#it just seems like more trouble than it’s worth

[namgyu-nurture]

request!!!

ok so i get if your not comfortable with writing about this but can you write a fic about where the female reader is at a bridge ready to fall and somebody sees and calls the police and jun ho is the officer to respond, that’s all i really thought of but you got to off make them fall in love because the reader is stunning 🤩

Last minute love - Hwang Jun-ho x fem!reader

Warnings: a lot of suicidal thoughts!! Self harm, depression, mentions of bullying, fluff

A/N: im sorry if this is short or didnt get the exact thing you were looking for, but I was really happy to get a junho request actually hes so fine I love that guy 💪💪 tysm for this this was so fun to write

Life was hard. You were always bullied in school. Teased, harassed, humiliated, kids thought it was funny to make you cry. You were nothing but nice. Eating lunch alone in the school bathrooms, standing alone at break. You were pushed, shoved, kicked when going anywhere, you had tried to consult a councillor but they seemed to like your bullies more, ignoring your claims since you didn’t have proof.

You never understood why kids hated you so much. You weren’t exactly ugly, you had a glimmer of self confidence, looks wise at least. Maybe the way you acted? But you barely spoke. This is what riled you up. People despised you.. and for what reason?

Even as an adult, you were unlucky. No man ever looked your way, you always seemed to come second in hiring. Being broke and lonely you hated life, you always tried in school but your grades weren’t enough, you were a failure.

So here you are. Sat on the edge of the bridge, the busy highway flooded with cars moving by, the motion was a blur. You sat contemplating. ‘I should just jump. Get it over with’ you thought to yourself. You were so drained, afraid of dying but life wasn’t much better than dying anyway.

You sat for a while, just dangling your legs, hyping yourself up enough to jump. ‘Fucking wimp.’ You thought, looking at your hands that were cowering at the thought of jumping, your heart was pounding.

Unbeknownst to you, a man who had driven by noticed this situation, not fully sure if it was going to escalate but to be safe he rang the police. Alerting them.

You sat looking down. ‘Would the fall even kill you?’ You thought. It looked like it would, but the thought of it not killing you on impact made you hesitate, what if you didn’t die, but survived, the pain from the impact making your stomach churn.

Through the midsts of white/yellowy lights from headlights on the bridge and the musky orange light from the lampposts, you saw a flicker of red and blue lights approaching.

Panicking, when the car pulled over and a police officer came out, you gained composure and stood up. Shaking slightly as the heights of the situation increased.

“Excuse me miss.” A calm voice rang out, over the noise of the passing by cars. You turned to look at him, still stood on the edge of the bridge.

He was youngish, maybe in his 30s realistically but he looked younger. He was handsome, his dark hair parted neatly, his uniform was tidy and his eyes looked into yours from the distance he was stood.

“Can you step down from there?” He called out again, his tone was calm, well spoken and polite.

“..no.” You replied quietly. “No, I won’t.. leave..go away” your voice spiking in panic.

“Miss, please step down, you’re not in trouble. I just want to have a word with you.” He said kindly. Stepping forward and offering you a hand to step down.

He felt a twinge of anger that someone like you would be here, on the edge of the bridge, an urge of protection for you, he wasn’t sure why, he thought you were gorgeous. He didn’t know you, but he’d hate to see you go.

“W-why should I? Huh?” You responded angrily, “s’ not like life’s gonna be worth living anytime soon. I should just get it over with right? No one likes me anyway. I don’t know what the fuck I did but they all hate me.” Your voice cracked in upset as you ranted. You had a smile, a clearly forced one, as if amused by what you must’ve done to be here now.

Your eyes told a different story, the man noticed the hurt, the held back anguish. “You should step down because nothings going to resolve your problems if you die. Your mother would be heartbroken. If you want things to get better you need to resolve them.. be strong. Come on.” He spoke clearly, with a soft tone, he insisted his hand. And she looked at him. “Please.” He insisted once again.

She thought about his words and hesitantly took his hand. She stepped down, her sleeve riding up when she held his hand. Years of scars and burns littered her wrist, it shattered his heart to look at. Someone so beautiful being so.. hurt.

She noticed him looking and yanked her hand away, pulling her sleeve down. “Got a good look yeah?” She said spitefully.

“Im sorry.” He spoke, aware he was wrong for looking so long. “Would you like to talk? speak about whats on your mind?” He offered to which she shook her head.

A moment of silence passed.

“Could.. could I have a hug..?” She asked quietly, and he opened his arms. She wrapped her arms loosely around his midsection. One of his hands rested on her head, the other on her back.

“It’s going to be okay.” He said soothingly.

“Will it?” Your voice broke softly as you looked up at him.

“I’ll make sure of it.” He said softly to her making eye contact

“Promise?” She asked quietly.

“I promise.” He responded promisingly.

[burningembers91]

Seeking Attention - Hong Woo-Jin x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Hong Woo-Jin has a thing for the new Pilates instructor at the gym. But as someone who’s been left broken hearted one too many times, you’re going to make the cocky boxer work for your attention.

Hong Woo-Jin had always been a cocky bastard. He’d always been confident, and loud, the life and soul of the party. He constantly went out of his way to make people laugh, and it was forever getting him in trouble. Throughout school he’d been in detention more times than he could count, and as an adult his brash attitude had gotten him into hot water many times. But Woo-Jin couldn’t help it; he felt like he needed to be loud; being loud was better than being quiet and alone with his thoughts.

