#one Shot

[winnie1emon]

✧.* now what happens when you find a frustrated theodore nott on the quidditch pitch...?

theodore nott x prefect!lamb!reader (fem pov)

word count: approx. 2.4k

cw: MDNI!!, smut, dom!theo, innocent!reader, sexual language, praise, piv, fingering, unprotected sex, face painting lmao, slight exhibitionism(?)(on the quidditch stands lol)

a/n: first smut fic like ever i fear... don't bully please </3 + been working on this sleep-deprived, lmk about spelling mistakes :(

"Hey- hey!" you said loudly over the raging music, leaning over your friend's shoulder. "I'm gonna go; got prefect duty!"

Your friend, too engrossed in your house's quidditch victory party after they had beaten Slytherin earlier that evening, gave you a mere nod before realizing you actually said something. "Really? There are other prefects out anyways and you never find anyone. Don't be lame, just stay!"

"No, it's fine. I like walking outside anyways, it's fun," you explained, garnering a rather dismissive wave goodbye from your friend.

You trudged down the corridors searching for the way out of the castle. Curfew was approaching and you were given the task of finding a few stragglers outdoors; a task you most appreciated due to the fact you'd never find anybody and you were usually lucky with receiving ample amounts of good weather.

Too comfortable with the usual, you spent most of your patrol time frolicking on the grassy fields and never looked too carefully for any students. You were about to head back inside when you saw the broom shed's door open. Curiously, you peered inside and nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary...

A bit daunted, you closed the door and suddenly saw movement in the corner of your eye. You whipped around quickly, seeing someone flying on the quidditch pitch. You made your way into the pitch, assuming it was some overzealous lowerclassman riding on their broomstick.

As you made your way into the pitch, you realized how large it really was, somewhat awestruck. Hearing a distressed grunt, you turned around and saw the person who was flying, quite a distance away, chuck their broom onto the ground. You hastened over and the image came into view. Their brunette waves became clearer with each step you took and you managed to get their attention.

"H-hey!" You waved. You came to a stop in front of them, slightly huffing as they looked at you acutely. "Theodore, it's curfew in like... oh, two minutes ago."

Theodore raised an eyebrow at your words, seeming as if he had no idea who you were. "What?" he asked you, even though he heard what you said.

"It's past curfew, you can't be here," you said patiently. "What are you even doing here?"

"What's it look like?" he retorted. "Practicing," he added before you could answer his rhetoric question.

"Well... you should practice tomorrow. You already had that game today, you should take a break," you suggested.

He gave you what was probably the most condescending look ever, roaming over your figure. "Yeah, and we lost, princess. Need to practice."

"Don't overwork yourself," you said, your voice tinged with concern. "You were great today, I saw!"

"Mhm, probably cheering on your house, yeah?" he sneered. "Just get lost, I'm not harmin' anyone by practicing, but you're going to tell someone aren't you?" He looked a bit taut and you couldn't help but feel a bit of pity for him. After all, he wasn't the worst player on his team yet he was the only one here practicing, probably losing hairs in the process.

"No, I won't tell anyone," you said quickly. "You look exhausted though. At least sit down." You trailed all the way to one of the tall wooden towers going up to the quidditch spectator stands, feeling the wooden bench poke your thighs. Surprisingly, he sat beside you on your right with a grunt, running his hands through his hair.

Well, now what.

You peered at him in wonderment as his gaze was set straight, admiring his birthmark. Your eyes trailed around the side of his face, looking at his thick, dark brows and then at his slightly unkempt hair. He turned suddenly to face you and you darted your head away, embarrassed. He let out a small scoff, throwing his head down in a smirk.

"So," you started. "You like quidditch?" you asked dumbly. He obviously did... he plays.

"I do," he responded. "When we win."

"You guys almost did," you consoled him, tentatively reaching to rub his shoulder.

Theodore didn't protest, finding the way your palm's touch warmed his shoulder unexpectedly comforting. He looked at your seemingly apologetic face before his eyes wandered down your form, going from your neck and then down to your legs.

"Mm, almost."

Fidgeting with your fingers, you spoke up again. "Yeah, almost! Almost is good!" You reassured him. "Don't beat yourself up-- you're already so stressed." You recalled the instances in class where he'd focus on his work, the times you saw him in the library as you patrolled the halls, and the way he never seemed to hang out with his friends this past week.

"Oh princess," he said, calling you that nickname again, making you turn a light shade of pink. "When has almost winning ever helped anyone? What can I do about the stress? Nothing's going to change if I don't work." He gave a nonchalant shrug, breaking contact with your sorry eyes as he buried his head in his hands.

"Uhm... I mean, do you want help?" You peered at him, wide-eyed and full of pity.

--------------------------------------------------------

And that's how you found yourself sitting on the open quidditch stands, thighs squeezed together with your head downcast as Theodore rubbed lazy circles over your underwear.

"I-I don't really see how this is supposed to help you," you mumbled.

He used his other hand to hold your chin gently, guiding your head to face him. "You think seeing a pretty girl like you lookin' like this doesn't help me?" he simpered. You felt your face heat up from the compliment, shifting your thighs to press against each other some more.

He let go of your chin and you looked down to watch him spread your thighs apart gently. Despite never being his friend, his touch felt familiar, even soothing. In fact, you didn't protest against him, even when you felt him slip your underwear to the side and insert a thick finger into your cunt.

Your mouth agape, you turned to look at him, brows knitting together as he met your gaze with a lascivious smile. You pressed your lips together to try and catch your breath, but it only lasted a few seconds as your lips parted once he entered another digit into you. He moved slowly, not taking his eyes off of yours, drinking in your dazed look.

You felt his pace increase, his fingers going in and out of your now glossy cunt rapidly, and let out a shaky moan which made Theodore's mouth contort in a wicked smile. You threw your head back, looking up at the greying sky. He leaned closer to you, his warm breath hitting your ear as he whispered.

"Feels good, yeah? Feels good to help me decompress hm?" He asked you quietly, having you squirm from his touch. You nodded meekly and let out a small yeah in response.

You had never experienced anything like this before. You were sort of scared, but also excited... maybe a bit confused? ...happy to help?

His touch eventually slowed, his two now-soaked fingers leaving your cunt as he held them up in front of you. Your eyes followed his fingers, your face turning into that of surprise as he brought his fingers into his mouth momentarily.

"So sweet..." he breathed out. "Come on, open up," he slapped your cheek lightly with his clean hand.

You opened your mouth slightly, your eyes looking reluctant.

"Come on, don't be scared," he cooed. You opened a little wider and he gently placed the two fingers on your tongue. You swirled your tongue around slowly, tasting sweet, kind of salty as well, but you weren't sure if that was you or his fingers. Taking in your appearance with his fingers in your mouth, he gave a breathy chuckle. "Cute."

He stood up from the bench with a sigh, taking a step in front of you. "Just one more thing, that okay?" he asked, the corners of his mouth curving into a smile.

"Yeah- yeah sure," you agreed. Even though you were unfamiliar with what you guys were doing, you were just glad you could help him out in some way.

"Good girl. --Has anyone told you how sweet you are?" He leaned forward slightly and cupped your cheeks to tilt your head upwards as you stayed seated on the bench.

"Some people, mhm," you nodded.

"Well, they weren't lying." He complimented you casually, making your stomach lurch in an oddly pleasant way. You adverted your gaze so you could soak in his compliment, your head then snapping up at the sound of a zipper. He gave you a wink that you'd be thinking about for the next week and a dazzling smile that you couldn't protest against.

He guided your legs up off the ground so you'd be kneeling on the stands bench and turned you around, having you facing opposite of the center of the quidditch pitch, towards the castle. Your eyes widened from the circumstances, the risk of being so exposed. You heard him shuffle a little behind you, the sound of his pants going down, boxers following.

You felt one of his cold fingers brush against your skin as he pushed your skirt up, making you shudder. He pulled your sodden underwear down and you heard him take a sharp inhale. His fingers ran over your folds, eliciting a groan from him. "You're so wet... n' you've never done this?" he asked you.

You shook your head, making him sigh.

"And you really want to give this to me?"

"Yeah, I do," you muttered quietly. You didn't care that it was Theodore, you just saw him as someone who needed some help and you were going to give it to them... Oh, who were you kidding? Of course you cared that it was Theodore. The Slytherin that you'd always catch yourself ogling at during the quidditch games, the one you'd stare at in potions, the guy you'd hold the door open for before Charms class.

Seeing no reason to delay his pleasure, Theodore positioned himself between your legs, holding your waist from behind as he pushed the tip of his cock into your ready cunt. You couldn't help the large gasp you let out while he stretched you out. You tried to recuperate momentarily, but he continued to enter you slowly, feeling as if there was no end.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he murmured. He slid in and out of you slowly, picking up the pace over time before you started to let out involuntary moans.

"Theo- Theodore," you huffed out, almost whining. "The castle-- someone could see us," you worried.

His pace becoming incontinent, he brushed off your concern with ease. "No one will, okay?"

Even with his reassurance, you couldn't help but feel sheepish, your anxiety spiking as the thrill got to you.

"Oh my g-god," you moaned. Theodore leaned into your back, head resting on the nape of your shoulder. He snaked his arm on your other shoulder, putting you in a headlock. You brought your hands up to hold his arm, your mind going blank as he started up a relentless speed on you and had his other arm travel down to rub on your clit.

"Shh, shh," he whispered. "Now they will see us if you don't quiet down, yeah?" You nodded in agreement, understanding that you mustn't be loud. After a few minutes of biting back your moans as he drilled into you, he positioned you to lie on your back, on one of the benches. You complied and allowed him to reposition himself into you.

"F-fuck!" You mewled, unable to contain yourself in the new position.

"Shh, shh, shhh..." he shushed you once again, covering your mouth with a large hand as the other held both of your legs against his chest. "Be quiet for me, okay? You can do it," he murmured into your ear, leaning forward to kiss your cheek.

You nodded slowly as you looked up at him when he pulled his head away from you. "Good... so good."

So entranced by his eye contact, your brain drowned out the sounds of his cock going in and out of your sopping cunt, forgetting all about your precarious surroundings.

You felt the knot in your stomach begin to unravel and you knew that your orgasm was nearing. You clawed at Theodore's hand that was on your mouth and he let go, allowing your ragged gasps to float out into the air.

"You okay?" he asked you. "You close?" He couldn't help but smile endearingly at your state, horribly disheveled, biting your own lip to keep yourself from attracting attention.

"Mm," you nodded weakly, feeling your legs begin to shake. As you came undone, you felt him slow down, letting out groans of his own. You bit down on your lips harder and you could feel tears creeping into your eyes as you felt overloaded with sensations. He pulled out of you with a light pop and stepped towards your head.

He had his cock a few inches above your face and looked hesitant before asking, "May I?"

You honestly weren't very sure of what he was requesting, but you let out a soft yeah, being surprised once he spilled onto your face.

Your lips parted into an o-shape as you squinted slightly. After one last drop, you ran a finger on your cheek, observing the mark he left on you trailing down your finger. He dropped his hands to his side and crouched down to be face level with you. He cupped your face with his hands as he ushered you to sit up.

"You're a sweetheart, so nice of you to help," he praised. Even though he had just done things to you that you'd never even been brave enough to imagine an hour prior, you couldn't fight back the bashful look on your face.

"Of course," you whispered. "Do you feel better?" you asked, pulling your underwear back up.

"Yeah, yeah I do," he chortled. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss on your forehead.

You saw the sky darkening by the second and looked out the pitch. "Oh! Someone's coming!" you exclaimed.

He gave a mischievous smile that you could stare at for days, planted a quick kiss on your lips, and grabbed your hand to stand you up, brushing ur skirt down to cover your behind.

"Then let's go."

―――――――――ʚ♡ɞ―――――――――

[phantomwithbreakfast]

DANNYMAY DAY 02: 1990’s

Day 01 • Day 03

⟢ Didn’t really know where to go with this prompt—so I just let the thoughts wander and followed wherever they decided to take me. (More under the cut)

Genre: Angst / Hurt / No Comfort • TW/CW: Emotional & Parental Neglect — Identity Erasure — Emotional Distress — Dissociation • A prequel moment to Scarred For Half A Life (phic) • AU — OOC

It was just a moment.

A Polaroid. A flash. A second where the little boy looked up, frozen in the hum of fluorescent lights and the quiet whir of lab machines, smiled like he thought that would be enough.

Danny was seven. Sitting on the cold floor of the basement lab that always smelled like burning wires and failed experiments. He held his favorite toy—a rocket ship—close to his chest. The paint was already chipped, plastic cracked—but still whole. Still something that belonged to him. It had been his favorite for ages.

He’d been waiting. Watching his mother work from a distance, tracking her movement like a planet waiting to be seen. She hadn’t looked his way all day. Not until that second.

His mother had been working, muttering to herself in scientific shorthand, lost in wires and tools and the blueprint of something she swore would change the world. He didn’t dare to interrupt. Not again. He’d learned that lesson last week—burn marks still faint on his sleeve from an accident that wasn’t his fault, but got him blamed anyway.

So he stayed quiet. Stayed still.

