you to miss one second since you can’t seem to remember the names of characters I’ve been repeating for the last 40 minutes.”

Your sore limbs slowly but surely allowed your body to be molded into the newest position, your soft belly and breast resting on the cool sheets beneath you with your ass tooted up as high as he could get it. Playful slaps to your ass had you swallowing your spit. You wanted—needed that Sephora trip and your chances of winning looked slim.

“Ass so perfect and fat it belongs on an Anime..like look at this shit. I want this everyday..and everytime you deny me and act like you can’t take this dick, this pussy will pay the price for it.” A series of slaps to your pussy lips had you drooling, the slight sting coaxing forward more sticky liquid from you.

“Yesss bubby I wanna be better…just please fuck me now.” You sucked your thumb and sighed in content, eyes wet and waiting.

The opening title to Castlevania played loudly in the background as your cheeks bounced against his pelvis. He played with and gripped the flesh until you begged for more, then filled you to the hilt with his thick dick. The wet queefs battling against the volume of the tv as the animated characters battles against cruel priests and demons. In a way y’all were two of the same. You currently battled a hefty dick attached to a man with a sickening face card and a stroke that had you thinking sitting out for 9 months wasn’t too bad.

“Wanna try again Peaches…you want bubby to ease up on you hmm, take it easy on my princess?” He stroked the soft hairs at the nape of your neck almost putting you into a coma.

But you were going out like a bitch. And mama didn’t raise no punk, it was now or never. You had to get the next one right, a Sephora trip depended on it. And by the time he breathed out the next question to you like a freaky professor, you had the right answer plus a little more to throw him off his high horse. You made the mistake of calling the tall raven haired vampire fine and that earned you a pinch to your clit.

You fucked back onto him, shadows of your eager ass throwing playing out on the walls. He moaned and whimpered softly behind you, dick being squeezed and squished into your soaking pussy. You wanted a pretty, white creampie to decorate your pretty brown skin. You felt his hot breath on the back of your neck and his chest slick with perspiration as the effects of solid good pussy broke him down layer by layer.

You felt the sharp pain of his nails digging into your hips. The falter of his weakening strokes, the exasperated breaths…it all made you feel so empowered— so in charge. You could brag for days and shout out this victory from the fucking roof tops..who was scared of dick now?

“Just cum already…you know it’s a losing battle Bubby. Just succumb, you know you wanna paint this fat kitty…so just do it.” Hot warm spurts of cum littered your backside and trickled down to mingle with your own release. Satisfied sighs leaving both of your mouths and you were greedy to touch your lips to his again…to indulge in a kiss with your handsome faced loser.

Strong hands soothed your tense muscles and massaged your sore limbs back into their rightful place. A lone finger running along his abdomen, observing the purpling hickies you had sucked onto his skin over the course of the last hour and a half.

“Not gonna rub it in my face peaches…you got good sportsmanship all of a sudden?” His hands worked deeply into the balls of your feet, ocean eyes focusing on your pretty face.

“Mm would you prefer me to sweetface? You know I’d rather not do you dirty…I have something else in mind for you.” He threw you a suspicious glance and you simply lifted your pointer and middle fingers into a heart. He didn’t need to know about your extra terms and conditions to winning.

__

$216 dollars, two hefty bags of skincare,makeup, and perfumes. You cheesed and wiggled in the passenger seat back to Terry's place, you had run through Sephora like a kid in a candy store. No aisle or product was left untouched by you, you picked up your everyday items and a whole lot of new ones. Crossing them off of your long list of TikTok recommendations to try.

Now you had Terry seated in a chair, makeup products sprawled out in front of you. He sat arms folded as he looked up at you expectantly. Convincing him to sit here and be a test dummy for your new products took a lot of begging and the promise of a new pair of gaming headphones—though you didn’t care for all the yelling and hollering he did on that damn game.

“So you actually don’t need to fill yours in because they're naturally thick and bushy…but a little brow gel could really clean up these caterpillars.” Your thumb rested against his temple as you brushed his brow hair into a near perfect arch, the brow gel being just strong enough to handle his coarse hairs.