He’d always struggled with self-worth, never quite feeling good enough for the people around him. No matter what he did, he was a constant source of disappointment to his father. Growing up, he’d started to act out as a way of getting attention from the man he looked up to most. He knew it wasn’t clever, knew the plan was doomed to fail, but he was so desperate for acknowledgment from his father, no matter how much trouble he had to get in to receive it. The loudmouth troublemaker persona had stuck with him, and Woo-Jin didn’t know how to snap out of it. Every time he felt himself falter, every time he felt his self-worth slip, he’d crack a joke and pull some crazy stunt to convince himself he was doing just fine.

But sometimes the only thing that could halt the voice in his head was boxing. He’d started boxing as a child, another way he desperately sought the affection of his father. He had a natural talent, and although it still wasn’t enough to please the man who had raised him, Woo-Jin was hooked. Every spare second he had was spent at the gym, honing and crafting his skills. He won every fight, had medals and trophies adoring his walls and shelving, but it still wasn’t enough for his dad. He craved love and affection, but had never quite managed to find it.

He’d never had a problem with women, always able to get a date, but never quite able to get them to stick around. Woo-Jin told himself he was happy to live life as a bachelor, but his nights were so lonely.

When you joined as instructor at the Pilates studio across the hall from his boxing gym, Woo-Jin was determined to win you over. But you were unlike anyone he’d met before. You didn’t fall for his cheesy chat up lines, didn’t giggle at his jokes. You’d roll your eyes and sigh, and try your best to hide your smile.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like Woo-Jin, but you’d been burned one too many times, and you didn’t want to open yourself up to the inevitable heartbreak you knew would come.

Your classes coincided with his training, and the two of you interacted most days. You were funny, smart, witty and beautiful, and Woo-Jin so badly wanted the chance to make you happy. But you were a tough nut to crack, the one woman who seemed able to resist his charm. He wondered if he was losing his touch.

“What do you reckons tougher?” He asked one day, in a last ditch attempt to impress you. “Boxing, or Pilates?”

You rolled your eyes, knowing exactly what he was doing. “Pilates. Definitely Pilates.”

“Oh yeah?” Woo-Jin took a swig of his water bottle, his bare chest and torso glistening with sweat. You purposely avoided looking, not willing to admit to yourself how good he looked.

“Do you think I’d be any good?” He smiled, flexing his biceps.

“Well, if you sign up for my class and pay the entry fee, we’ll see,” you winked, before heading outside to your car.

You came in the next day to find Woo-Jin’s name on your next class sign up sheet, the entry fee pushed under the studio door. This man was unrelenting, but you felt your stomach flip.

If Woo-Jin was so desperate to impress you, you’d make him work for it.

[messyloverr]

"Underneath the Scowl"

Katsuki Bakugou x GN!Reader

Summary: You're an exchange student striving to become one of the best hero's in the world. As you're there you meet Katsuki Bakugou, and make it one of your goals to prove yourself to him despite his harsh attitude. Through intense training and perseverance, Bakugou begins to respect you, and what seemed like an unlikely friendship eventually blossoms into love.

Author's note: This is probably gonna turn into a series if anybody acc likes it. Also I haven't written a story in forever so im sorry to whoevers reading if this is shitty ! i wrote this for myself but decided to publish incase somebody else likes this super simple idea ;p

Katsuki Bakugou was a man of certainty—he almost never had any doubts about anything in his life. That was, of course, until you came along. From the moment he first laid eyes on you, he knew you'd be trouble.

You arrived as an exchange student alongside Pony Tsunotori, a good friend of yours. She was placed in class 1-B, which meant you'd be transferred into class 1-A. You weren't thrilled about being split up, but you knew that this way, you'd have a better shot at becoming a pro-hero.

The first day was rough—well, mostly for you. The rest of the students were welcoming, greeting you with smiles, showing you around, and offering you a seat next to them during class and lunch. But one person stood out: a blonde, crimson-eyed man who caught your attention.

You tried approaching him, noticing a small group of students surrounding him, which made you think he was just shy—much like Kyoka Jirou or Koji Koda, who had only introduced themselves after the pressure of their peers.

To your surprise, he made it clear that he had no interest in being friendly. So, you turned to Kirishima, who you'd spoken to briefly before.

"Hey, Kirishima!" you smiled as you walked up to him. "I hope it's not a problem, but do you think you could help introduce me to the others? I'm not sure if I've met everyone yet." You whispered the last part subtly, making sure it was clear you were talking about the spiky-haired man a few inches away.

Kirishima glanced between you and the man standing just inches away. He made an attempt to introduce you, but Bakugo quickly dismissed the gesture by ignoring the both of you entirely. "Don't mind him, Y/N," Kirishima said with a nervous chuckle. "Bakugou's just...well, bakugou." He offered a warm smile, hoping to ease the awkward tension. "He'll come around. You're brave for trying to talk to him, though. I mean, people usually avoid him at first..." He rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a light laugh.

"He can be a little intimidating at first, but once you get to know him, he's actually a great guy!" Kirishima continued, his voice carrying a sense of optimism.

You paused for a moment, wondering if it was worth the effort to keep trying. You quickly snapped out of it, reminding yourself of your purpose here: to become a hero. The first step? Bakugou. You had seen him in action during the sports festival and were eager on seeing him and his quirk up close.

The following days were the hardest . You tried your best to fit in with your classmates, but you couldn't shake off the feeling that Bakugou's fiery glares and constant scowls were tracking your every move. Everyone else seemed fine with your presence, he was the only person who didn't. He remained an impenetrable wall of hostility, and the more he avoided you, the stronger your curiosity grew.

He certainly didn't make it easy. Every time you tried to strike a conversation, he simply shut you down cold.

"Tch, I'm not here for this." or, "Why don't you go and bother someone else?"