She must’ve found it endearing—her little boy, quiet for once, not underfoot, not causing any trouble. Just playing. Being good. She picked up the Polaroid camera and snapped the photo without a word. That flash caught him off guard, and he looked up with wide eyes and a smile—too small to be real. Like he thought—maybe, if he looked sweet enough, she’d come sit beside him. Maybe she’d play, just once.

She didn’t.

But the picture was taken, the flash faded, and she went back to her scientific work.

── .✦

Years passed. The rocket disappeared. So did the smile. But the photo remained.

The photo, that moment resurfaced, faded at the edges, stained with smeared ectoplasm, lost in a forgotten drawer. It didn’t matter anymore.

That boy in the picture isn’t him.

Not after what they did.

Not after what she did.

He wonders if Maddie ever looked at it again. If she realized the quiet in that photo wasn’t peace—it was neglect. If she ever saw the sadness in those ocean blue eyes, so wide, so full of… hope.

Danny traced a finger over the image, smudging the edge.

He can’t feel the warmth of that moment, he doesn’t even think it had any.

Just a child. Forgotten.

Clutching a toy.

Begging to be seen.

He never stopped waiting. Waiting for that one impossible moment—the moment she’d finally look at him and see it.

See him. Not a ghost. Not a mistake.

Not a threat. Just… her son.

But she never did. And maybe she never will.

⟢ If you’ve ever felt unseen or forgotten, please know your pain is real and know you’re not alone. I wrote this from a place of hurt, and if you’re carrying something heavy too… you’re allowed to feel it. Please take care of yourself!

[bcksbarnes]

flowers in hand

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

summary: unfortunately for bucky barnes, he is head over heels in love with you, and when you want something, it doesn't take much convincing.

word count: 3.6K cw: 🔞 some suggestive content (minors do not interact)

a/n: based off of this request! lots and lots of fluff.

bucky barnes was an ex-brain washed assassin who had been broken down and beaten time and time again. he had seen horrors that would leave most people catatonic, he had done things that most people wouldn’t even dream of. this was not a man that wore his heart on his sleeve.

stoic. brooding. an absolute brute, to put it mildly.

but there was something that bucky never wanted anyone to know. a secret he’d take to his grave and would deny if ever asked about it. 

what was this secret? simple. 

bucky was head over heels in love with you.

he knew it the second the two of you met. when you stretched out your hand and told him your name, he felt his knees buckle. when you asked him for his? a bead of sweat ran down the side of his face. he was nervous. a reaction bucky had never had before.

it sent him into a spiral for several days after the two of you met. weeks, actually, if he was being honest. 

everything after that had fallen into place pretty quickly. you had liked bucky as soon as you met him and before you knew it months had passed, the two of you quickly found yourself in a budding romance that needed nothing but water and sunlight to grow. 

the hardest part of learning to fall in love again was that he was so taken aback by how his body and brain responded to you, it was a bit jarring. it was like his entire brain had awoken a part of himself that had been dormant for years. one yearning for love.

it showed in the way you would get home from work and your favorite flowers would be waiting on the kitchen table, powder blue hydrangeas, with a handwritten note alongside it. bucky’s handwriting was a little scratchy and hard to make out, but you didn’t need to read it to know what it said:

thinking of you always. - bb

or when he took you on a joy ride on the back of his motorcycle, never wearing a helmet himself but making sure the straps were just right when he helped you get yours on. his hands would carefully click the buckle together, biting down on his bottom lip in concentration as he made sure it fit you perfectly.

he didn’t want you getting hurt, not on his watch.

that was it - his big secret. you had him wrapped around your finger. something so mundane and, frankly, obvious.

though you never went out of your way to use this knowledge to your advantage. bucky always came running at the sound of your voice.

“buck?” you called out one afternoon.

the sun was high in the sky, it was a beautiful day - maybe a little warmer than you liked, but the cool breeze offered some relief. 

you were sitting on the balcony reading a book in your favorite spot, overlooking the city that bucky had loved so much, and that you’ve learned to love with him. it was different from the one he lived in all those decades ago, the apartment he had lived in as a child was small, cramped - to look out the window was to face a family he never knew, living their own lives.

now, in this decade, the apartment was spacious, overwhelming, the view encompassing the bridge and the east river separating the two boroughs. 

a different life, a different time.

“yeah?” he called back, the door to the balcony slightly ajar so you could both hear each other.

“can you bring me my sunglasses?”

bucky chuckled to himself at such a simple request. he was working on fixing some issues in the kitchen, a leaky faucet to be exact - the one that kept dripping. bucky had a hard time falling asleep as it was, hearing the pitter patter in the middle of the night made him feel like he was going insane.

“hold on, honey.” 

he was currently laying on his back under the sink, his shirt was discarded somewhere next to him and his black mesh shorts rode a bit lower on his hips than he had purposely intended. 

it only took him a few turns of his wrench to tighten the compression ring around the pipe in hopes that it would stop the leaking. 

“that should be it.”

a few moments passed as he placed the wrench down next to him. he held his breath, but bucky, unfortunately, a second later felt another water droplet land on his forehead: unsuccessful.

“shit,” he mumbles to himself before gripping the side of the counter and pulling himself out from under the cabinet. 

bucky hated that this wasn’t working - honestly, he wanted to run to the store and grab some new pvc pipes and just fix the entire thing from scratch. but, your request ran through his head and he quickly pivoted his priorities as he stood up, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“where’d you put them?” he calls, trying to look in the usual spots before finally stumbling on them. “nevermind.”

you hear the door swing open, his footsteps alerting his presence but your attention stayed on the book in your lap, wanting to finish the page you were on.

“i couldn’t find them,” he says. 

when you finally finished the passage, you placed the bookmark in the between the pages, saving it for another time.

your head turned to look up at bucky, his metal arm glistening in the sun and your sunglasses sitting right on his face - that goofy smile of his plastered on his features as he waits for you to notice.

a loud chuckle passes your lips as you reach your hand out for them, shaking your head as he slides them off the bridge of his nose and into the palm of your hands. once you grab them from him, you put the glasses on, the world dimming a bit, but bucky still shines bright in front of you.

“thank you,” you say softly, tilting your head back to admire his half dressed physique. you whistle lowly, causing bucky to roll his eyes at you. “were you working on the sink? sorry, i didn’t even realize.”

“yeah,” he responds, taking a step closer. 

bucky gestures for you to move over and make room for him, groaning as he finally sits down. his arm rests on the back of the sectional while his fingers run through the hair on the back of your neck.

“i thought i’d be able to fix it by tightening it, but i think the pipe itself has a crack somewhere,” he huffs out, shaking his head. “i’ll have to go to the store later.”

you watch him carefully, your hand holding the book on your lap moving to rest on his thigh, giving it a reassuring squeeze. you could see the concentration in his face, the way his brows furrowed until there was a crease between them. he hated unfinished projects.

“you’re not going to rest until it’s fixed, are you?” you ask, though it’s a question you already know the answer to.

“absolutely not,” he shakes his head. “why? have something in mind for us today?”

“i thought maybe we could go to the park later” you hummed, your fingers tracing shapes into his skin. you tilt your head back to look at him, both of your eyes meeting. “they’re doing a movie night. raiders of the lost ark, if i remember correctly.”

bucky’s other leg bounced anxiously at the thought, it’s not that he didn’t want to go with you - it’s that he really wanted to fix this stupid sink. 

he peaked over at his watch, it was nearly 5:30pm. the store would be closing soon, he’d have to find the right parts then fix the sink, and shower at some point before he’d be ready to go. he didn’t know if he had time to do both the movie and finish this project.

his eyes trail back over towards you and he was greeted with the most beautiful pair he’d ever seen. were you batting your eyelashes too?

“you play dirty,” bucky mumbles.

he brings his metal hand up to your face, squeezing your cheeks softly as he leans in to press a few soft, chaste kisses to your lips. he mumbles something about how unfair it is, but you’re so wrapped up in the feeling of his lips you don’t even care what he says.

bucky begins to stand from his seat, though he doesn’t remove himself from your lips, hunched over to make sure he stays closely connected to you. your hands now resting on his abdomen as if to keep him in place.

“i have to shower,” he hums against your lips. “and if the movie sucks i’m coming home and ripping the sink apart.”

“you did not just say that raiders of the lost ark is going to suck.” 

bucky chuckles as he trails his lips down your jaw to your neck, giving it a few kisses and a quick bite before he pulls back completely, that same love stricken look on his face.

“i did. i mean it too,” he teases, backing up until he gets to the door of the balcony. 

“you’re going to be very upset when you’re wrong, barnes,” you call out after him.

he gives you a quick wink before dipping back inside the apartment. 

you take one last look over the balcony, the cars that were passing over the bridge and the people walking on the streets below. all of them had their own little story. it makes you smile to yourself, thinking of this little life you had built with bucky.

it kept you both going.

finally standing, you stretched your arms over your head and grabbed your book before heading back inside the apartment. the cover made a soft thud as you set it down on the coffee table on your way over to the kitchen.

the sound of the shower trickling had your thoughts distracted, even as you began packing the tote bag. you tried to keep your focus on all the goods you wanted to bring and not your very naked boyfriend some 50 feet away from you behind one, probably not locked, door.

how easy it would be to slip in.

you shake your head and focus on the task at hand, packing the bag with: a blanket to sit on, two lime sparkling waters that bucky had picked up a few days ago, and a mix of snacks to enjoy. the perfect picnic.

right as you finished, you hear the door open and bucky step out of the bathroom, the warm steam filling your apartment almost immediately. he looks striking with the towel draped around his hips, his almost freshly cut short hair now wet and combed back.

“you didn’t join me,” he teases, making his way past you and into the bedroom.

“i want to make the movie,” you say back, a smirk on your features. you knew well enough that if you took a step in that shower, bucky would never let you leave.

the sound of shuffling comes from the other room as you can hear him looking through drawers and the closet for his clothes. your feet walk you into the bedroom right as he slips his boxers on, a smile on his features as he catches your gaze.

he didn’t want to go out to the park and watch a movie. he didn’t even care about that stupid leak under the sink that he could still hear and was driving him up a wall. 

no, he wanted to stay here with you and show you all the ways he loved and adored you. he wanted to worship you with everything he’s got. 

his hand reaches out for you and he intertwines your fingers together before he pulls you towards him. you happily oblige.

“you’re still thinking about that damn leak aren’t you?” you whisper, your voice filled with jest.

“every fucking second.”

the smile on his face is wide as he brings his hands up to your face and kisses your cheeks once, twice, three times, causing a soft laugh to leave your lips. in one fluid motion his hands are under your thighs and lifts you up, placing you on the dresser behind you.

he slots himself between your legs and watches you closely, your hands moving to grip his wrists.

“let’s stay here,” bucky pleads softly. “let’s never leave this apartment ever again.”

“i’d love to never have to do that, but you know that’s impossible.”

“hmm,” he hums. “not with that attitude, sweetheart.”

he manages to get his hands free from your wrists, sliding them down to your hips and pulling you forward until your legs wrap around his waist, your heels resting on the back of his thighs. 

“bucky,” you groan.

your head falls back softly against the wall, in the same motion bucky rests his head on your shoulder.

“wishful thinking, huh?” he asks, a sigh leaving his lips afterwards. 

it’s not that he hated the power that you had over him, it was that he didn’t know how you managed to affect him so much. you didn’t even put up a fight with him and he folded, all because you said his name.

he pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder before he untangled himself from you and moved to get dressed - a pair of black jeans, a t-shirt that was a little too tight around his muscles and a sweatshirt he knows you’re going to steal at some point. 

finally ready to go.

it only took a few minutes to get to the park. you’re greeted by a sea of people, most of whom have already laid out their lounge chairs or blankets. the sun hadn’t set yet, casting a warm glow as you two found a spot a little bit away from the rest of the crowd. more secluded, but you two would still be able to see and hear the movie just fine.

bucky helped set up the blanket, a long red gingham pattern one that he may have muttered a sarcastic comment about how cliche it was. you may have, lovingly, given him the finger in response. 

the movie started only a few minutes after you and bucky set up the snacks and drinks. both of you were laying on your sides, elbows planted on the blanket while hands kept your head off the ground. 

bucky was very into the movie, barely sneaking glances over at you like he normally did whenever. it captured his attention almost immediately. you watched as he popped a grape into his mouth, his tired eyes trained on the screen in front of him as he absentmindedly chewed. 

it was calming to see him in this environment. you knew that deep down he would never 100% be present, that he always kept one part of his brain active to scan for any potential threats. but seeing bucky in a state of, mostly, ease felt like finding a diamond in the rough. rare, but valuable.

halfway through the movie bucky moves to sit up, stretching his arms over his head before holding his hand out to you. he always seemed to be reaching for you. once your hand is in his, one swift motion is all it takes for him to pull you into his lap, nestling you between his legs, your back now resting against his chest. 

his hands move to run down your arm and he can feel the goosebumps rising against your skin.

“you’re cold,” he mumbles in your ear.

you want to protest that it’s just from his touch, but the words die in the back of your throat as soon as you feel him sit back from you. he pulls off his sweatshirt and hands it over, watching as you carefully slip on the oversized material. bucky wraps his arms around your torso once you’re settled, pulling you back as close as he can before resting his chin on the top of your head.