He was eager as ever to hop into the mirror and see what magic you had worked, a small smile forming on his lips before he caught your eyes and let it drop. You rolled your eyes and quickly pushed him back into his seat, popping open a brand new case of eye shadow you would be perfect for the spring. He sighed and held his head still per your request and shut his eyes. You let the small makeup brush dance softly over his closed lids, careful not to press too hard on the small blue veins on his lid.

“See the blue eyeshadow brings out your eyes Bubby…my handsome bestie. Baddest nigga I know.” The two of you shared hearty laughs before he pulled you into his lap.

“You done treating me like a lab rat yet..I’m due for a nap.” You pecked his juicy lips before pulling one more product into your hands. He pulled his head out of your grasp at the first glance of the shiny new tube of lipgloss.

“That's the one you had on earlier when you came..I like the way it tasted.” You nodded and took that info into your head or the future.

Clean uniformed brows, blue eyeshadow, and glossy plump lips decorated his beautifully sculpted face. He let you get a few pictures in before him stood to his full height and threw a strong arm around your waist.

“I love you yeah girl..my gorgeous, sexy, smart Peaches. You’re the bestest friend a person could ask for..but I don’t want to be friends with you anymore.”

Your face frowned up quickly and you tried to pull out of his grip. What the fuck was he talking about honestly, he had you fucked up and you would knock sense into his ass, buff or not.

“Wait..wait let me finish hot head. I don’t want to be friends with you anymore because I’m more interested in being your man..if you’ll let me.”

Oh? And this definitely wasn’t where you thought he was taking this, but you liked it. Loved it in fact. Tall, handsome, incredibly smart and nerdy, intellectual… you could go on. He made you feel safe and heard, saved you from bullies when the two of you were just kids, built you up so no one could ever deny you again…and above all else he loved you.

“You want me..in that way?” Just a little reassurance..just to hear him say it once more..just to make sure he wasn’t pranking you like the boys did when you were a teen.

“I want you in every way you’ll let me have you. I’ve stood by for too long watching unfit men attempt to snub out your light..you deserve to shine and be soft. Let me do that for you y/n.” You threw your arms around his neck, hot tears streaming down your face. You deserved this, trusted this..wouldn’t wanna do it with anyone else.

“You’re lucky you’re cute and convincing. I want this with you, I trust you to keep your word and do right by me because you've always done so.”

“I’ll do more than keep my word. I’ll show you how a real man courts a woman..show you why there’s nobody better than you out there for me. I love you Peaches.”

“Love you more nerd.”

__

@becauseimswagman1 @ranikyani @blyffe @23jammy @keehendrixx @ovohanna24 @venusincleo @grlsbstshot @yassbishimvintage @avoidthings @pocketsizedpanther @writingsbytee @simplyzeeka @zillasvilla @kimuzostar @playgurlxoxo @kumkaniudaku @megamindsecretlair @theereina @keyaho @hotgrlcece @henneseyhoe @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @uzumaki-rebellion @blackmoonchilee @tvchi @blackerthings @honeys-archives @luvrsluxe

[raleighrador]

Thanks for the thoughtful reply!

You obviously (and everyone) is free to make whatever choices around what and how they consume etc so I am not trying to persuade you of anything but I am interested in pursuing this thinking.

Please correct me if I misrepresent anything you said or are trying to articulate.

My basic issue is that in order to accept all of the above we need to rely on what seems to be a false premise: that AI created writing [art in general?] lacks perspective because perspective is a function of choice, and choice is something only humans can do, therefore AI writing cannot have perspective.

First, it isn't clear to me that perspective is a function of choice (certainly not only or even primarily). At the most macro level, if perspective is foundational informed by the lives we've lived, we didn't choose those lives nor do we consciously translate those experiences into a defined perspective. Our perspective is an emergent phenomenon. Translating that into writing - absolutely a human writer makes choices (some conscious some unconscious) about what to put on the page and what to leave off. My claim here is that far more of it is conscious than not. The majority of grammar, diction, arrangement etc is defined for us by custom that we operate within. Faulkner and Joyce are famous examples of not that but are a) exceptions and b) largely incomprehensible (one lit major's gripe). The vast majority of the vast majority of written work is - at best - more like your example of a collage than not. We all have the same lego pieces and the same rules and we're just moving them about.