Despite his words, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to him than his tough exterior led to believe. Beneath his aggressive attitude, you'd sensed a burning determination—the relentless drive to become a true hero, no matter who or what stood in his way,

One afternoon, after class, you found yourself sitting on the steps of the U.A. dorms. You needed a moment to let the weight of everything settle and to clear your head. As you gazed up at the sky, an uneasiness tugged at your chest, as though you didn't truly belong here.

Suddenly, you heard a familiar voice.

"Tch, you really gonna sit out here like some lost puppy?"

You turned in surprise, finding Bakugou standing with his arms crossed, gazing at you like usual, but with an odd softness in his eyes.

You let out a light chuckle, trying to keep things light-hearted. "I'm not some lost puppy, just thinking... It's been a lot, you know?"

"Yeah, I get it" He muttered, his tone softer than you'd ever heard it. "Things here are tough. But don't act like you're all alone."

For a moment, you stared at him in disbelief. You never expected him to be the one to offer comfort. Much less stand there talking to you. And for a second, you swore you saw a flicker in his eyes, of something beneath his fiery exterior. His true self? Maybe.

Before you could respond, he turned away, his usual edge creeping back into his voice. "Don't get any ideas, you just pissed me off less than usual today. I've got one goal: becoming the number one hero. And I'm not gonna let some extra get in my way." He muttered.

A smile tugged at the corner of your lips as he walked away. Despite his harsh words, you counted this as a small victory. You had shared a real conversation, and that alone felt like progress.

As the days passed, you noticed something had shifted. Bakugou's gaze was different—It wasn't his usual cold, hostile glare you'd grown used to. This time, there was something subtle about it, something you couldn't quite put your finger on.

Sometimes, his eyes occasionally lingered on you, and he wouldn't look away. It was as if he didn't like the connection but couldn't help himself. In fact, his whole demeanor had changed subtly. Surprisingly, when no one was looking, he would give you the briefest nod of acknowledgement as you passed by in the halls. It wasn't much, but it was a small sign that something had changed.

The real turning point came during a training exercise. Your class was split into teams for a mock battle, the goal being to teach everyone how to cooperate with other unexpected hero's in high-pressure circumstances . The moment you saw your teammate, your heart sank—Bakugou.

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

☕︎ ꩜.ᐟ addie's works in progress!

hai everyone, this is where i store my upcoming works! shoot me a message or comment if you would like to be tagged in any of them! (or should i start a perm taglist idk lolol)

i'll keep this updated as much as i can (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡ - addie (っᵔ◡ᵔ)っ

ᝰ.ᐟ lee heeseung ── 이희승

[wip!] fine line ── e2l!au, idol!heeseung, strangers to lovers!au ✎ᝰ. crack, teensy bit of angst, fluff

⤷ teaser coming out soon! (my next upcoming fic :3)

↳ heeseung’s got two problems: (1) he can’t sleep, and (2) he’s addicted to the 1AM combo of instant spicy ramyeon and coffee milk from his favorite convenience store around the corner. the only thing more consistent than his insomnia? his nightly visits for his beloved snacks (and maybe glare at the new night shift employee who seems to judge his food choices, too). & pstt, spoiler alert: you're the said new night shift employee.

ᝰ.ᐟ park jongseong ── 박종성

[wip!] love looks pretty on you ── friends to lovers!au, fakedating!au (kinda), golden retriever x black cat!duo✎ᝰ fluff, angst, crack, rom-com

↳ jay has mastered the art of romance—flowers, candlelit dinners, sweet nothings whispered over the phone at 2 AM—you name it. but commitment? yeah, not really his thing. but so isn’t being alone. love is fun, love is exciting, but love is not forever. at least, not for jay. you, on the other hand, think love is a glorified pyramid scheme formed by societal expectations. so, no thanks! so when jay proposes a deal—he’ll show you the fun side of dating if you help him figure out why his relationships never last—it’s purely educational. totally hypothetical. no real feelings involved. just two people trying to prove a point. except now, you’re starting to enjoy rom-coms, and he’s looking at you like you’re something worth staying for—and suddenly, you two discover that love isn’t just a scam or a fleeting thrill. maybe...just maybe—it looks a lot like the two of you. and that? that was never part of the deal.

ᝰ.ᐟ sim jaeyun ── 심재윤

[wip!] love, actually ── secretadmirer!jake (kinda, you'll see heh), childhood bestfriends!au, friends to lovers!au, highschool!au ✎ᝰ. fluff, crack, rom-com

↳ ah, love. l'amour. the very word stirs our imaginations and pulls at all our heartstrings. well—all except yours. after your bad luck with relationships, you're simply convinced that love is not for you. and a certain jake sim—your annoyingly persistent best friend—has made it his personal mission to prove you wrong. his brilliant plan? writing you love letters under the identity of a secret admirer. foolproof, right? well...if his goal was to make you fall for a completely fictional person, then sure—he aced it. there's just one teensy, tiny, problem: the more you swoon over your so-called secret admirer, the more jake starts to realize he might be the one in trouble.

ᝰ.ᐟ park sunghoon ── 박성훈

[wip!] love me if you dare ── idol!sunghoon, childhood friends to lovers!au ✎ᝰ. angst

⤷ based off this sneak peak i posted years ago! (literally posted it four years ago and finally now committing to finishing it...)

↳ in which you know exactly what (or rather, who) you want (p.s. it’s sunghoon), and you’re not afraid to show it. sunghoon, on the other hand? he’s afraid of many things—starting with the very real #1 fear of losing you, his lifelong best friend. so when you go and confess your feelings for him, sunghoon faces his worst nightmare. but between falling for you and losing you, he realizes there’s only one thing scarier than his number #1 fear��never even getting the chance to love you at all. and it takes him confronting that to understand that the perfect love casts out all fears.