“much better.”

your heart flutters, as it seems it always does when he acts this way. 

cuddly. soft. in love.

bucky feels like his heart is bleeding out right through his shirt at this moment, you could tell him to do anything in front of this crowd of people and he would comply without hesitation. he didn’t even care.

maybe that was the thing that kept him going in this life. the little pieces of calm he can get when you are around. when the tides don’t feel as strong.

he didn’t want to think about it, he wanted to enjoy himself: your presence, and the movie.

it’s a little while later when the movie finally finished, you craned your head back to look up at him, a smirk on your lips. he was staring ahead at the now blank screen, jaw slightly dropped. 

“i thought you said the movie was going to suck,” you teased.”

“i didn’t know i was coming to see a cinematic masterpiece.” 

you let out a laugh, and then another one as bucky squeezes your sides as his response, falling back over his thigh as you wriggle to try and get away from his wandering, playful hans. 

god, he wished you weren’t in public right now.

“and here you wanted to stay at home to fix that stupid sink.”

“no, i wanted to stay home so i could –”

“bucky,” you cut him off before he can finish that thought, watching as a family walks past.

he lets out a scoff that sounds more like a laugh and pinches your side again as you start to stand up from his lap. bucky admires you from this angle, the way that you towered over him was so jarring compared to how small you normally were when he stood next to you.

“i was going to say so i could take care of you, but if you were worried i was going to say something more vulgar than you need to get your mind out of the gutter, sweetheart.”

“you’re so full of shit.”

bucky’s smile reaches his eyes this time as he throws his head back and lets out a laugh. you were so right and he loved being called out on it, because he loved how well you knew him.

he stands to help you pack the tote bag again, throwing it over his shoulder when it’s done. you grab his metal hand and intertwine your fingers together as you make your way back to the apartment. 

the city was dark now, only illuminated by street lamps and a few fluorescent signs. surprisingly the neighborhood was mostly empty, you and bucky seeming to take up most of the sidewalk and filling the silence with your chit chat about the movie.

bucky was blown away by the story, the action … well the whole thing. 

you were biting back your tongue to not say i told you so.

“you always get your way, you know that?” he says once you're in the lobby waiting for the elevator. “i don’t think i’m capable of saying no to you if i really tried.”

“that’s not true,” you respond.

though if you take a second to think about it, he’s probably right.

the elevator dings its arrival and dips slightly from the weight of the two of you as you step on. you press the button for your floor a few times before turning your attention back to bucky. he’s standing right next to you, his hand slipping out of yours to wrap around your shoulders, pulling you against his side. your head leans to rest against him, it always fits perfectly.

“it’s a little true,” he says with a shrug. “i’m not complaining.”

there’s a beat of silence before he speaks again.

“i’ve never had anyone to care about. not in this way at least.”

“you cared about steve.”

“that’s different,” he sighs. “i made sure steve stayed alive. i didn’t dote over him. i look at you and i’d drop everything just to see that damn smile on your face.”

the blush developed on your cheeks at record speed, a smile accompanying it that was hard to hold back. sometimes bucky had a way with words that took your breath away. he could be deeply poetic. it made you wonder what he thought of in that brain of his. 

“there it is,” he whispers, his gaze flickering down to your lips.

the ding of the elevator snaps the moment back into reality, but that doesn’t deter bucky in the slightest. 

no, instead he follows you down the hall and into the apartment, waiting for the door to shut before he picks you up from behind and walks you to the bedroom to toss you on the bed - the sound of your giggles filling the air.

the second you hit the mattress, and he crawls on top of you, your hands grab his face bringing him down to kiss him feverishly. it’s rushed and messy, tongues sweeping across lips, teeth biting and pulling. 

you don’t need to tell him you need him for bucky to know it, he can read you like an open book. 

as he kisses down your jaw – his stubble scratching your soft skin, hands moving to slide your shirt up, ready to spend the night devouring you – all he can think about is how his love for you is the worst kept secret in the world. and not about the stupid leaky faucet.

[likesomeoneinlovee]

𝐎𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫

Pairing: Jackson!Joel x F!reader

Word count: 4110

Summary: Joel’s knees don’t work like they used to. So, he much rather sit back, relax, and have your entire ass and pussy in his face.

Warnings: PORN-NO-PLOT. Assplay, old!Joel, light degradation, sixty-nine, oral F!receiving & M!receiving, old man Joel and his weak knees. Power-play? If you squint. He’s 61 but I’m gettin’ him to SIXTY-NINE! Lazy aftercare scene. One singular spank.

A/N: This is a repost! If you think you saw this before you probably have. I just couldn’t let something I spent 1 sleepless night on go to waste. Anyway, this song fucks harder than Joel.

Slut.

It was on the tip of his tongue as your fingertips traced around the waistband of his boxers. His soft stomach just barely aproning over the elastic. 

Fourth time this week you had him in his room, half naked after dry swallowing one of those small, baby blue pills to get his dick up. First time doing it midday, sun shining in from his bedroom windows, curtains wide open. Shamelessly, he liked it– the thrill he got from the thin chance of someone seeing the real reason you’ve been walking with a limp, a certain shake in your knees all week. 

“Quit teasin’, Sweets. He’s all ready.”

You weren’t blind, just patient. He should be glad your own hormones weren’t constantly leading your mind. Unlike his. Though, spotting the writhe beneath the fabric, that dark spot blooming against the grey cotton. You’d be mad if you didn’t feel the sight, like a punch straight to the ovaries. 

‘May I?”

Joel almost laughed, you were never keen on formalities. It sounded unnatural. 

A nod was all you were given, eyes meeting his which were currently kept guarded by the lenses of those red framed bifocals. 

You leaned in, brushing soft, careful lips over the strain in his briefs, over the curve of seven-and-a-half inches compacted into a forced bow against the fabric. You knew what was to come once the fabric was down to his thighs, a sinful slap against the thick of his belly. Though, that being said; your index still trembled as she went in, curving around his waistband and–

THUMP.

Chest first into the tempur-pedic. 

Your jaw slacked as you felt the wind knocked out of you, briefly. Like the time you fell off your bed back first when you were six. Though this time, instead of a cry it was a moan. Deep from your gut. 

You weren’t as exhibitionistic as Mr. Miller, here. The thought of someone hearing– particularly someone you know. A face you have to see and god forbid greet every day, that’s what made your cheeks red. Your nose pressed down into his duvet, a heady smell of unwashed sex and every-day musk radiating through every stitch. Hoping to Christ the heavy comforter would be able to muffle the pornography shrilling out from your throat. Unlike Joel, shame weighed heavy on your conscience, especially when he was making you whimper just from broad hands with a firm touch, which was currently following the wave of your hip. Thumbs pressing into the gives between the bones, making you–

“Fffffffffffu–huccccckkk.” 

In other words, your tummy hurt. 

Your hips tilted out, his hands palmed your ass through your underwear– white, lace. It boggles his mind to even think where the fuck you found them. Tugging them down to the backs of your knees. It was all he needed.

Joel Miller knew he had you cryin’ every time he did this. Thrusts harmonizing with creaky hips that weren’t shy of sounding like they needed a fucking oil change. You’ve gotten used to it. Began counting them to see how many audible snaps of Miller’s pelvis will it take to cum this time? 

“‘Gonna take care of you today, sweetpea.” He murmurs. 

It was always more- how do you put it, mutual? If it wasn’t the headboard slamming, cervix kissing sex it’d be you on your knees, cheeks stuffed full’a cock after Joel’s been out all day. Thick cum riding the slippery slope down your throat. It wasn’t that Joel hadn’t ate you out before, made you into a proper meal. Though, there was a genuine excuse: this man’s sixty-one year old knees couldn't be put under stress. 

And lucky for you, you liked the taste of spend and the smell of musk as your face buried into his pubes. You liked the sore jaw, shaky knees. You liked doing it in his study, looking up to find fogged lenses of his bifocals. Resting your head on his thigh with a bitten cheek before placing the final kiss to his belly. 

It was fun. Made your pelvis boil and your head fog. As a real man’s cock should.

Broad hands now held around your thighs, one loosened, giving the back of your leg, the soft spot directly under your ass-cheek a lovely pat-pat-pat. 

His tall finger delved forward to the back of your folds, right at your entrance where he can feel the leak that had sprung by his touch. You hummed, wriggling your hips back into the touch. 

“Mm, m’ready, Joel.” 

“Mm-mm” He shook his head. “Need’s some more o’me.” 

Tsk-ing at your advance. You weren’t in the mood for his relentless teasing. Feeling, touching, carving heat into every inch. Though, even so it was hard not to enjoy. You breathed into the plushness of blankets, scooting yourself an inch- two inches further back. Your ass pressing against the palm of his hand. 

“So wet here.” He rubbed that finger through your labia, that build up of slick and arousal coating age-spotted skin. You pouted.

“Need’ya wet–” He paused, trailing a slick digit between your cheeks, tapping it against that foreign spot, the tight, clenched ‘o’ of muscle. “-Here.” 

You sucked in a breath, a sharp one. Fingers, on instinct, curling around the comforter. Not in your wildest fucking fantasies. –Well, yeah, but not the one you thought would come true– Miller’s finger pressed against a pure hole for the first time since you’ve started fucking. You almost forgot it was an option. You almost forgot old fuckers like Joel got off on that shit. 

This shit.

“S’been a while.” Joel drawled, the pad of his finger tracing a circle around the live rim. Nerves finally picking up on the vulgarity. You whined.

He couldn’t believe you whined. A moan, a cry, a chant of his name from panting lips from deep within your heaving chest– but a whine. Like a puppy begging for a treat. 

“You like that?”

He applied the smallest bit of pressure, just enough for your ass to draw a kiss to his fingertip. Joel grinned, mean.

“Barely fuckin’ touched you, babygirl.” 

Your stomach sunk, cunt throbbed and swelled with no finger, nothing to relieve all that tension. All before his middle finger– the same one slicked and lubed with juice bubbling from your pussy into your lips, now pressed in, just enough to invade that virgin ring. Your back arched, you wanted to scream. Gnawing on the rolled foldover of the duvet. 

Your legs twitched and your hips bared down. It was too tight, It didn’t even compare to your cunt, even before Joel- an unpopped cherry, freshly chewed fingernails and a dream. The dream of you making yourself cum on your own fingers. Spoiler alert: sitting there, pumping fingers two inches in, stopping because you’re too scared to go deeper isn’t the way to get off. Especially not with stress in your belly and the constant thought of “Holy fuck, I can’t wait for the real thing.” Looped and singing through your mind. 

Now you had the real thing. In-and-out and successful every time. Joel did that. 

And Joel was doing this too–

A more violent breed of butterflies fluttered in your tummy. Joel felt your hole pulse around nothing. Nothing more than a pressing fingertip in which he slowly pulled away. You whimpered. 

“Dirty girl, huh?” He drew. “Should’a told me you liked this sooner. Would’a been glad to play with ‘er.” 

Oh, fuck him.

The problem was he would’ve, you shouldn’t be surprised, honest. His body curved over your own, the bare, firmness of his chest pressed up against your back. Skin-on-skin, tummy slouched heavy to your lower back, rocking against your lumbar. 

The sudden weight and comfort of your old man made your body relax, slightly, less tense. Though, those eyes were still wide, pupils shaky, jaw slacked against the bed. You hissed this time as you felt it again. This time, a dry, thick thumb.

An assumption that the slick dragged from your pussy to your ass would be enough, it was dumb. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Tsk.

“No, that won’t do, Pretty.” He tapped against the knot, “‘Less she’s plannin’ on easing up, ‘ere.” 

“Joel.” You heaved. 

“‘Less she wants my tongue.” 

If a single finger wasn’t pure sin already, this was. 

He started to slink his body down, broad palms massaging their way down from your ribs, to the inward curve of your waist, hips. Thighs. All the while his body traveled with, nose drawing a line down the divot of your spine. His thorny, greying beard prickled down sensitive skin. 

Then, a weighty kiss was planted against your lower back. His pouty bottom lip reaching your tailbone all before his knees hit the ground.

Too. Fucking. Hard.

“MotherFUCKER–!”

Not only had the feeling shot into his lower back but once his shins joined the hardwood there was a painfully rhythmic snap, crackle and pop that came from his joints. 

It was his body’s kind reminder, he was far from twenty-one. 

“Jesus Christ, Joel.” 

You had breathed, body still in tremors though for a split second you had been transported outside of your haze to check on your old man. Head straining over your shoulder only to see the top of his grey curls peaking over your ass– at least, from your point-of-view.

“Not a word, Kiddo.” He couldn’t help but grumble, turning quickly into a drawn groan as he strained to stand back up. One foot back flat onto the floor, then, slowly came the next. He fisted the mattress, stabilizing himself as he got back on stiff legs. 

He was so fucked.

Your chest would swell against the covers, before releasing a breath. Still involuntarily twitching, shuddering every time you heard an uneven breath, a grunt as he stood. You felt your insides convulse. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” There was a subtle pause, chewing on your bottom lip before–

“old man.” 

He blinked. 