What informs that arrangement is some choices and a lot of just baked in preferences and habits and patterns.

Second, even if we accept that perspective is a function of (conscious) choice this then needs to be integrated into our characterisation of what "AI writing" is. So far as I am aware there is very little "purely" AI writing i.e. an AI spontaneously picked a topic and generated something. These tools - certainly in the context of e.g. fanfic writing - are all human driven i.e. a human booted up chatgpt and at minimum wrote a prompt and hit "generate".

I guess it is possible that these people are then copy pasting and publishing these outputs without even reading them but that seems unlikely. I think the minimum interaction is they read them and decide if they like them or not - and then publish.

Why are they not making a choice about what to include or not? How is the process so fundamentally different to a more typical writing process? This becomes more evidently (to me) similar when you imagine that this "AI author" likely gets the AI to draft and redraft the output multiple times. They're engaging with what the AI produces and then directing it to make changes - choosing what to tell it to emphasise or remove etc.

If it is human choice that creates perspective, that seems to exist in writing even where the bulk of the "writing" was done by AI.

2 other thought experiments that spring to mind: 1) if the act of consuming output created by others and then saying "more X less Y" is NOT sufficient to create perspective, would you say that the director of a movie is not creating a perspective? They didn't write the script, they didn't say the lines, they didn't sew the costumes. They watched other people read other peoples' dialogue and then they say "make it more/less". 2) Do Jackson Pollock painting's have perspective? He made choices about colour and the force with which he threw or dribbled paint but he didn't control where the paint landed. How much choice, how much control, is required for perspective? And if they don't have a perspective does that mean they aren't worth engaging with?

I think both of the above imply that even absent the majority of the labour you can make choices and those create a perspective AND that conscious choice derived perspective is not a prerequisite for something to be worth engaging with.

I think this land son my third point which - regardless of any of the above the majority of the perceived perspective of a given piece of material is in fact RECEIVED perspective i.e. it is what the VIEWER brings that creates that perspective as much if not more than what the author intends. This is a pretty standard post modern position but even if you think Barthes is a hack the fact that so many people in academia or elsewhere fill so much time arguing over what was meant by any given piece of media is evidence of the fact that a significant portion of the perceived "meaning" of art is created by the viewer and not the artist.

What that implies is even if you accept that AI created/supported writing has none of the human choices that create an identifiable artist's perspective, that doesn't mean the work upon being read wont have a perspective projected onto it.

I think this paragraph of yours is interesting: "Could there be a person-made work that's just as bland and vapid as a ChatGPT work? Sure. A thousand monkeys and a thousand typewriters, etc. Even as I'm sure the person-made work would have a perspective ChatGPT lacks, I'm sure there's a work (or likely several) where I, as a reader, couldn't distinguish whether it's human-written or ChatGPT-generated. But humans also use heuristics to make choices; I've never read a ChatGPT-generated work that I remember a few days later, and I've read hundreds of human-written works that I do remember. It's just a better bet for my time to not bother with a ChatGPT-generated work and read a human-written work instead, even if I might hit a dull work every once in a while."

I basically look at this the other way round - the question is not "Can humans make art as bad as ChatGPT?" the question is "can ChatGPT create art as interesting and engaging as human created art". To me the answer is yes.

I get your point about heuristics but it seems to me that "was this written by/with extensive help from chatGPT" is not a good heuristic, in the exact same way that "was this written by the author in a single draft with no edits and no input from anyone else ever" or "was this written by a committee of authors who all mutually edited each other's drafts" are helpful heuristics.

Again, I am not seeking to convince you of anything and if this heuristic is helpful for you that is great, but I don't understand how.

just saw a fanfic on ao3 have a dedication for chatgpt... that section is meant for your horny perverted mutual who proofread your work, you violated sacred law and you will be torn apart and laid bare btw

[revelboo]

Heyyyyyyyyy it's meeeeeee the devilllll back with a figure update and Suprise! It's not blokees! It is however, everyone's favorite cryptic

You have no idea how tempting it is to paint his claws and cables

😂 That’s the Gear Factory Demonic Whisper figure, right? I’d just ordered everyone’s favorite Cryptid daddy, too

Bad Idea Pt 17

TFP Soundwave x Reader

• Making a little sound of protest when his tendrils lift you enough to slide a blanket under you and then you’re eased back down. Head turning to rest on your arm as another blanket is draped over you, you watch him hesitate before touching your cheek with a servo. The touch almost an apology, but you know he has whatever secret alien stuff he does to do and as much as you’d love to spend all day exploring each other, you understand. “Kick ass,” you tell him and he flips the end of your blanket over your head before leaving you, but not before the drone darts inside to light on the berth and give you a very judgmental stare.