[wip!] accidentally yours ── highschool!au (or college!au, i haven't 100% decided lolz) , classmates to lovers!au ✎ᝰ. fluff, crack, rom-com

↳ the universe has a funny way of working. some people find their fate in poetry, in the stars, or in the grand, sweeping moments of life. you? you find yours in the form of park sunghoon—a boy you keep running into in the most unfortunate ways possible. like how he threw a football straight into your face and broke your nose. or when he got way too drunk at a party and threw up all over your shoes. or that time he somehow managed to blow up your entire science lab during class. in other words—the five times the universe tries to tell you that park sunghoon is your fate…and the one time you finally listened. (and maybe fate had less to do with a broken nose and more to do with the way he looks at you like you’re his favorite accident.)

ps: no exact dates as of rn for when they get released,,,ty for your support & patience ᰔᩚᰔᩚᰔᩚ - addie

© jakesimfromstatefarm ── all rights reserved. all works & ideas & graphics are my own! pls no copying, stealing, or translating!

[vunderjoy]

I would be the most boring protagonist ever. If I was given some kind of item or circumstance that would improve my life but “at a price” I would simply refuse to engage with it. Not even entertaining the thought. I know what kinds of lessons it’s going to teach me already, and frankly I’m not interested in dealing with all that on top of everything else! If Ryuk gave me the death note I would simply burn it and shoo him out of my home. Give me a genie lamp and I’ll go “no thank you!” and hand it straight back.

[goldennika]

may be a hot take but i think kids should experience being bored more

instead we have a generation of ipad kids (worse, ipad babies) who are being overstimulated from day one — never really having a moment to connect with who or what is around them as they are just absorbed in what is on their screen

there would be an entire generation who would not know the simple thrill of choosing the “winning”water droplet make it down the car window during a rainy ride around town or finding hidden animal shapes among cloud formations during long car rides

i fear they would grow up to always needing instant gratification — on-demand streaming culture, same-day delivery, AI — and worse, being absolutely bombarded by external stimuli that they do not get a chance to properly form an original idea that comes from taking the time to inspect, explore, and interact with their environment

[independent-fics]

I know people often interpret Eliot’s unwillingness to fight cops as pro cop (which maybe it is) but on my interpretation I just take it as him not wanting the hassle. Like cops have power and their job is to remember faces and pursue criminals. Like Eliot probably knows it’s more logical to just avoid the hassle altogether.

[timeisacephalopod]

You know as a horror fan "cultural Christianity" is such a useful term because as an atheist as well as a horror fan and a fan of haunted house stuff if it's done well I very, very quickly noticed how many horror movies are Christian propaganda. So few horror movies involving religion (which is a shocking amount of them btw) pick any religion that's not Christianity to center itself around and when they do that religion is bad and evil, not the cause of evil and the savior from it (because the demons may be Christian, but God and the bible are also the solutions in a way other religions aren't granted. Bonus points if it's an indigenous religion being portrayed as Evil and Bad).

Pretty much any exceptions I can think of to that rule use Judaism and the Holocaust as a backdrop and never in like a normal, the Holocaust is horrible way it's always playing on myths of Nazi Germany's experimentation on the Jewish population. Which I find highly troubling and disturbing, but regardless nothing like being a horror fan to convince you of cultural Christianity because no other genre leans on religion as a plot device so much unless it's straight up a Christian movie for a Christian audience using Christianity as it's main theme and through line.

[yardsards]

my quality of life would increase by a ridiculous amount if i owned a dishwasher i think

[pinnithin]

I feel an essay on shadowheart coming on

[ibskurapika]

real "i want a breast reduction" hours fellas

[t-audrey-blog]

writing star wars fanfiction really do be like *writes fifty pages without pause, then spends an hour looking at wookieepedia to dig up two appropriate jedi to reference for a single paragraph*. sigh

[musical-chick-13]

Ugh, not me going, "Maybe after I finish this multichapter, I never write again."

[confetti-critter]

Social interaction where I got anxious over nothing and it got resolved with nothing bad happening but I still feel like I'm dying.

[gutsby]

Make It Stick

Pairing: Old!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel never thought he’d need a vasectomy. Then, one night, he accidentally finishes inside you.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected-peepaw-p-in-v (I’m sorry). Accidental creampie. Age gap. Cumplay. Breeding kink. Ovulation has led me places I wouldn’t go with a gun.

Note: Convergence is a painting by Jackson Pollock. We studied it in high school and I thought it looked like jizz idk

Word count: 4.7k

Prequel | Part 1 | Part 2

He should’ve gotten snipped when he had the chance.

Should’ve taken the plunge, faced his fears of needles and fluorescent-washed doctor’s offices like any man his age could have done and gotten the damn vasectomy. Now he was here, nearly two decades older and still none the wiser in this cold, dead world with a pretty young thing like you between his sheets. In lieu of elective surgery, Joel Miller had only to grit his teeth, bite hard, and repeat over and over again in his head, desperate:

‘Don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cum, DON’T—’

Words like those normally worked. With women that weren’t you, they tended to serve him exceedingly well.

But you were just so tight. And wet. And welcoming. And try as Joel might to pretend like he got laid on a regular basis, the truth was that he didn’t. Wouldn’t. Couldn’t seem to think straight when it came to this fixation he’d developed for you, so, instead, he let his dick do all the decision-making whenever he found himself around you. Ten times out of ten that ended in:

“J-J-Joel—oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck—I’m gonna CUM.”