And in a sigh, he shifted close once again. One hand would raise as if to wave before landing a heavy hit to your ass.

“Fu– fuck!”

Once was enough.

“Jo–el–!” 

 Especially after hearing you squeal as you did. His name falling between the cracks of your wail.

“What’d I tell you.” He’d tut. Palming the reddening skin, tingling as it flushed. “Stings, don’t it?”

Instinctively, your back arched into it. The burn was fucking nice. The calloused palms of his hands almost apologetically soothing over the blushing area of flesh. You don’t cry, you moan, deep and hearty like you fucking mean it. 

“Move. On the bed, Pumpkin. You’re drippin’.” 

Dripping would be an understatement. 

Though, obeying Joel’s words, you find yourself hiking a knee over the side of a bed. Then the other, elbows being your way of travel as you heeded on all fours. You were sickeningly willing. Always and forever, for your old man. 

Once you made it to the middle of the queen you allowed your body to rest up on your shins. Keeping an as-picture-perfect-as-you-could posture. Curving your spine, sitting, perched like a cat, silently waiting for her treat. 

Joel, meanwhile; tugged down his boxers, letting them rest around his thighs, heavy balls hanging over the hem. Cock standing against his tummy. A river of cloudy obscenity dribbling from his slit. His brows would pinch together with each step, lips pursing as he let himself drop into his bed. The comfortable cradle where his body lays every night– the slight imprint his body has left in the mattress from five years of settling in that same spot routinely. One-thousand, eight-hundred and twenty-six days. 

His thighs would spread ever-so-slightly, almost to coax you. When he realized you were waiting for a vocal command, he allowed his head to fall against his pillow. Worn with musk- smelled dry. If, that made any sense. 

“Still wanna taste you.” He stated. 

There was a beat.

“Sure you’d just fuckin’ love to do the same f’me.” 

He was right. In fact, he’s never been more correct in the full sixty-one years his presence has graced this putrid earth. And fuck him for that. 

A grounding breeze gently pushed through the window that Joel had opened earlier- a slit. Barely that. The mattress would give against the palms of your hands as you crawled over to him. Almost out of instinct going to straddle over his thighs, but then, rectified yourself quickly. 

Your hands would cup over his shins to get the right pose on him. You feel a familiar, warm palming against the back of your thighs. Feeling, examining. Pathing a calloused digit from the pit of your knee up to the fattiest part of your thighs. Right underneath your buttcheek. 

“Don’t be shy.” He presses. 

And you’d reiterate, once again. Fuck him.

He was lucky enough you chose to spend your days and nights adulterating with him. Wasting time that could easily be spent meaning something. Though, who could be bothered with productivity at times like these. Especially as with every orgasm the weight of the world seems to ease up as well. 

A better mood, a better day. Though, more strenuous for Joel’s joints. Shame. 

You arched back, hips up as you pushed the plush of your ass against his face, his facial hair ticklish against the pillowy skin. Your stomach fell. Your breasts squished against his lower belly, hands finding purchase on the meat of his thighs, breath coming out in slow, balancing puffs. 

The tip of your nose pressed against the grey, wiry curls that laid a crown of thorns around his base. Nostrils flaring as you inhaled the heady– fuckin’ dizzying smell that came within. 

Your parted lips would ghost over the thick vein that ran along the underside of his shaft. The tip of your tongue cautiously laid flat against his cock. Slowly, running up, tasting the salt of his skin. In return, Joel’s teeth nipped at your ass cheek. His own tongue began seeking the taste of you, slacking his jaw the slightest, sinking between your crack once delved past his lips, lapping a stripe from the pink-ish pucker his finger had prodded earlier, down to where you needed him the most. 

One single lick. 

One single lick and your hips involuntarily pushed back into the warmth of his mouth. The wetness of his tongue. It all felt so–

“GOOD–!” 

A loud shrill of that pretty word was consequence of Joel’s tongue flicking against your overly sensitive, all around deprived folds, and a solid thumbing against your rim. You thought he’d be done with her by now. 

One problem: his window. Still open a crack, though we all know a crack is enough. Well, how do we know? Maybe last week, you were walking down the road to get to Miller’s to drop off supplies he had asked for. The window cracked, noises that’d you’d think to only hear coming from a hormonal sixteen year old boy’s bedroom as he jerks off to an old Playboy. 

“Sh–shut up, baby.” He’d murmur, vibrations of his softened voice tickling at your cunt. “Don’t wanna be the talk of the town, now do we?” 

Good point. Great point. Because of course, you definitely would love for that to happen. 

You wanted to sob.

One of his hands slithered down to your stomach, rubbing over the flesh as he pulled you back some.

“Now, why don’cha try stuffin’ those pretty cheeks so there ain’t a worry ‘bout no outburst.” 

A weak ‘mhm’ hummed through the air as you pushed lower, instead of palms the sides of your forearms were keeping you up. The warm light of the afternoon casting a glow onto his head, you savored this sight, taking a moment to wet your lips once more before you’d strike. 

The heaviness of his dick lugged forward against your lips, a kiss was pressed gently, all-too lovingly against his tip before you opened your mouth, flattened your tongue and glided him inside warm, comforting walls. It was just the head at first, suckling sweetly upon the flushed cap of his girth– tentative and teasing, though, his hips rutted up, forcing himself back another inch. 

Your hand wrapped around the base, squeezing him with no real mercy behind the pressure. It was his fault for being this size, your fingers couldn’t even fully meet on the underside. And you’d say it a third time for good measure: fuck. Him. 

Fourth, fuck him for being so big. And fifth, fuck him for tasting like a drink of heaven every time. 

Miller’s mouth hadn’t fell short either, curling his tongue between the swell of your folds, still, impossibly soaked. Never-been-kissed sorta wetness.

 Or, a kiss to a secretive place after you promised your parents no man will ever touch you before two ‘I do’s

Your hips rocked back against his face as he gave you the stimulation that made your knees kick, stomach tense. Walls clench, empty without the fleshy muscle of his tongue. You whined, you missed it. You were all achy for it– he knew that. 

He was the one fuckin’ feeling that. 

A searing kiss captured your cunt, upper lip soft against the tender bridge of skin between your pussy and your ass. The tip of his tongue flicked against your entrance just like it would your mouth, same way he’d turn a soft kiss into an invasion. His tongue delved as far as he could reach, two, just barely teetering three inches. 

You’d moan again, it’d be louder if it weren’t for the fact his cock was stuffing against your left cheek. The tip of your own tongue traced around a bulging vein. For a breather– you were drowning, after all– you’d pull back with an obscene ‘pop!’. Breathe. Watch the long, sticky string of precum connect from his head to your swollen lips, admiring how it’d glisten in the sunlight like the prettiest of silk. Then, slowly bare your mouth back onto his needy, old dick. 

There was a violent twitch against the hollow of your tongue, another moan into your hole. Your arms were shaking as you supported your weight, feeling his thighs twitch beneath your elbows. Though, it still didn’t seem like enough. Every grunt, breathless hum into the mound of swell he was eating like a five-star meal should tell you just how pleasurable it really was. 

You wanted more. 

So, you’d give him ‘more’. 

You remembered what had stuck from your friends ramblings of what-they-don’t-teach-in-sex-Ed. Relax your throat, ease up. Breathe through your fucking nose most of all. 

Joel had been too distracted to notice the feeling of his cock sheathing further into your mouth, stretching your lips into a wide gape. Up until he felt a spasm of your throat, a sickly squelch from the back of your throat before he felt the tightness. How your belly stopped rising and falling– for the time being, you couldn’t breathe.

“Motherfuck– Oh–!” He had to fall back, his nose still inhaling the sweet scent of slick as he let out that throaty, deep moan. 

“Ssssssssss–lut” He hissed.

You swear you paused for a moment, movement haltering. 

Slut? 

Looks like it had finally found a way past his lips. 

And fuck, was it delicious.

You hummed around the length, eyes squeezed as the watery build up that had been pricking your eye finally slipped down your cheekbone, past the flush of your face. Cruelly, your gentle touching fingertips tapped against his balls, they were full, undeniably warm. You traced a fingernail up the seam–

He was supposed to be the cruel one.  

“Stop.”

A single command muffled into your pussy, burying his face further into you. It was killin’ him and it was sure as hell killing you. 

“Focus.” His thumb moved between your slit, tapping firm against your clit before speaking yet again:

“Focus. Focus on my cock, Honey. He’s needin’ you.” 

His voice almost sounded pained. He was right there. ‘Few more bobs of your head, almost wishing he could just reach and tug your hair, shove your head down til’ you got your throat filled, voice breaking once he’s done from his head kissing against your voice box.

He was horrible. That should be a well known fact by now. 

It was all growing stronger now, the feelings– all that god-sent, mutual stimulation making thighs twitch and knees kick. Joel’s tongue swirled your opening, thumb rolling back and forth, up and down ‘stead of round and round over your erect clit. Back arched like a cat in heat. 

Body returning to tremors. Neither of you could deny the inevitable. 

You felt that now too familiar feeling in the low of your stomach. Every shift of his thumb against the bud making you spin, those butterflies bit now. Or, maybe they had tiny cowboy hats and lassos to tie your insides up into a tight knot. 

Your tongue laid one last desperate lick flat along his inches, allllllllll the way up to his head where your lips settled for the last few sucks. Now, he was just rambling. All fingers. Mouth slick with juices, beard glistening with that clear, slightly bubbly substance:

“Gonna cum for daddy again? Fuckin’ greedy little girl, slobberin’, makin’ a mess’a me.” 

Babbling.

“I feel it,” He began. “Feel you pulsin’. Body’s begging for it, baby. Let ‘er go.”

Toes bent, eyes squeezed as you felt that numbing beat throughout your cunt, legs, even arms going that ticklish kind of numb. Things went quiet for a moment.

Then, you released a profane wail against his cock. Eyes squeezing as you POPPED! Yourself off the length, watching it flop back, standing straight as your hips fell down onto his chest, the warmth of the muscle soothing your crying cunt as you road it out. The soft skin felt like a warm kiss to soothe that ache that made you sweat. 

His hands gripped your waist, adjusting and sliding your body down to his thick middle, watching your hips grind from behind, lower back arch. Your heart painfully hammered against your ribs as you desperately tried to catch all the oxygen lost within the last twenty-five minutes, dwindling throughout the heavy air in the room. 

“Thas’ it. Good girl.” He cooed. “Ride ‘er out.”

Sixth, fuck him for soft praise afterwards. 

The hand attached to his person moved to his pulsating cock, gripping it firm right in the middle as he tilted it back, sliding his fist up and down the slick skin. Rubbing his thumb angrily through the split. 

His tummy heaved beneath your recovering cunt. Still weak, still shaky. You swore your eyes had only been closed for a minute until you heard him– 

“FUCK.” 

Until you felt him. 

Warmth painting your belly white, dripping down your navel, down to the sweet, pretty skin of your pussy. Your hand ran down to smear it, rubbing his spend into your skin like it was healing. Like it was something sacred. Fuck this, to you, it was. 

You could always count on the patter of the shower to drown out any thoughts of regret. Not that you had many, anyway.

The warm water cascaded down your bodies. Relaxing aching muscles, comforting on your buzzing body. Joel’s hands softly but greedily palming your tits before slipping down to your stomach, feeling over the spot where his semen had laid just thirty-minutes ago. 

“Could’a had you ride me.” He murmured. “Would’a looked prettier in you.” 

He nipped against your earlobe, inhaling the scent of freshly shampooed hair. 

It was more than foolish to think about children whatsoever in the state of this godforsaken earth. You weren’t even sure you were cut out to be a mother anyway– it wasn’t on your mind much. Unless Joel was behind you liked this, muttering sweet daydreams about it against the side of your neck. 

“Oh, stop it.” You’d giggle, impishly. 

God help him. Thinking with his dick ninety-nine percent of the time. 

“Besides, don’t you think you’re a little too young for kids, Miller?” 

You’d jab, in return he’d lay a much more gentle tap to your ass with his palm, a silent fuck you. His first, as of today. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve had enough of you today, y’know that?”

His touch was tooth-rottingly sweet. Kissing down your neck, nibbling down your shoulder. Each freckle worshipped individually. The thick of his gut was smooth against your back, he was so close. All it was– him, you,

and the memory of the foul pop of his legs as he kneeled. Fucking yikes, Miller.

[pascalispimp]

Whiskey Bent and Heaven Bound

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

Summary: She’s been riding his nerves for years, but when she waltzes into his bar in that little dress, pushing every damn button, Joel’s patience snaps. One jealous glare, one bar fight, and one heated moment against his truck later—he’s finally got his hands on the one thing he was never supposed to have. She may be forbidden, but tonight, she’s his to break.

Warnings: 18+ afab and fem reader, p in v sex, dbf fic, unspecified age gap, no description of reader but has big boobs and ass, dirty talk, no use of y/n, unsafe sex, oral (f! receiving), creampie, degradation, praise kink.

Word count: 3.5k

Joel Miller had never been a patient man.

Life had never given him the luxury of it. He had worked with his hands since he was young, learned early on that the world didn’t give second chances. He was a man of discipline, a man who knew how to keep his head down and his wants buried.