• Hates being away from you, but can’t just leave Starscream to his own devices since Megatron’s preoccupied. Doesn’t really trust the Seeker not to be scheming without someone keeping an optic on him. Entering command, he’s not at all surprised to find Starscream sprawled on Megatron’s throne ordering Vehicons about. Though the little human he’s cradling against his chassis and idly petting is new. Staring until the Seeker gets uncomfortable and slides off the throne, wings flaring aggressively. He probably should be a bit worried about Starscream having a human, but if it keeps him from plotting?

• Squawking at you in a decidedly disgruntled tone, big bird flares up his panels. Offended at what you’d done with his daddy, maybe? Does he know what you two did? Sitting up and wrapping your blanket around yourself, you offer him a smile. “Can we maybe start over? Play nice?” You ask and he hisses at you, croaking like a crow. Alright, then. You decide to take that as a no, though to be fair, you have no idea how smart the drone is. Maybe he’s like a big parrot and he just repeats stuff and there’s not a lot happening in that dumb, bird brain. “You can hate me all you want. Not my fault he’s a total DILF.” And that head tips, a calculating gleam in those optics. He doesn’t know what that means. He can’t.

• Working at his console, he vents as Starscream pulls something from subspace and offers it to the little human he’d perched on his own console. Can hear the Seeker crooning to the human he’s apparently calling ‘Fluffy’ and who appears just resigned as they take the package of food he’s offering them. Spotting him staring, the Seeker’s wings flick before he pointedly turns his attention back to fussing over the beleaguered human. At least they’re keeping him busy, he supposes.

• “DILF. Soundwave total DILF.” Hopping around on the berth, the drone croaks at you. Combining that harsh snarling voice saying Soundwave’s name with your own voice while you chases after him, wrapped in a blanket. “Shut up! Delete that right now!” You demand, aware that you have no way to back up the words. Something big bird seems fully aware of as he evaded your clumsy attempts to catch him. While shouting his new favorite phrase and you swear he’s laughing.

• Returning to his habsuite, he pauses in the doorway to watch you chasing after Lazerbeak as the drone shrieks. “Soundwave total DILF!” And you spot him standing there and stumble to a stop looking absolutely mortified, can feel your horrified embarrassment crashing over him in waves. Head tipping, he hooks a thought in the human information network, because that’s a word he’s not encountered before and you’d called him- ah. “DILF!” Lazerbeak cackles as you put your face in your hands and his tendrils restlessly writhe.

Previous

[haeoflii]

The girls are gossiping! i wonder what they're talking about?

(click for better quality!)

A silly dialogue I made below:

Cece, whispering into Malleus' ear: Can you believe it!? He said he was busy with a "school project" but in reality he's actually cheating on him with another guy! And that guy turns out to be his boyfriend's best friend!!

Malleus, leaning down even though he can hear her perfectly fine: The nerves of that man.

???, whispering: pssh what are you kids talking about?

Cece: !!!

Lilia pops out of nowhere, which frightened Cece.

Malleus: Hm eavesdropping on us, Lilia?

Lilia: What makes you think that? I've just so happened to walk by when you two were gossiping loudly in the open.

Cece: loudly...!?

Lilia: And while on school grounds too? I thought I raised you better than this!

Cece: Hey! who said we're gossiping? I am merely sharing information based on my personal experience with my dear ol' buddy. And even IF we were gossip–WHICH WE WERE NOT! Gossiping isn't all bad...

Malleus: Child of man said that gossiping can help us bond, increase cooperation, and encourage good behavior and self-reflection.

Lilia: Ah, is that so?

Cece nods her head: Mhm, that's right!!