And that made it worth every last life-endangering drop.

Feeling how your flushed, lithe body came apart beneath his touch. How you needed him. How your eyes grew to half the size of your face and you gaped up at the man, lips parted, like you couldn’t even comprehend how the friction of seven inches could make you feel so good.

If he had it his way, he would’ve loved nothing more than to show you that feeling every night, and twice the next morning if his hip wasn’t giving him too much trouble.

But, at present, the man had bigger fish to fry. Like not becoming a new father at fifty-nine if he could help it.

With the last two fluttering pulses of your heat, and almost going cross-eyed from the pleasure as he felt it, Joel yanked his big, slippery cock out of your body and made a fist around his member as he always knew to do. Tugged and pulled and grunted above you—‘Sweet girl, you’re so fuckin’ good to me’—and watched your tits and your belly for the milky white ropes to ensue.

Strangely, though, your skin stayed the same.

No cum-spray Convergence appeared before him, no opaque and cloudy fluids dribbling down your ribs, nothing. Your stomach was as bare as the rest of you, save for a few beads of sweat, and that was all there was.

Joel shook his dick harder, confused. Beneath him, you were still coming down from your high smiling ear-to-ear and staring blissfully at the ceiling. Your chest rose and fell, rose and fell in quick succession, and while you endeavored to recollect your mind, Joel was losing his.

Where the FUCK was his cum?

In no naked horizontal tango to date had Joel simply…cum without noticing. Shit like that just didn’t happen to men, least of all to ones his age, so when he’d wrung his poor cock like a sodden towel and still saw nothing come out, he felt his stomach turn and plummet inside him.

He dropped to his hands and knees in less than a moment and lowered his head between your legs.

“No, Joel!” you squealed, giggling. Kicking your feet, “Another round and I’m gonna combust, you old perv!”

But Joel wasn’t looking to get his dick wet again. He was inspecting you. Or trying to, anyway. Quickly realizing he couldn’t see a thing in the darkness, he let out a breath through his nose and lifted you off the bed. Your naked frame thrown over his shoulder, bare hip beside his head and your strangled, muffled cry of, ‘What the hell, Joel?!’ hardly seemed to register with the man carrying you off.

You were toted to the bathroom. Joel was about to ease you down on your feet. Then, appearing to change his mind at the last second, he set you onto the sink instead. Your skin bristled with indignation, anger. A little arousal.

“Last time we did it on a sink we broke the faucet,” you reminded him, feigning more dismay than you really felt inside. If anything, you liked it when your fossil-age fuckbuddy switched things up. You were just exhausted.

Heedless of your words, Joel kneeled on the floor and pried your legs apart before him. When you swatted at his silver-flecked head, he brushed your hand away.

“Hold still,” he grunted.

“How come?”

“‘Cause I said.”

How quickly he commanded that tone of a father.

“Wanna sleep,” you groaned, about to roll your eyes.

But you couldn’t deny you liked being doted on by him.

Joel’s touch was gentle. Probing. Spidering down the most sensitive parts of your bare lower half, between your thighs, and slowly coaxing you closer to the edge of the sink. Your breath hitched when you saw his head tilt.

He appeared to be deep in thought—a rare sight for anyone who’d seen Joel Miller in the postcoital state. Most every time he’d blown his load before, the man was dead asleep within ten minutes. His joints could barely hold himself upright after a half hour of plowing the back forty, much less carry you, too, so you were puzzled now.

He thumbed at the seam of your cunt, and you whined:

“Jo-el—”

“Can ya…push, baby?” His eyes flitted up quickly.

“Push?”

“Yeah, just…” With a look you couldn’t quite read, he placed the palm of his other hand on your belly. Then, pressing, “Like this. Like you’re squeezin’ somethin’ out.”

You cocked a brow in muted confusion but did as he asked. You watched his gaze, and it stayed on you.

Or, rather, on that soft and pliant spot between your legs the old man seemed to favor so much. On any other occasion, in a position like this, he surely would’ve been wearing a smile. Tonight, his lips curled into a grimace.

And twisted even further when you ‘pushed’ like you did.

At first you felt nothing. A gentle clench of your walls supplied little more than a sense of having been stretched—no novel concept to you, who’d spent the last three-and-a-half months or so getting fucked by the finest AARP affiliate alive most every night. It wasn’t until you clamped down again that you got the feeling there was something else. Something thick and warm and slow as molasses trickling out from between your folds.

You let out a low, tender, ‘Mmph’ without meaning to; it felt kind of nice. Beneath you, Joel’s face turned grave.

He watched as his spend oozed out of your freshly-fucked hole and thought of vasectomies again.

You were young—too young to know better. Too sweet and naïve to see any peril in spreading your legs for a man like him, in a world like this. And Joel swore he’d be careful. But no post-apocalyptic birth control method was perfect, or even close to it, and it was clear he’d relied too heavily on reflexes to keep him from cumming inside you. Joel was old—too old to be doing this shit.

Too grown and well-versed in sex to be making mistakes as stupid as that. His brow pinched in, and he drew his next breath as if the air around him was growing scarce.

“Joel, what’s—”

“When’s the last time you— you— uh…bled?”

Hardly more in control of his face than the rate his heart went thudding in his chest, Joel winced at the end. This time, you were the one to knit your eyebrows together. You could tell by that tight, discomfited tone he wasn’t talking papercuts, but were still unsure of his purpose.

“Like two, two and a half weeks ago. Why?”

Well, fuck.

Joel buried his face in his hands. You scooted closer to the sink’s edge, thinking little of his cum leaking out.