But she was making it damn near impossible.

She had been a teenager the first time he met her, trailing after her father, all wide eyes and laughter, running barefoot in the summer heat. He had watched her grow up, watched her turn into the kind of woman who could bring a man to his knees.

And now, she was back.

Older. Smarter. Dangerous.

She had always been off-limits. The daughter of his best friend, the one woman in the world he had no right to want. But she was making it impossible not to want her.

It had been easy to tease him, to poke at that ironclad patience of his and see ifshe could get a reaction. A lingering touch here, a too-sweet smile there. Watching the way his jaw clenched every time she called him Mr. Miller in that honeyed voice just to watch his ears turn red.

But no matter how much she pushed, Joel never broke.

Miller’s was packed, bodies moving, voices loud, music twanging through the air.

Joel had been behind the bar all night, pouring drinks, barely listening to the conversations around him. He had been doing a good job of keeping his mind on work, on anything but her.

Until she walked in.

The air seemed to shift, a pull in his gut that made his grip tighten around the glass in his hand.

And then he saw her.

That pretty little dress clung to her, the hem swaying just high enough to make his throat go dry. The cowboy boots only made it worse, giving her the perfect mix of sweet and wild, like she belonged there, like she wasn’t trying at all.

Except he knew she was. She knew exactly what she was doing.

Her gaze found his across the room, and a slow smile curved her lips.

His gaze dragged over her, slow and deliberate, before snapping back up to her face. He looked pissed.

Good.

Smiling to herself, she let her friends pull her toward the bar, where Joel was still watching, still brooding. She leaned against the counter, resting her elbows on the wood, waiting for him to say something.

He didn’t.

Instead, he grabbed a glass and poured her a drink, sliding it across the bar without a word.

“Not gonna say hello?” she teased.

Joel kept his gaze on the glass in her hands. “You ain’t supposed to be in here.”

She tilted her head. “Since when?”

“Since you started struttin’ around like you want trouble.”

She let out a soft hum, dragging her fingers along the rim of the glass he had just poured for her. “Maybe I do.”

Joel’s jaw tightened.

She was doing it again—pushing, testing, seeing how far she could go before he snapped.

“Not tonight,” he muttered.

“Not tonight what?”

His jaw clenched even harder, his teeth grinding.

She leaned in just a little, voice soft, sweet, coaxing. “You don’t like my dress, Mr. Miller?”

Joel exhaled sharply. “You think this is a game?”

Her lips twitched, like she was trying not to grin. Joel had to look away before he did something stupid, something reckless.

Like pull her across the damn bar and show her exactly how much he liked that dress.

The night carried on, the bar growing louder as the drinks flowed. She was laughing with her friends, sipping her whiskey slow, when she felt it—

A hand.

Not Joel’s.

Rough fingers slid along her lower back, dipping too low, too familiar. She tensed, turning sharply to find a man standing too close, grinning like he had a right to touch her.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” he slurred, breath heavy with beer.

She moved to step back, but he caught her wrist, holding on just tight enough to make her stomach twist.

“Let go,” She said, voice cool.

He laughed. “Aw, don’t be like that.”

Then, all at once, he was gone.

Yanked back so hard he stumbled, nearly falling on his ass.

Joel.

He was furious.

She had never seen him like this, not even when he was arguing with her dad about football scores or fixing some busted-up truck in the heat of summer. This was different.

Dangerous.

His hand was wrapped around the man’s wrist, squeezing so tight she could see the strain in his forearm.

“I told you,” Joel said, voice low, steady, lethal. “Get your goddamn hands off her.”

The man tried to laugh it off, but Joel yanked him forward just enough to make his breath hitch.

“You touch her again, I will break your fuckin’ hand.”

Dead silence.

The man swallowed, eyes darting around the room, looking for anyone who might step in. But no one did.

They knew better than to cross Joel Miller.

He let go, shoving the guy backward. “Get the hell out of my bar.”

The man didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t even look at her again. Just turned and left, tail tucked between his legs. And then Joel turned to her.

“Outside. Now.”

"Lets go," he barked, his voice cutting through the cacophony of the bar like a knife. The other men gathered around her table with protested, but Joel's icy glare sent them retreating faster than a coyote with its tail between its legs. She was still taken aback by his sudden aggression, but didn't struggle as he practically dragged her out of the bar and to his truck.

He didn’t stop until they reached his truck, the metal cool against her back as he crowded into her space.

“What the hell were you thinkin’?” he growled.

Her pulse was racing, but she forced herself to hold his gaze. “I wasn’t doin’ anything.”

Joel exhaled sharply, his hands braced against the truck on either side of her. His body was close, heat rolling off him in waves.

“You been runnin’ me in circles since you got back,” he muttered. “Wearin’ these little dresses, givin’ me that damn smile, callin’ me—”

She licked her lips, voice soft. “Mr. Miller?”

Joel groaned. His fingers flexed against the truck, like he was fighting every instinct in his body to keep from touching her.

“You don’t know what you’re doin’, girl.”

She tilted her head, her lips a breath away from his. “What if I do?”

Silence.

Thick, heavy, charged.

Joel’s hand came up before he could stop himself, rough fingers tracing the line of her jaw, tilting her face up. His thumb brushed over her bottom lip, slow and deliberate.

Her breath hitched.

“Joel—”

He kissed her. It was desperate, all fire and hunger, years of restraint snapping like a damn rope pulled too tight.

His hands slid to her waist, pulling her flush against him, pressing her against the truck. She gasped against his lips, and he took advantage of it, deepening the kiss, claiming her.

Her hands fisted in his shirt, tugging him closer, like she wanted to crawl inside him, like she had been waiting for this just as long as he had.

Joel lifted her onto the edge of the tailgate, his grip firm on her thighs. Her dress rode up, exposing soft, smooth skin against the rough denim of his jeans.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, breathing ragged.

“You sure about this?”

She didn’t hesitate. She grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him back in. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

Joel groaned, resting his forehead against hers. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

She smiled, breathless. “Then at least you’ll die happy.”

His control shattered.

He kissed her again, deeper, hungrier, and this time, he didn’t stop.

He opened the door of his truck and threw her into the backseat, the leather cool against her bare skin. He didn't bother with pleasantries or explanations; he knew she was playing with fire, and it was high time she felt the burn. His eyes raked over her, taking in every curve and freckle that made her uniquely her. She met his gaze, a mix of defiance and curiosity in her own eyes. He leaned in, his breath hot against her neck, and whispered, "You've been asking for this all night, darlin'."

Her heart raced as he climbed in beside her, the weight of his body pressing her into the seat. The smell of his cologne, leather, and something uniquely Joel filled the small space, making her head spin. His rough hands began to roam, tracing the lines of her body as if they were an ancient map, each touch setting her skin alight. Her own hands found his beard, and she pulled his face closer, feeling the prickle against her cheek. His lips claimed hers in a kiss that was as fierce as it was possessive. She could feel his hunger, his need to claim her as his own.

He pulled away, his eyes dark with lust, and grabbed his hat from the front seat. "Wear it," he grunted, placing it on her head. The brim shadowed her face, making her feel a mix of excitement and naughtiness. He took a moment to appreciate the sight of her in his cowboy hat, a stark contrast to the bratty persona she had been putting on all night. She bit her bottom lip, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

With surprising gentleness, Joel pulled her shirt over her head, revealing her ample breasts that bounced free, the cool air making her nipples tighten into delicious little buds. He took one in his mouth, teasing it with his tongue, while his hands found there way under her dress, tracing her soft thighs. She gasped, arching her back, the fabric of the hat brushing against her neck as she reached for him. Her hands roamed over his muscular chest, feeling the strength beneath.

Her own dress was quickly discarded, leaving her in just her lacy panties. He groaned, taking in the sight of her. His own desire was evident, pressing against the fabric of his jeans, but he took his time, savoring the moment. He reached down and slid her panties off, tossing them aside. "You're going to be the death of me," he murmured against her skin as he kissed his way down her body.

He settled between her legs, his breath hot against the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs. He took a moment to appreciate the sight before him, her pussy glistening with want. "So sweet," he whispered, his voice gruff with desire. He dipped his head and licked her, a long, slow stroke that made her moan. She was already close, her body tightening with every flick of his tongue. He chuckled darkly, the sound sending vibrations through her. "You're eager, aren't you?"

Joel didn't wait for an answer; he feasted on her, his tongue delving into her depths, lapping up her sweetness. She squirmed beneath him, her hands grabbing fistfuls of his hair as she pushed herself closer to his mouth. "You taste like heaven," he murmured, his breath tickling her clit. His hands gripped her thighs, holding her in place as he worked her over with his mouth, his teeth grazing her sensitive skin.

The tension built, coiling tighter and tighter within her until she couldn't take it anymore. She shuddered, her orgasm ripping through her like a tornado, leaving her panting and trembling in its wake. He looked up at her, a smug smile playing on his lips, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Good girl," he praised, his voice thick with lust. "Now, you've been teasing me for so long, let's see if you can handle the real deal."

With a swiftness that belied his size, Joel stripped off his clothes, his muscles rippling in the dim light of the truck's cabin. He was a vision of raw masculinity, a stark contrast to the gentle care he had taken with her moments before. He grabbed her, pulling her onto his lap so that she straddled him, his erection pressing against her soaked pussy. "Ride me," he ordered, his voice low and commanding. She didn't hesitate, sliding down onto him, feeling him fill her completely.

Her gasp was music to his ears, and he watched as she adjusted to his size, her eyes fluttering closed as she began to move. Joel's hands found her hips, guiding her movements, his thumbs tracing lazy circles on her skin. "Look at me," he said, his voice a gruff whisper. She obeyed, her eyes locking with his, and he could see the trust, the need, the desire all swirling together in their depths.

He leaned back against the seat, watching her ride him with a fierce determination that sent bolts of pleasure through his body. The hat sat askew on her head, her hair a wild mess around her face, and she had never looked more beautiful. His grip tightened on her hips, urging her to go faster, deeper. "Take what you want from me, darlin'. Show me what you've been hiding from me all these years."

Her movements grew more frantic, her breasts bouncing with every bounce, her moans filling the space around them. Joel could feel his own climax building, the base of his spine tingling with the promise of release. He leaned forward, capturing one of her nipples between his teeth, giving it a gentle bite that made her gasp and ride him harder. "That's it," he murmured, his voice a dark rumble in his chest. "You're going to make me come sweet girl."

The words seemed to spur her on, and she began to grind down on him with a fervor that was almost animalistic. Her nails dug into his shoulders, leaving little half-moons that would likely bruise by morning. But Joel didn't care. All he could focus on was the exquisite pleasure she was giving him, the way her pussy clenched around his cock with every movement she made. He knew he wouldn't last much longer.

With a growl, he flipped their positions, her back now pressed against the cool leather of the seat. He was relentless, pumping into her with a force that made the truck rock slightly. His hands found her breasts again, kneading them roughly as he claimed her mouth in another bruising kiss. She could feel his dominance, his need to possess her, and it only made her wetter.

Joel's hand slipped down between them, his calloused fingers finding her clit. He began to rub it in time with his thrusts, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure shooting through her body. She moaned into his mouth, her nails now digging into his back, her body begging for more. "Cum for me," he murmured, his voice a dark promise in her ear. "I want to feel you come all over my cock."

Her walls tightened around him, and she knew she couldn't hold out much longer. With a cry, she shattered, her orgasm tearing through her like a wildfire, consuming every part of her being. Joel followed her over the edge, his own release hot and powerful as he buried himself deep within her. They stayed there, locked together, for several long moments, their breathing the only sound in the quiet parking lot.

When he finally pulled out, she could feel the emptiness he left behind, both physically and emotionally. He didn't say a word as he tucked himself back into his pants, his movements efficient and practiced. She watched him, her chest heaving, the hat still perched on her head. It felt strange now, a symbol of what had just transpired between them.

Joel reached for a pack of cigarettes from the dashboard, lighting one up with a shaky hand. He took a long drag, the tip glowing red in the darkness before he turned to her. "You know, you've been playing a dangerous game," he said, his voice a low rumble. "You can't just tease a man like that and not expect consequences."

She sat up, her breath still coming in ragged gasps, the hat slipping slightly on her head. "I know," she whispered, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "But you liked it, didn't you?"

Joel's expression was unreadable, his eyes hooded as he took another drag of his cigarette. He beckoned her closer with a crook of his finger, his voice a soft rumble. "Come here, darlin'." She complied, sliding over to him, the leather of the seat sticking slightly to her skin. He pulled her into his arms, holding her close, the hat still perched on her head.

The warmth of his embrace was a stark contrast to the coolness of the night air that had seeped into the truck. His heart thudded against her ear, a steady rhythm that seemed to echo the beat of her own. He inhaled deeply, breathing in her scent, a mix of sweetness and sex that was uniquely hers. "You know your daddy's going to kill me if he ever finds out about this," he murmured, his breath hot against her skin.

She giggled, the sound a little shaky, and snuggled closer to him. "Don't worry," she whispered, "I won't tell." Her fingers traced lazy patterns on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart beneath her touch. The gravity of their situation settled on her, the reality of what they had just done heavy in the air between them.