Lilia: Khee hee perhaps Sebek was right. You really are a bad influence on him, prefect~

Cece: HAAHH!?

[crownofgildedlilies]

like a book

pairing: k. bakugou x reader wc: 1.7k slight spoilers? but also not really? takes place right after the hero licensing exam so do what you will with that information.

You're not exactly sure why people think Katsuki Bakugou is difficult to understand.

Yeah, you know he's difficult. He's stubborn and abrasive and constantly marching to the beat of his own drum, but he's predictable. He's not difficult to understand.

Katsuki Bakugou might be difficult, but you know exactly how to read him. You wouldn't be dating if you couldn't.

You know he works his damn hardest no matter what he does, whether it be hero training or cooking dinner. You know he prefers his math work over his English practice because he also does his math first. You know he considers Kirishima his best friend—he hesitates the longest when telling him hell no to hanging out past his bedtime.

And you know the fact that he failed his licensing exam and got on house arrest in the same twelve hours is eating him alive.

It's not like his punishment is truly brutal. He gets the chance to retake the licensing exam after remedial courses, so he'll be fine. You're pretty sure that he's more upset over the fact that he has to clean the dorms with Izuku Midoriya and miss out on three days of classes, if you're honest.

And because he's so easy to understand, you know exactly what your boyfriend is up to.

There's only so many square feet in the common room that he can oh so casually clean while you're working on coursework at the dining table, pencil end caught between your teeth in concentration. It's by his third pass of your workspace that you relent and lift your gaze to his impatient—and rather antsy—ruby eyes.

“Y’doing homework?” He asks, like you didn't have your notes and textbook spread out before you and he hadn't noticed the fact the second he walked into the room. It's hard to keep your grin at bay, but you mask your amusement with the suspicious look you pin him with.

Your pencil is freed from the cage of your teeth, only to be tapped rhythmically against the plush of your lips. You watch as Katsuki's stare attaches to the movement, but before the blush can settle fully into your cheeks, he betrays his true intentions with his next glance.

Katsuki Bakugou looks so innocently at your homework.

“Why are you being nice?” You sigh, your eyes still narrowed at him. Your question offends him, clearly, as he puffs out his chest and drops into the chair beside you. He's abandoning Izuku to clean the rest of the common room by himself, but you know he doesn't care.

“The hell you talking about?” He's huffing, and you don't have to force the roll of your eyes at his clueless act. Clearly, if he's pretending like he doesn't know what you're talking about, he's more desperate than you thought. "'M always nice."

“Last week you yelled at me because I was doing my work in the common area.” Granted, you know he only got worked up because he messed up during training and wanted to mope in his room with you, pretending like everyone still believed his big tough brute act.

“Shut up." His words don't have any bite to begin with, and any affect they could have possibly had is mitigated by the red flush burning the tips of his ears. "No I didn’t.”

“You did." You have to laugh. He's not even putting effort into his denial. He knows you just as well as you know him, so lying about it was futile. "And now you’re all…”

You wave a hand in a broad circle between the two of you, your palm splayed out to face him while gesturing to how he's sitting with his body leaned towards you and face twisted into a pout.

“All what?” He grits out, and you have to bite your lip to hide your grin as you realize that if anyone but you tried to push his buttons, he would have long since snapped. But you know how to read Katsuki, and you know his patience multiplies tenfold when it comes to you.

It's a fact you only abuse a little bit.

“You know what you are." You snicker, spotting the way his fingers—stretched subtly on the table—brush against the edges of the assignment you had been working on. You really you can't beat around the bush any longer. "You’re trying to look at the homework, aren’t you?”

“‘M not, dumbass." He deflects, lying through his teeth. His hand shoots away from your papers, and you're pretty sure he's trying to distract you when he sets that same hand on top of your knee. It half works. "Why would I want that?”

“Because you’re stuck on house arrest and worried about falling behind.”

“I’m not behind!” The hand he set on your knee pinches you, and you swat at him in reprimand while simultaneously throwing your own hands up in defense of your innocence.

“I’m not saying you are." You assure him, voice gentle. You're not distracted enough by Katsuki to not notice how his outburst garnered the attention of your classmates, but beyond a cursory glance, they don't pay you any mind. They may not be able to read Katsuki as well as you can, but even they know he'd never do anything to hurt you. "And I’m not letting you look at my homework. Mr. Aizawa would kill me.”