“Why?” you tried again. Softer this time.

An old, weathered head lifted to greet you. It was bleak.

“You see this?” Joel paused. Swiping his finger through the viscous white substance that had trickled out on the counter, in a puddle now, “Y’know what it means, right?”

You let his look, and the question, remain suspended in air for a second. Then another. Then you shrugged.

“Yeah. But…you’re old,” came your answer at length.

You’re old.

Joel and you both knew as much, but the former wasn’t quite following your train of thought. Still wanting to try and mitigate damages while he could, though, Joel reached for the roll of toilet paper that was fastened to the wall and tore himself a strip. He bunched it up and, reaching for one of your knees to spread you further for him, took to daubing the tissue across your entrance.

“What’s me bein’ old got to do with anything?” A little sharp, then, seeing you flinch when he drew too close to your clit, “‘m sorry, baby, just— gotta get this out of you.”

You made a face but let him continue anyway. Your eyes followed each movement of his hand, and reflexively, the muscles in your thighs tightened. Why bother with this when the man has so many better uses for his hands?

For a second, your eyes fluttered half-shut.

“Maria says old folks are, uh…infertile. Got something to do with a middle pause,” you said, breaths labored.

Joel stopped just long enough to shoot you a look.

“Menopause,” he corrected, all too matter-of-fact, before returning to his work, “is a woman thing.”

What the hell were they teaching in Jackson’s sex ed classes, anyway? Then Joel remembered how his brother sincerely believed that women peed out of their vaginas until he was twenty-three, and the thought of you not knowing the ins and outs of male virility wasn’t the most far-fetched idea in the universe. Besides, sexual health wasn’t exactly the community’s highest priority when the world around it was in a perpetual state of decay and hordes of fungus-faced fuckers ran rampant in the wild.

He curved a tender, careful finger against the ring of muscles framing your sex, trying to absorb more cum, and your grip on the edge of the countertop tightened.

“S-So, you—” You swallowed, throat constricting a little too, “You’re sayin’…men can make babies…whenever?”

You sounded so innocent as you said it. Joel wanted nothing more than to club himself over the head for being the cause of this predicament—of being such an instrumental part of the perceived corruption, as it was.

Meanwhile, your head was swimming in filthier thoughts.

Deeper, Joel, keep…pushing in…dee-e-per. You would have scarcely had more luck giving a fuck what Joel was talking about now than if he’d just said the room was on fire. By his voice, you knew you should’ve been paying attention, but the dexterity of his fingers was too much. He was caressing the first couple inches of your inner walls, attempting to scrape what bits of his release he could get unstuck from the flesh, but it seemed he was succeeding mostly in just turning you on. Rendering you deaf to the drone of his words as you pictured him pushing something else inside your tight, throbbing—

“—whole lotta problems for us if you’re, uh…ovulating,” Joel finished, expression taut and oblivious. You hadn’t heard the first part of that sentence and didn’t care to.

“Ovulating,” you repeated slowly. Indifferent.

Joel carried on without a hitch.

“Kids just ain’t fit for this world. I know you know that.”

You nodded along, not hearing a word.

“And if you’re— if y’ever did consider, maybe…”

Your lungs took an extra sharp inhale when Joel’s fingers coaxed out a warm, sticky glob of his load, and he petted your folds with his thumb. Then let out a breath himself.

“…y’oughta start a family with someone your own age—”

That part snagged your attention. Too swiftly, it came:

“My own age?”

Sighing, in spite of those welts of pleasure so heightened by his touch that the space between your legs began to throb and ache. Hardly possessed of more sense to form words that weren’t just echoes of his own, you tried communication from a simpler source—your foot.

You nudged his shoulder, and Joel looked up.

“What?”

“What?”

Parroting was, evidently, a hard habit to kill. Your toes curled into the bare skin of Joel’s shoulder, and when he re-inserted his finger, you ground your heel even deeper.

“When’s that ev…ever stopped us from doing it before, hm?” you said, tone strained but laced with some humor too, “Thought you liked sayin’ you’d make me a mama.”

Joel’s face flooded pink at the recollection—as a matter of fact, there had been several such memories. Instead of answering immediately, he just averted his gaze again. He anchored one hand to your thigh, and with the other teased out another string of your shared arousal before wiping his finger on the tissue, clinically, and repeating. All he had to offer in reply after was: ‘That’s different.’

And it was, to some extent. Joel wasn’t blind to the sea of uneasy looks that trailed behind you both whenever you walked the streets of Jackson together. How wide the eyes would get when instead of observing some filial display of affection play out before them, as expected, you’d loop your arms around his waist and take his lip between your teeth as you kissed—‘Can we please go home now, baby?’—that Joel was certain he’d been cemented as the resident pervert among everyone in town. Just how much worse that reputation was liable to get if there ever happened to be a round and swollen belly between that embrace someday was unthinkable. Dirty talk was one thing; parenthood another entirely.

This is for the best, became the low, grating refrain in his skull. Why he dug so hard, pushed so far inside the wet, velvety interior of your body without a thought for his own desires in that moment; he had to cull every trace of himself out of there, before he had half a chance to think.

“Baby, hey, hey, no—” Joel cut in a second later, abrupt.

No, no, no. You weren’t thinking either. Wrapping your hand around his wrist, pushing his fingers deeper inside.

Smiling a little, too.

“What are you— no, honey, don’t— you can’t,” Joel’s words splintered in every direction, watching you plunge his own index and middle fingers into the slick and the warmth he’d just been trying to get his cum out of. He looked up and saw your lids were heavy, about to close.