"You're mine now," Joel said, his voice gruff but not unkind. "All those pretty dresses you wear, all for me to peel off." He reached down and picked up her discarded panties, holding them up with a smirk. "And these," he added, tucking them into his pocket, "are mine now."

She looked up at him, the hat tilting slightly to the side. "What are you saying?" she asked, her voice a mix of surprise and excitement.

"I'm saying," Joel began, his eyes dark and intense, "that from now on, every time you wear those little dresses that drive me wild, it's my cock you're thinking about. Every time you spread your legs for anyone else, you're going to remember whose cock you really want." He took another drag of his cigarette, his gaze never leaving hers. "And when I say no one else gets to taste you, darlin', I mean it."

Her heart fluttered at his possessive words, a thrill of fear and excitement racing through her veins. "But, Joel, my dad—"

"I don't care about your daddy," he cut her off, his voice firm. "You're mine, and I'm not sharing." His eyes bore into hers, leaving no room for argument. "You'll wear those dresses, keep 'em guessing, but they'll never know what's hidden beneath. They won't get to taste what's mine."

He took her hand and placed it over his heart, the steady beat beneath his palm a declaration of his ownership. "You're not just a pretty face in a short dress anymore. You're mine to protect, mine to cherish, mine to fuck." He leaned in, his breath a warm caress on her neck. "And when you wear that hat," his voice grew gruffer, "you're riding the cowboy."

Her cheeks flushed with a mix of excitement and trepidation. The weight of his words was intoxicating, a heady blend of fear and desire that had her knees trembling. She knew the rules had changed, the line she'd been toeing all night had been crossed, and there was no turning back. "I won't let anyone else have me, I'm yours," she murmured, her voice a soft promise that seemed to vibrate through him.

Joel's grip on her tightened, his eyes never leaving hers. "You'd better not," he warned, his tone playful yet laced with a hint of seriousness that made her stomach flip. He leaned in and kissed her again, a kiss that spoke of ownership and passion. His hand found her bare thigh, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin, sending waves of pleasure through her body. "Every time you wear one of those dresses, I'll know that underneath, you'll be dripping full of me, my cum will make sure it says 'property of Joel Miller.'"

The thought made her blush, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she leaned into his touch, her hand sliding down to his crotch, feeling him harden again. "Only for you," she murmured, her voice a siren's call in the quiet night.

He groaned, his hand coming up to cup her face, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip. "Good girl," he praised, his voice thick with lust. "Now, let's get you dressed and back inside before anyone starts asking questions." He helped her into her clothes, his movements almost tender. As she adjusted her dress she couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret, knowing that she'd be giving up the thrill of the chase. But the look in Joel's eyes told her that the real fun was just beginning.

[olailamajnoon]

Dick on the phone, at 3 pm in the afternoon: Forgive me father for I have sinned.

Bruce, just woken up, squinting at the alarm clock: Dick it's 3 pm. what is this.

Dick, tearfully: My confession! I couldn't sleep, Bruce. I was the one who drove my hamster to suicide! I didn't feed him malt cookies like I was supposed to! He climbed on the exercise wheel and didn't stop running until he died.

Dick: *continues sobbing*

Bruce: okay so first of all.

Bruce: I'm not a priest.

Bruce: And second of all. Animals don't commit suicide.

Dick: Mari did!

Bruce: You named your male hamster after your mother...?

Dick: NOT THE POINT, BRUCE!

Dick: but yes.

Bruce, sighing: There's so much to unpack here I don't know where to start.

Dick: I killed him, Bruce. I should have died along with him!

Bruce:...

Bruce: It's possible that you've associated your hamster's death with the trauma of your parents' death, possibly because of shared names, and you've displaced your survivor's guilt from the first onto the second.

Dick:...

Dick: So what should I do.

Bruce: In my experience, the best way to deal with survivor's guilt is to save as many people as you can, possibly people in the same situation as the loved ones you have lost, hoping that the heroic nature of your deeds lets you sleep at night.

Dick: And what if that doesn't work?

Bruce: Then you drink. Get shitfaced drunk every time you feel a pang. Or you can pray to a nonexistent god and an uncaring universe.

Dick:...

Dick: If I come over, will you break out the good whiskey.

Bruce: I thought you'd never ask.

[theonlyonesora]

The Third Rule

Lily x Oscar Piastri x You (Reader)

Synopsis. “They were a pair—until we became a triangle.”

Chapter 01 – Pocket Boyfriend

The sun hit just the right angle on campus that day, golden and soft, like it had been filtered through a summer memory. I had collapsed onto the grass beside our little group, my backpack flung somewhere behind me and the weight of my finance finals finally peeling off my chest. I was free. My brain was still buzzing with formulas and late-night study sessions, but the only math I wanted to think about now was how many drinks I could responsibly down at tonight’s party.

“I swear if I failed macroeconomics I’m transferring to a cult in the woods,” Meg said, sipping iced coffee like it was the blood of her enemies.

“I’m going full wine aunt this holiday. Just me, my dog, a playlist called ‘crying at brunch,’ and no contact with reality,” Jessy declared, lying flat on her back with her sunglasses sliding down her nose.

And then there was Lily—perfect posture, hair somehow unbothered by the wind, scribbling something in her planner like we weren’t already mentally clocked out for the semester.

Lily and I had met in the first month of college. She was studying engineering, which meant she said things like “thermodynamics” and “fluid mechanics” and actually understood them. I was the finance girl with chaotic energy and a too-big planner filled with dreams and half-baked budgeting tips I never followed. We clicked instantly. She was the responsible one, I was the one doing tequila shots in the dorm hallway on a Tuesday. We balanced each other like opposite ends of a seesaw—somehow always meeting in the middle.

And yet, for all our closeness, there was always one ghost in the room: Oscar. Her long-term boyfriend. Formula 1 driver. Constantly flying. Constantly in another timezone. I hadn’t met him yet, not properly. He was always just on the other end of a FaceTime or in the stories she told, but never quite real.

“You should meet him,” she’d say. “You two are weirdly alike. It’s actually kinda scary.”

But the meeting never came. He was in Monaco. Or Melbourne. Or training. Or sleeping. But he never once seemed to mind that Lily and I were basically joined at the hip. And truthfully, I liked that. I liked that he trusted her. Trusted us. Because I loved her. Not in that way—not really. At least, I didn’t think so. Until that one day on the grass.

Jessy’s voice broke through the sleepy lull of our post-finals haze.

“So (Y/N),” she asked with a wicked glint in her eyes, “have you done it?”

“Done what?” I blinked, half-dozing.

“Ménage à trois.”

“Excuse me—what? It’s noon,” I groaned, sitting up. “It is way too early for this kind of scandal.”

“Just answer,” she pressed.

I laughed, brushing a blade of grass off my jeans. “No, I haven’t. Never done it.”

Jessy raised an eyebrow. “Not even curious?”

Before I could open my mouth, Lily’s voice slid in, soft and casual. “Are you curious?”

I turned to her. “Are you?”

She shrugged, playful, but something flickered in her expression—quiet, electric. “I don’t know… I think it can’t just be with anyone. But wouldn’t it be strange to do it with strangers?”

There was a pause. An almost imperceptible shift in the air. The kind of silence where a thousand things go unsaid but somehow still felt.

“I did it with a cousin once,” Jessy said, so casually she might as well have been talking about borrowing sugar.

“Oh my God,” Meg choked, nearly spitting her coffee.

“What?” Jessy blinked, genuinely confused.

“It’s family!” I said, horrified but laughing.

“It was high school!”

“Still!” I replied, shaking my head, half-disgusted, half-intrigued, and fully spiraling into the kind of laughter that makes your ribs ache.

Lily was laughing too, but something in her gaze lingered. She looked at me for a moment longer than usual, head tilted slightly, like she was filing something away in the corner of her mind for later. Like she was imagining something.

And I should have known then. I should have felt it—that thread pulling tighter, twisting quietly around us, waiting for the perfect night to snap.

.

Lily’s room smelled like coconut body lotion, hot flat iron, and vanilla perfume—basically the scent of girls getting ready to destroy lives

“You realize we’re just going to a bar, right?” I said, grinning. “Not the Oscars.”

“You can’t call it a ‘just a bar’ when it’s finals week and the entire city is out celebrating,” she replied, adjusting a gold hoop. “Besides, it’s been forever since we all went out.”

“We went out last week.”

“I said all

I rolled my eyes and stepped further into the bathroom, stealing a pump of her lotion while she was distracted. We'd been living together for four months now in a spacious apartment two blocks from campus—big enough for sleepovers in each other's rooms, dance parties in the living room, and nights spent sharing pizza and soft secrets. It was easy with Lily. Always had been.

And just as she picked up her phone to check the time, it started buzzing. Oscar.

“Speak of the devil and he FaceTimes,” I muttered, smirking.

Lily answered, holding the phone up to her face. Her voice instantly softened. “Hey, babe.”

I backed up a little to give them space but hovered just enough to be nosy.

“Are you with (Y/N)?” Oscar asked through the speaker.

I leaned into the frame dramatically, still in my towel. “Hello, pocket boyfriend.”

Oscar chuckled. “Hello, trouble.”

“Are you still calling him that?” Lily asked, amused but mock-exasperated.

“What? He’s always in your pocket! I’ve never seen him outside of a phone screen. Honestly, I’m starting to believe he’s AI.”

“Deeply hurt,” Oscar said with a hand to his chest. “You wound me.”

“But you're so polite about it,” I teased. “That’s what makes it worse.”

Our dynamic was weirdly natural for two people who’d never met in person. Friendly banter. Inside jokes. I’d always respected the space he and Lily shared, but I’d also never shied away from being me

“You two going out tonight?” he asked, brushing a lock of damp hair off his forehead.

Lily nodded, tilting the phone to show her outfit. “Yeah. The girls and I. Just bar hopping. (Y/N) made us promise we wouldn’t end up doing karaoke again.”

“That was one time!” I shouted from the bathroom.

Oscar grinned. “Just make sure she drinks water this time.”

“I always

Lily laughed. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of her.”

Oscar’s eyes softened at that. “You always do.”

There was a little pause then. Just a second too long. Like the sentence sat there between us, warm and humming with something neither of us fully named. Because yeah—she always did. And sometimes, I worried I let her.

“I gotta get dressed,” I said, suddenly aware of the towel slipping a little too far down my chest. “Nice seeing you, Oscar.”

“Soon, I hope,” he replied. “In real life. Not just FaceTime.”

Lily smiled, eyes flicking between the two of us. “Maybe we’ll finally make it happen this summer.”

“Careful,” I said with a wink. “I might actually steal him.”

“She’d probably let you,” Oscar joked.

And Lily?

But she didn’t say no.

[toji-bunny-girl]

toji fushiguro finding out he’s fucking with a nymphomaniac is definitely not on this year’s bingo list of his.

he merely thought you were just some pretty chick he’d bang for some time before moving on to the next, allowing you to have a taste of a good cock in the meantime— taking pride in the fact that his stamina and bedroom skill is one of the best.

and god did you barge into his life just to snatch that title of sex god away for yourself. you fuck him like he’s nothing but a toy, until he’s nothing but a jolting mess of raw fuck, and as if he’s one of his crying girl.

“You’re still tight,” he groaned, throwing his head back as your walls wrapped around his size, unforgivingly firm. Your cunt was attempting to milk him from the entrance of his cock, and his grip tightened around your ass, the pain stimulating your senses further; rending your walls to tense even more. “Fuck!” the timbre of his voice wavered, he was embarrassingly weak in you.

It’s been the sixth round and as much as Toji would hate to admit it, he was getting drunk off of your little unremitting cunt. The fluttering hot walls around his almost raw girth rubbing and enveloping his senses in tight, sore pleasure and they make his knees weak.

His cock was itching for release with just a few pumps of your dripping cunny, and he had to bite down his need into your lip as you’re eating him up—both by his twitching shaft and blush glazed face. It doesn’t help when you’re practically bouncing on his cock as if it’s your first round, like a rabbit in fucking heat.

“This—haa, pussy too good,” your body jolted when he rolled a thumb over your puffy clit. Which was a huge fucking mistake as your walls fluttered tighter around him, garnering a whiny groan from his sore throat.

“Need m-more, Toji,” you whined into his ear, nails sinking into his flesh as your hips bounced in ceaseless pace. “Fuck me hard—haa. Please, Toji!”

How was he to refuse when you’re all flushed above him, your body gleaming in the dark, and touch so scorchingly hot—both inside and out. “You’re driving me—mmph, crazy, woman,” he grunted as he jerked his hips upwards into your squelching cunt, fat, sensitive cockhead kissing your cervix.

You both cried in sore pleasure with each deep sink of his cock into your hot core. Tears were crowding behind his eyes, and his thighs shook from his throbbing cock. You’re riding him harder and harder, little cunny tightening by the second—Toji was going to cry anytime then. Just from your insatiable libido and cunt.

“Baby—ah! I’m cumming, baby. Fuck—haa,” he moaned, deep and long as his body jerked, pleasure flowed with his blood and through his entire body. You still rode him through his high, even when his cock felt raw to his core and weeping in sensitivity. You were relentlessly chasing after your own orgasm, disregarding the groaning mess under you. “Y’gotta s-stop, baby—” Toji managed to choke through, his fingers tensing into your welted skin as his muscles tensed.