“Stop being dramatic.” He huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. He tries to pin you with a glare, but you meet his challenge head on and not once have you ever backed down. He's told you it's one of the reasons he fell for you, and you know he's telling the truth.

“Then after I was dead, he’d expel me.”

“What the hell.” He slumps back in his chair, frowning. You're surprised it took him so long to realize you wouldn't budge on sharing your homework assignments with him after being explicitly told not to by Mr. Aizawa, but it just tells you how determined he was.

“Sorry, Katsu." You sigh, picking up your pencil and twirling it around your fingers. You're not mean enough to start working on the assignment in front of him, but you're near enough to the end that you're eager to get back to focus. "But also not, because you’re the moron that snuck out to fight.”

“You said you understood.” He's pouting, moping, and you sigh deeply. The morning after he snuck out and earned his house arrest punishment, he showed up at your dorm door and explained what he could. Apparently, he had promised Izuku he wouldn't tell anyone everything that they had talked about, and you had told him you understood.

And now, sitting beside you, he looks enough like a kicked puppy that you can't help but set your hand on his cheek to tilt his face towards you. Your gently hand is placed more towards his ear, thumb brushing over his cheekbone once, and you swear you feels him press just slightly into you palm while his eyes turn softer.

Of course, you know he'd flush bright red and stumble over an excuse if you ever dreamed of voicing what you observed.

“I understand needing to talk things out with Izuku, and I understand when you say you can’t tell me what you guys discussed." You tell him, voice even and quiet so no one but him can hear you. Slowly, you slide your hand to the back of his head and tug on his hair hard enough to break the trance he was in. His glare is worth it, especially since the sight causes the edge of your lips to tug upwards into a grin. "I don’t understand the fighting. You’ve known Izuku since kindergarten.”

You press a kiss to the cheek opposite than you were holding to soothe the burn of your words, and he groans in defeat when you drop your hand back to your lap.

“Stop calling him Izuku." He mumbles out, trying to play off the fact that his face was flushing bright red from your scant few displays of affection. "Damn nerd.”

“You’re a moron.” You roll your eyes, leaning back in your seat while still have your body twisted to face him.

“The hell?” He snaps from his cheek-kiss drunk daze at your insult, though insults are practically the currency of romance in your relationship.

“You’re trying to be nice and sappy so I’ll let you look at my homework, but I know you better than that.”

“Shut up." He defends. You raise a brow in a silent challenge, smirk curving your lips. You even go so far as leaning your elbow on the table, chin tucked in your palm, so you can study him closely. He folds within seconds. "One page.”

“Not a chance.”

“C’mon—���

“Since you’re on garbage duty," You nod your head in the direction of the plastic bag he had been toting around before arriving at your table, shutting down his attempt at protesting your refusal. "Can you empty the bin in my room?”

“No, the hell?” He questions, but he's already standing from his chair. Your boyfriend is a smart man, and you know the only defeat he's willing to accept is when it comes to you.

“I will!" Izuku overhears your question while darting around the room, and eagerly offers. You know it's nothing more than from the kindness of his heart, but you also know your boyfriend will manage to see it as a form of competition. "I’m taking the rest of the trash out now.”

“Thanks, Izuku—” You grin, a giggle interrupted by Katsuki's huff, which turns it into a full laugh.

“Forget it, I’ll grab it." He's standing by your chair, glaring at Izuku, who gets the message and darts off throughout the common room to remind everyone else to bring out their garbage. And even though Izuku is long gone, you still hear your boyfriend mumbling to himself. “Got no reason to be going into your room; fucking nerd.”

You snort, tugging his arm so that he bends down far enough to let you kiss him sweetly. He obliges, but you can tell he's still eyeing your homework longingly. It's almost enough to make you roll your eyes.

“Thanks Katsuki." You hum as he goes on his way, but he lingers long enough to press a second kiss to the top of your head, followed shortly by a mumbled complaint. Though, he's still doing exactly as you asked of him.

“Damn brat.”

You can read him like a book, and you have him wrapped around your finger.