“What are you doin’? This ain’t…no, baby, it ain’t…safe.”

Back to sounding like a dad in no time at all.

“What’s wrong with leaving it in a bit longer? Feels nice.”

You had no idea what you were talking about. Joel pulled back on his hand and, in less than a second, had it freed.

“I just told you,” he huffed, “You’re too young—”

“I’m plenty old, Joel,” you returned, eyes snapping open, “You’ve shown me that more times than I can count.”

Joel was silent, stunned. He rose to his feet as your eyes seared holes into his, and for a second, he was uncertain whether to take a step back or reach out for you again.

“Baby…”

To his surprise, something like hurt surfaced behind your eyes. You set your lips in a tighter line, and your grip on the counter grew firmer just the same. He would’ve taken that move as his cue to lean in gently, slot his body between your thighs, and venture an apology of some sort, when the next thing you did stopped him cold.

Without a word, you slipped your free hand between your legs—eyeing Joel closely, almost scornfully, as you did.

You took your middle and ring fingers and sank them into your cunt. Not intending to let a drop of his spend leak out, you wedged them in as far as they’d go. Joel watched. Gawked. Once sufficiently pleased with the look of shock taking over his handsome, aged features, you withdrew the fingers. You brought them up to your mouth, wrapped your lips around the tips, and sucked.

It was a rare thing to get a taste of you and Joel together like this, so you savored it. You moved your mouth further down to drink it all in, peering up with wide, indulgent eyes and a look that was meant to punish.

Feels nice.

Tastes alright, too.

You’d licked the last bit of this glaze off your hand when your stomach clenched. You knew it would happen. Full as you were, you feared your body still hungered for more. As such, it hardly came as a surprise when next your muscles tensed, and you shifted closer to Joel.

“Maybe I don’t want babies with someone my own age.”

Either one of your knees were nudging his hips. Drawing him in. Joel appeared to waver for a second, unsure, but the look on his face made it clear this was mostly a matter of a delayed reaction. He couldn’t get his legs to move because the rest of him was still in awe. Staring at your lips, where the residue of his spend was glistening, then to your eyes, which were no less inviting, then up to the crown of your head and over it, to fix his stare on the mirror behind it. You watched him watch his own reflection with a look that was both hard and unkind, breathing slow. When he didn’t stir from that position after a minute, you touched a hand to his lower stomach.

And, brushing the heel of your palm against what felt like a hundred grey hairs in the old man’s happy trail—your favorite ones—you smoothed a caress along his belly, back and forth, before moving it left. Your hand came to rest on a mound of muscle and fat sitting right above his hip. Love handles, Joel had remarked one morning with vague distaste. Love handles, you’d repeated, beaming. You held on tightly now, appreciatively, and used your well-loved wall of flesh to pull him closer. As with any beckoning of yours, Joel didn’t have so much as half a mind to resist. He did, however, refuse to meet your gaze while you tilted your hips and spread your legs wider, before winding your ankles around the backs of his legs.

“Don’t you think I’d look pretty?” You pouted up at him. Your folds made a light, warm suction rubbing along the front of Joel’s cock—of course he’d grown hard again, and you could hold him, point him down to that wet embrace awaiting him patiently at the edge of the sink.

Joel cursed under his breath.

“‘Course I do…” he said, voice hoarse, “Y’always look—”

“I mean…with your baby inside me, Joel. Right here.”

As if to put a finer point on your words, you nestled the head of his cock inside the first inch of your body. Joel had to seize the laminate underneath you and grit his teeth to keep from letting out a groan too loud. That tip may as well have been a first-rate conductor of heat, and your warmth the thing that might send him spilling again

“You don’t—” Joel choked out, nearly incensed, “—don’t know what the hell you’re sayin’, baby. What that means.”

In truth, there wasn’t a world Joel Miller could imagine where a girl like you could give more than a passing thought to getting knocked up by him—a man his age. What good would it do? You had your whole life laid out before you like a four-course dinner spread; there was no sense whatsoever in letting the meal go to waste on him.

He communicated as much by moving to pull out.

You met the effort with a push of your own, sinking down another inch or two on his shaft and smiling when you saw his eyes roll back in his head at the dizzying friction.

“I know more than enough, old man—” Grin stretching ear-to-ear as you dug your heels in his ass and tugged him deeper, “—who do you think taught me all this?”

Of course, it had been Joel.

Always, always him—the only one, in fact.

Your walls drew him in like a hug. For once, Joel conjured up the strength to take a look between your lower half and his, and when he did, the next moan was inevitable. It trickled through his lips. Your body looked sublime swallowing a third of his cock, and it was almost as though a maggot had crawled into his brain, chanting:

‘Make her full. Make her yours. Tell any man who’d even think of looking her way she belongs to someone else.’

He couldn’t.

Joel would never be so selfish. Just think of her youth.

But when his gaze drifted back to yours, every thought and any word besides seemed gently to melt away. Beneath him, your eyes were two pools of desire.

“You like this…don’t you, Joel?” Your voice was tiny.

“I do.”

In fact, he loved it.

“Then why can’t we?” Why shouldn’t we?

Minuscule now, the words that reached him barely exceeded a whisper. It was as though the moment itself had drained all fear from your face—and out of Joel, all common sense from his brain—leaving you both to stare at the other with shared, stupid, anoetic looks of bliss. The man who had you beat by thirty-odd years seemed nearly of the same mind, with almost identical ignorance.

Idiocy.

“Just once?” Joel croaked.

Somewhere underneath, unseen, you smiled.

“Just one?” you murmured back.