“N-No…not yet!” your tone was desperate, your cunt unrelentingly clenching onto his throbbing cock. Your walls gave a tense squeeze before he felt them flutter around him, your juice gushing all over your thighs and dampening the bedsheets as you threw your head back into a wavering cry. “F-Fuck!”

“You’re insane, woman,” Toji chuckled with a prickling tear at the edge of his eye, your cores sore and twitching in sensitivity as you laid on his chest. He merely drowned in overstimulation then, his mind still blank and mouth thirsty for hydration from the constant orgasms.

You were purring like a contented kitten against his throat, nipping at his salty skin, fingers curling around his softening shaft. “One more?”

“Good God—”

[shinoko-oshi]

Kidnapper reader x retired Simon

Simon should’ve seen it, he didn’t expect it to happen, never to him— until he ended chained up in a rather nice looking basement, well, at least nicer than all the ones he’d been held captive in.

But that was before, when he was still in the military, working with the task force 141. This was now. He’d long since retired, so who the hell did he piss off this time?

Though it was quite the opposite of “pissing off.” Quite different when he hears soft footsteps come down the stairs rather than harsh ones. No cruel look or barked orders: just a pretty bird with a plate of home cooked food in her hands.

You crouched, petting his head, looking at him with such love in your eyes he thought this was some kind of sick joke.

When he asked where the hell he was, you only replied with one word. “Home.” Then you told him to open wide, spoon filled with soup. When he didn’t, skeptical, all you did was smile, taking a sip yourself, reassuring him he was safe.

And that’s how the next few days went. You’d feed him, whisper sweet nothings in his ear, and look at him with a gaze that screamed obsession. When he finally demanded to know what this was, why he was here, you answered soft, like it was nothing more than a chat about the weather.

“I saw you at a cafe one day and knew you were perfect. That we were made for each other. So I stalked you, Si, and when I found the right move, I took you home. We’re soulmates, Simon.”

“You just need time to see that, though,” you added, peppering one last kiss to his forehead before walking back up the stairs.

The next time he woke, he was chained to a bed, both ankles and wrists. It was a change of scenery from the basement.

On the dresser in front of him sat a bottle of the cologne he wore regularly, alongside a woman’s perfume. Taped to the mirror were a few photos of you and him. All ones he didn’t even know existed, because he was asleep in his apartment in every one of them. One showed you kissing his cheek, grinning at the camera as you held it up.

The door creaked open. You walked in wearing one of his old shirts and pj shorts like you’d been living in his skin this whole time.

“I’m sorry I drugged your food earlier,” you frowned, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I just needed to make sure you didn’t leave me.” You caressed his cheek, before sliding in beside him, resting your head on his chest as you pulled the covers over you both, muttering a quiet good night.

Simon had expected many things when he woke up in that basement. Expected to die there. Expected torture. Starvation. Not to be chained to a bed while a pretty bird, who claimed she loved him slept soundly on his chest.

You were clever about it, too. Made sure the chains both in the basement and here were strong enough to hold him. Though Simon knew he could escape. Should’ve. Two weeks here, and he’d had plenty of chances. But he didn’t.

Didn’t know why. Maybe some sick, twisted part of him liked being taken care of. Liked being loved so much someone like you would go to the ends of the earth to keep him. Even with all the scars and the past he carried. Even after everything he’d done with his own hands, you still loved him.

You were an angel. One sent by whatever gods still gave a damn.

A deranged, beautiful angel that would force him to be happy. That would chain him up and feed him soup and love him like he deserved good things.

His angel.

Should I make a part two..?

[jaderabbitt]

Mirrored in Darkness

WARNING: BIG FAT THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS!!! DO NOT READ PAST THIS POINT IF YOU WANT TO STAY UNSPOILED!!!

consider yourselves warned. do not cry to me if you didn't listen.

pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

tags: angst, angst with happy ending, love confessions, time loop, no use of y/n

warnings: canon-typical violence, child death (unrelated to pairing), descriptions of blood, she/her pronouns used, changing of POVs denoted by text style

summary: You and Bucky enter the Void, trying to find Yelena. Neither of you knew what to expect, but it hadn't been this.

word count: 1.3k

note: someone somewhere had asked for what Bucky would find in reader's void, and so I combined the two hehe. i'll probably go see thunderbolts again soon, so expect more fics as I flesh out my memory of the movie!! please god send me asks or ideas relating to it.

song for this fic is: exit in darkness by A.A. Williams

When you opened your eyes…

When he opened his eyes…

You saw the acrid halls of a villa. You blinked the awareness back into your eyes as you studied your surroundings. The hallway was familiar, but it wasn’t until you saw your own form, stalking through it, that you recognized it truly. You watched with a growing dread as your needle focused eyes sought out their target, pistol in hand. The door at the end of the hall was half ajar, lamplight seeping through the cracks.

He saw a familiar body, crouched atop a hillside that had a vantage point over the villa. Large, high-caliber Soviet rifle in hand. The Winter Soldier. His scope was trained on the figure within the study, but his finger lay prone, parallel to the trigger. This wasn’t his target to take.

“No…”

“No…”

Your memory figure didn’t hear your gasp, didn’t acknowledge how you covered your mouth with your hand to silence your cries. Your feet planted themselves into the ground as if you had roots spreading beneath you. Your eyes couldn’t look away as your body slinked into the room, a single shot letting out. Another one added for good measure.

Bucky watched your figure move into the study silently, not giving the man within the time to register your presence before you put a bullet in between his eyes. You shot a second one into his heart to ensure the kill. The Soldier moved away from his scope, choosing to watch you from his perch with his own enhanced eyes. You looked up to where you knew he was, even if you couldn’t actually see the Soldier’s hulking form amongst the darkness. He clicked his laser sight twice, a code meaning ‘kill confirmed’.

You knew what came next.

He knew what came next.

She was supposed to be with her mom this weekend. She wasn’t supposed to be here—

Intel had said her mother had custody this weekend. The villa was supposed to be empty, except for the target.

The little girl’s pigtails bounced precariously as she made her way to her father’s study at the end of the hall. The purple cotton of her little nightie swished at her knees, her teddy bear hugged close to her chest. She had heard the shots, saw the rapid light that came from the muzzle, and assumed it had been lightning.

She was scared.

You followed into the room, unable to turn your eyes away from the sight before you. Your memory turned around swiftly at the sound of the door creaking and pointed her gun at you, but your mirrored eyes did not register a being there. Instead, your gaze drifted down, and so did your gun.

The Soldier’s jaw had clenched as he realigned his eye to the scope of the rifle, his mask making a clinking sound as it hit the side of his gun. Bucky’s breathing hitched, his enhanced hearing filtering out the noise of the forest surrounding, listening to the small voice within the villa. 

“Qui es-tu ? Où est papa ?” (Who are you? Where is papa?)

The young girl, no older than four or five, hugged her bear impossibly closer to herself.

Your shaking hand mirrored the motions of yourself from the past, as if you knew the script by heart. Tears stained your cheeks, a mimicry of the little girl in front of you. Your arm raised, hand pressed into your ear for a comms device.

Bucky didn’t register that he was seeing double of you. His mind had sunk too far into the memory, hearing the uncertain voice from your past self. 

“Soldat… I’ve been compromised.”

You didn’t need to see the shine of his scope through the floor to ceiling windows to know he was watching the entire situation play out. You didn’t need to have his rasped voice sound within your ear to know what he said.

Your mind spoke it for you, anyways.

“нет свидетелей.” (No witnesses.)

Your eyes shut and your head turned, not wanting to see the high caliber shot pierce through the little girl’s heart. If you didn’t see it happen here, you could ignore the fact that you had watched it happen. You did know what it looked like. Your mirrored visage stood stock still, blood spattered against her neck and jaw.

Bucky fell to his knees, squeezing his eyes shut as he pounded his vibranium hand against his head. He had enough nightmares of this memory. He couldn’t bear to relive it again. The shot that rang out from the sniper echoed in his mind, the cold and indifferent tone of his own voice haunted him. How could he take that shot? Even as the Soldier. 

You blinked, left in confusion as you were back in the hallway. When it registered what was happening, your sobs echoed throughout the villa.

You were stalking the halls again, pistol raised.

The Soldier was adjusting his scope again, following the man in the study with the rifle.

—

Two shots rang out again. You were hyperventilating and cowering against the wall of the hallway, covering your ears to avoid the sounds. You rocked back and forth, trying to remind yourself that it wasn’t real.

But it was. This happened. This wasn’t just some trick of the mind, this was a memory.  Your worst nightmare.

It took you until the third shake of your body to realize that something was too intense to be the self-soothing rocking back and forth you were doing. You opened your clenched eyes and lifted your hands from your ears slowly as your gaze met Bucky’s blues.

Your Bucky. Not the Soldier, but the man.

His hands cupped your face, pressing his temple against yours. He whispered your name like a mantra, supplemented with “I’m here, sweetheart, we can get through this.”

You nodded in reply, too afraid of your own shadow at this point to risk your voice coming out as anything else but a choked sob. His thumbs wiped at your tear streaks gently, as if you were the most delicate creature he’s laid eyes on. Your hands moved to mirror his own, feeling his loose hair tickle your knuckles.

The urge to let out what was always unsaid between you overcame your willpower, and you muttered those three short words that somehow meant the world. 

It was an unspoken rule between you two, having gone on for years. If neither of you said it, you could ignore the implications of what being together would have in store. But, being in here—in your darkest hour—you realized that you couldn’t keep living like you had.

It was never truly living, denying yourself your greatest boon. Even in your hellish nightmare, there he was. 

Taking the shots you couldn’t bear to. Taking the pain you could never shoulder. 

And, so, you broke the rule.

So did he.

He buried his face into your neck and wrapped his arms around your torso, clinging to your body as if he was afraid it would be taken from him any moment now. Sobs wracked through his body, his shoulders betraying his attempt to hide his gasps for air.

You fared no better, pressing his head further into your skin as if you were afraid he’d leave you any moment now, a near perfect parallel. 

The lights in each other’s void.

Both too broken to find it within themselves, so they sought it out within the other—souls mirrored, but aligned.

You both lifted your heads at the sound of a door creaking, turning to see within the room of that misfortunate little girl.

What stared back at you was the end of this trial. There was always another fight. Another war.

But, this time?

This time, you held each other’s light. The darkness would no longer be ventured alone.

Dividers by @cafekitsune | xoxo

[phantomwithbreakfast]

DANNYMAY DAY 03: Potential

Day 02 • Day 04

⟢ Same story—I wasn’t really sure where to go with this prompt. I almost skipped it. But… for myself, I pushed through. (More under the cut)

Genre: Angst / Hurt / No Comfort • TW/CW: Identity Crisis — Emotional Distress • A prequel moment to Scarred For Half A Life (phic) • AU — OOC

Danny stared at the stars. They always looked so still, so distant, so… perfect.

Not like him.

He wasn’t still. He wasn’t distant. And he sure as hell wasn’t perfect.

Everyone said he had potential. Teachers, Jazz, even his dad once, when he thought Danny wasn’t listening.

“The boy’s got potential, Mads—he’s just gotta find his footing.”

But Jack didn’t know what it was like to exist between death and life. To feel your body hum with cold ectoplasm while your heart still dared to beat.

Danny knew he had potential. But what good was potential if you had no fxcking idea what to do with it?

On paper, his future could’ve been extraordinary. His grades weren’t terrible, he was smart. Resourceful. Quick on his feet. Able to calculate gravitational forces and make emergency repairs with duct tape and sheer panic. He was—in theory—perfect for NASA.

Hell, he could survive in zero gravity without oxygen. He could float, phase, shield. He could explore parts of space no one else dared to imagine. He could change the world, the universe. If only they would let him.

But the truth twisted like a knife in his chest.

He wasn’t just smart. He was haunted. By the screams he didn’t stop. The lives he couldn’t save. By every ghost he fought and every part of himself he lost to win. He was a protector. A hero, they said.

But… no one ever asked if he wanted to be.

And now—now the choice stood before him like two diverging paths in a frozen wasteland.

One direction meant staying. Fighting. Protecting Amity Park. Carving himself hollow to make space for the needs of everyone else. Losing sleep, losing friends, losing himself just to keep others safe. Because ghosts didn’t wait. Evil didn’t pause. And if he didn’t stop it, who would?

The other path felt like a dream half-buried in childhood. To fly—but not as Phantom. To go into space, not because he had to escape, but because he chose to go. To be Daniel James Fenton—human, flawed, determined. To wear a suit that didn’t glow with a ghostly aura, but shimmered with the promise of the stars.

But NASA wouldn’t take him if they knew. No one would. They’d study him. Dissect—no, vivisect him. Turn him into something to fear.

He was stuck.

Not because he couldn’t choose. But because both paths meant giving up a part of himself.

If he chose to be the hero, he might never become the boy who touched the stars. And if he chose the stars… who would protect them from what hides in the dark?

Danny’s fingers curled against the roof beneath him, trembling. The stars above flickered, but none of them answered.