He sank in another inch. When your walls contracted around him, Joel’s hands found your hips by force of habit and pushed your back against the glass behind it. The mirror was cool, and inside you, Joel was throbbing.

“Once,” he repeated, not thinking too deeply.

“One,” you said, with a world of more purpose.

Joel relinquished the last three inches, and with it, all of his resolve. The handsome, scarred, and plainly greying features all twisted as one, and the expression that you knew too well to mean that the man was feeling good took on the slightest hint of guilt. He gripped you tighter.

“One?” Joel panted. Confused.

He pulled out halfway just to find his home again. Your pearly slick mixed together with his spend, and both coated over Joel’s shaft in a pretty, generous sheen.

“One more of you, I mean.” You sounded too sweet. There was no way in hell you’d actually meant it.

Joel’s cheeks flushed again, but he didn’t stop, either.

“Baby…” he trailed off instead. He pushed in, pulled out, felt your tender little hole make an ‘o’ around his shaft, and then he kissed the edge of your left cheek—maybe to rein in the need in his words before he spoke again: “One’a me takes and I’m givin’ ya fifteen more, y’hear?”

The smile he received told him as much as he needed to hear. He probably wouldn’t have believed it even if you’d said the words yourself. Joel’s thrusts sped up, and as the pleasure distended in the pit of his stomach with the friction and the feel, his words flowed a little more freely.

In disbelief, “Wanna be a mama that bad for me, huh?”

Your grin grew bigger. You nodded your head.

“Make your old man a daddy, is that it?”

Exactly. Senseless as it was, your look said it all.

To have slipped between the grooves and ridges of Joel’s brain and caught wind of even a fraction of the things he wanted to do to you then, a smarter girl would have run. Would have shoved him back out as swiftly as she’d let him in and told him no, that’s gross, and gone home. And, had the grey matter floating inside your own skull not been so completely dominated by primal need and wanting, that’s likely what you would have done, too. Instead, with a head full of lewd, youthful stupidity, you seized the black-grey curls dangling at the nape of his neck and drew him closer. You spread your legs wider.

“That is what you’ve wanted this whole time, right?”

Under his scruff, a muscle tensed as Joel bit down.

That’s all he’s ever wanted.

Let the neighbors talk.

Let them say what they wanted to say—it was probably all true to the point they were trying to make, anyway. That Joel was a pervert, of course. That you were naïve, also true. That you would look too good not to stare in a white cotton frock with a bump underneath, absolutely. These were the ideas permeating your brain and his while Joel took a firmer hold of your sides and brought his nose to rest against yours. With every stab of his hips, he pressed kisses to your soft, parted lips, speaking low:

“That what you want, too, darlin’?” More serious now.

The head of his cock nicked a sensitive ridge inside you, eliciting a whimper, but you nodded. You nodded again, feeling the brush of his stubble at your mouth and your chin, and nodded again when he bottomed out, stuffing you tight. It felt a little more momentous than any other time in the past, now that you were picturing a fullness that wasn’t just him. Him and you: a concrete being to soothe the sting of his absence long after Joel withdrew.

Something to stick.

“Please say it, baby.”

Someone to call yours.

“I want it,” you said, sounding desperate.

A coil was just starting to form in the place you felt him. Drifting up, pulling tight, making your eyes go glossy and wide while they stuck to Joel’s and begged him for more.

“Want what?” He sped up, and his thrusts got sloppy.

“Want you,” you breathed, “Inside me, Joel, please.”

As if predicting your next thoughts, the man lowered his hand to your belly. You hadn’t even noticed the smallest bulge had taken shape beneath the skin. Joel slowed, momentarily, then rubbed the base of his palm against the mound where your body was obliged to make room for his cock inside you. He drew soft, tender circles there and, with the motion, sent stars flying before your eyes.

“Good girl,” he murmured, “Right here?”

“Ri— right there. Right there.”

Joel adored that sound. The soft, elated look, the gentle knoll of flesh in a bump below his hand, the whimpers rolling off your tongue repeatedly, quicker and quicker the more the pleasure inside you continued to build. Joel’s release was coming soon, too. For the hundredth time that night, he silently wished he were a little younger; so he could fill you up once, twice, twenty more times until your insides were stuffed and painted white. As if reading his mind, as he had for you, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss.

“Hope our baby has your eyes,” you murmured to him.

It shouldn’t have had such a strong effect—but of course, it did. Joel pictured the small, sweet infant with irises that shone a bit like his, and his stomach caved in.

Tonight, tomorrow, or ten months down the line, he was getting you pregnant. He’d clear his whole schedule for it

“That right?” And now he couldn’t stop the smile as he spoke, leaning even further in, “What about their nose?”

He kissed the tip of yours.

“Hope they get this.”

He kissed either one of your cheeks.

“These too.”

You had to fight back a laugh while his scruff tickled skin. Two deep strokes away from the brink of release and he still somehow always stayed in tune with your needs.

The threat of your peak was perilously near. Joel’s spend and your slick, tender glaze made a chorus of sounds at each thrust, and the deeper he went, the bigger it swelled. Your smiles couldn’t stay for much longer when the feeling inside you both was being amplified like that. Sensing this, Joel took hold of your face and slipped his touch to cup your chin. He made you tilt your head up to him, as if to ask again, ‘Are you sure?’ and when you nodded, his lips twitched again. A fleeting hint of a grin, like he couldn’t be more eager to finish now if he tried.

Holding your face, cock swollen and throbbing and desperate between your walls, he felt a familiar twitch.

There it is.

[phagodyke]

I have to be up for work in 3 hours and I'm gonna be real I think ive hit the point where I might not be getting any sleep at all. for fucks sake.