And deep in his chest, beneath his ribs and soul and scarred identity, something cold pulsed.

He had potential.

But that didn’t mean… he had a future.

[kpoplustzone]

GYM FUN - KARINA SMUT - PART 1

oc x karina

4078 words

click on the links provided for sexy images and pictures of karina along the story

Ko fi link- https://ko-fi.com/epiclude

Park Jin-ho walked into the spacious workout room, his eyes scanning the various members going through their routines. His gaze stopped abruptly when he saw Karina in a far corner, already starting her warm-up. Her movements were fluid and graceful, each stretch highlighting the incredible shape of her body. Jin-ho could only gulp, his eyes fixed on her. The idol, well-known for her generous curves, was wearing a tight-fitting athletic top, and as she raised her arms and leaned to the side, the fabric stretched across her prominent chest, giving Jin-ho a very clear and rather breathtaking view of her ample breasts. He couldn't help but stare for a moment, completely captivated by her physique.

Karina's body was truly a sight to behold, even in the simple gym attire. Her athletic top clung to her torso, accentuating her narrow waist, which flared out to naturally wide hips, creating that classic, coveted "S-line" figure that South Korean men often raved about. It was no secret that she was considered one of the most beautiful idols, her visuals often described as almost unreal, like something straight out of a fantasy. But it was her chest that often drew the most attention. Her breasts were undeniably full and perfectly shaped, a focal point that many South Korean men openly admired and fantasized about. The way they moved subtly with each stretch, the gentle bounce as she shifted her weight, it was a mesmerizing sight. It wasn't just the size; there was a certain natural grace to her physique that made her movements captivating. For many men in South Korea, Karina represented the ideal of feminine beauty and sex appeal, a goddess-like figure whose every appearance sparked intense admiration and a flood of online commentary about her "divine" proportions. Jin-ho, watching her with his heart pounding a little faster than usual, certainly understood the hype

Jin-ho took one last, subtly appreciative glance at Karina’s incredible form before composing himself and walking over to where she was stretching. She was wearing sleek black leggings that hugged her legs perfectly, showcasing her toned thighs and calves. Her athletic top was a stylish charcoal grey, fitted but breathable, with thin straps that highlighted her shoulders. It was clear she took her workouts seriously.

As he approached, a professional smile gracing his lips, he said in Korean, "Annyeonghaseyo, Karina-ssi. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I'm Jin-ho, your trainer for today." He extended a hand towards her. "We have an hour together, as you mentioned, so let's make the most of it. How are you feeling today, and is there anything specific you'd like to focus on?" He kept his tone friendly but strictly professional, his gaze focused on her eyes, though he couldn't help but notice the slight sheen of sweat on her brow and the way her chest rose and fell with each breath. He was determined to keep his admiration for her stunning looks separate from his role as her trainer.

"Alright, planks first. Just keep your body straight like a board," Jin-ho said, showing her what to do. Karina got down on her arms, her butt sticking up just a little bit in the air at first, then she straightened out. Her tight gym pants showed off every curve of her bottom, and Jin-ho had to stop himself from staring too hard.

As she held the plank, her body shaking a little, she sighed in a way that sounded like she was enjoying it. "Your arms look so strong," she said, looking up at him with a sly smile. "You must be able to hold on for a long time." Jin-ho felt his face get a little hot but tried to act cool. "It comes with the job. Just like your amazing body comes with yours."

Then, while she was holding the plank, she started to wiggle her hips a tiny bit from side to side. It was a small move, but Jin-ho definitely noticed. It was like she was saying, 'Look at this, do you like it?' Her chest was pressed against her top, and he could see the outline of her nipples pushing against the fabric. He had to look away for a second.

Karina held the plank, her body firm and toned, but a playful glint in her eyes suggested her mind wasn't solely on her core strength. She subtly arched her back downwards for a fleeting moment, causing her chest to press even harder against the thin material of her top, the shape of her nipples becoming even more defined. She then returned to the strict plank form, as if testing Jin-ho to see if he had noticed the brief, deliberate flash.

"Is this… making you sweat, Jin-ho ssi?" she asked, her voice laced with a teasing sweetness as she glanced over at him, a small smirk playing on her lips. The question was clearly double-edged, referring both to the physical exertion and the obvious effect she was having on him. She then slowly lowered herself to her knees, stretching her arms out in front of her in a child's pose, offering Jin-ho an unobstructed view of her perfectly rounded backside in the tight leggings. As she held the pose, she subtly flexed her glutes, the smooth fabric stretching and clinging to every curve. Jin-ho found himself having to look away, his professional composure teetering on the edge. His heart was definitely pounding now, and he could feel a warmth spreading through his lower body.

Jin-ho’s mind was racing. He could feel the heat radiating from Karina, not just from her workout, but from a palpable sexual energy that was now thick in the air between them. It was undeniable – the sly glances, the suggestive comments, the subtle body language. Karina wasn't just teasing; she was clearly horny and looking for an outlet. And out of everyone in the gym, she was directing that energy squarely at him. A surge of adrenaline and desire shot through him. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, an incredibly hot idol practically throwing herself at him. He decided then and there that he wasn't going to let this moment pass. He was going to give her exactly what she wanted.

Jin-ho took a step closer, his gaze locking onto Karina's. The professional mask had completely slipped, replaced by a raw hunger that mirrored her own. "You're right, Karina-ssi," he said, his voice low and husky, "this doesn't have to be just a workout." His eyes flickered down to her chest, lingering for a moment before returning to hers, a silent question hanging in the air. He saw the answering spark in her eyes, a clear invitation. Without another word, he reached out, his hand gently tracing the curve of her neck before sliding down to rest on the swell of her breast, his thumb lightly brushing over the fabric, feeling the hard peak beneath. "You want this, don't you?" he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

Karina’s smile widened, a look of pure, unadulterated desire washing over her beautiful face. She moved towards Jin-ho, who had indeed settled onto the padded floor, his legs spread slightly, the unmistakable bulge of his erection clearly visible through his gym shorts. Kneeling in front of him, her eyes never leaving his, she slowly reached out a hand. Her fingers, delicate yet firm, gently traced the outline of his hard-on through the fabric, her touch sending a visible shiver through Jin-ho’s body. She started at the base, her fingertips lightly skimming the sensitive area just above his groin, and then slowly moved upwards along the length of his thick cock, teasing him with feather-light strokes. When she reached the tip, she circled it gently, her touch promising more to come. Jin-ho watched her, his breath catching in his throat, utterly captivated by her bold and sensual initiation.

From his seated position, Jin-ho had a breathtaking view of Karina. Her beautiful face, usually framed by perfect makeup and elaborate hairstyles for performances, now had a natural, slightly flushed glow. Her eyes, wide and filled with a playful desire, were locked on his, a confident smile gracing her full lips. The angle gave him a perfect view down the front of her athletic top, the fabric stretched tight across her generous breasts, the outline of her nipples clearly visible. Her arms were slightly outstretched as she traced his erection, pulling the material of her top taut across her chest, further emphasizing her impressive cleavage. Behind her, her back arched slightly, presenting her round, firm buttocks, the tight black leggings clinging to every curve and crevice. Her thighs looked thick and powerful, hinting at the strength she possessed beneath her seemingly delicate exterior. It was a view that confirmed every fantasy he'd ever had about the stunning idol, amplified by the intimate and undeniably seductive way she was now touching him. Slowly, Karina reached down and pulled Jin-ho's hard cock out of his gym shorts. It popped out, looking thick and long in the air. Her eyes opened a little wider as she looked at it, like she was surprised by how big it was. She reached out with both hands, her fingers gently wrapping around its length. She started to stroke it slowly, just feeling the weight and hardness of it in her hands She started to move her hands up and down more quickly now, really getting a feel for his hardness. Her eyes flicked up to meet Jin-ho’s, a playful, teasing smile on her face. Then, she leaned forward slightly and slowly licked the tip of his cock with her tongue. Jin-ho gasped, his body tensing. Karina kept her eyes on him as she took more of him into her mouth, her lips closing around the head. She sucked gently at first, then with more enthusiasm, her hand still stroking the length of his shaft. From Jin-ho’s perspective, having the incredibly gorgeous Karina from Aespa’s lips wrapped around his cock was an experience beyond his wildest fantasies. He looked down at her kneeling in front of him, her dark hair falling around his lap as she expertly licked and sucked him. Her eyes were focused, intent on pleasuring him, and the sight of such a famous and desirable idol giving him this kind of attention was unbelievably arousing.

A wave of pure, unadulterated lust washed over him. He couldn't believe his luck. Karina, a goddess in the eyes of millions, was treating his cock like it was the most precious thing in the world. The warmth of her mouth, the gentle tugging sensation, the occasional flick of her tongue – it was driving him absolutely crazy. He thought about all the guys in South Korea who would give anything for just a moment with her, let alone this kind of intimacy. He felt a surge of pride mixed with a heady sense of power. He was the lucky one, the one she had chosen, at least for this moment, to give him exactly what he craved. His hands instinctively reached down, wanting to touch her hair, to feel her closer as she continued her passionate assault on his senses. A surge of boldness coursed through Jin-ho. Emboldened by Karina's eager mouth, he reached down and gently but firmly placed his hands on either side of her beautiful face. Her skin was smooth and soft under his touch. Without breaking eye contact for a moment, he guided her head downwards, pressing her closer until his thick cock was fully engulfed by her warm, wet mouth. He could feel her gag slightly as she took him completely, the sensation sending a jolt of pure pleasure through him. He tightened his grip on her face, holding her there as she enthusiastically sucked him, the feeling of her deep throating him almost unbearable in its intensity. This was way beyond anything he could have imagined.

Jin-ho eased his grip on Karina’s face, allowing her to pull back. She immediately started to cough, a slight gag reflex kicking in from taking him so deep. Her cheeks were flushed a vibrant red, and her eyes watered slightly. Jin-ho looked down at his thick cock, and it was indeed covered in her glistening saliva, a wet testament to her enthusiastic oral skills. He watched her take a few deep breaths, her hand reaching up to wipe her mouth with the back of her hand. There was a look of slight embarrassment mixed with amusement on her face.

Her eyes went right back to his hard cock, but then she looked down at his balls. They were just hanging there, waiting. She leaned down again and opened her mouth wide enough to take them both in. They felt warm and soft in her mouth. She used her tongue to gently lick all around them, making sure she didn't miss any spot. She'd suck on them softly, then lick them again, really giving them her attention. Jin-ho made a low noise in his throat, like he really liked what she was doing. He watched her, his eyes half-closed, as she gave his balls the same kind of special treatment she gave his cock. It felt really good.

From Jin-ho’s angle, Karina’s exquisite, small face was a vision of pure, unadulterated lust. Her dark hair framed her delicate features as her mouth moved so intimately on his balls. He could feel the warmth of her breath on his skin as she licked and sucked, and the occasional flick of her tongue sent shivers down his spine. His hard cock rested against her cheek, a wet and throbbing presence against her soft skin, as if even it was anticipating the next wave of her attention.

He truly felt like he was dreaming. Karina from Aespa, one of the biggest idols in the world, was kneeling in front of him, giving him the kind of pleasure most men could only fantasize about. He had seen her on stage, her powerful presence captivating millions. He had seen her flawless photoshoots, her beauty almost otherworldly. But this… this was raw, intimate, and incredibly real. He was speechless, his mind struggling to catch up with the reality of the situation. What could he possibly say? Every thought seemed to dissolve into the overwhelming sensations flooding his body. All he could do was watch her, mesmerized, as she continued her passionate assault, a silent testament to a moment he knew he would never forget.

Karina pulled her mouth away from Jin-ho’s slick cock and balls, her lips glistening with his saliva. She looked up at him, a playful smirk dancing on her face. "So, Jin-ho ssi," she purred, her voice a little hoarse from her efforts, "what are you in the mood for now?"

Jin-ho's gaze was immediately drawn to her chest. Her athletic top, now slightly damp, clung to her ample breasts, the shape of her nipples clearly defined beneath the fabric. He couldn't help but stare, completely captivated by their fullness.

Karina followed his gaze and a knowing smile spread across her face. With a slow, deliberate movement, she reached down and lifted the hem of her top, pulling it up just enough to expose the lower curves of her magnificent breasts. She held the fabric there, offering him a teasing glimpse of the pale skin underneath,

Karina held the hem of her top just high enough to reveal the plump undersides of her breasts, the shadow of her areola just visible, but not the full glory. "You like what you see, Jin-ho ssi?" she purred, her voice a husky whisper. "These were made for worship, you know. They get very sensitive… especially when they're teased just right." She lowered the hem a fraction, then lifted it again, giving him tantalizing glimpses. "Imagine how soft they feel in your hands. How good it would feel to have your mouth on them, sucking gently… or maybe a little rougher, if you prefer." She leaned closer, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Tell me, Jin-ho ssi, which way would you worship them best?"

Slowly, deliberately, Karina took a step closer to Jin-ho, still kneeling with his hard cock pointing straight ahead. The lower half of her luscious breasts, still partially hidden by her lifted top, came closer and closer to his erection. Then, with a soft sigh and a playful smile, she leaned forward just a little, gently brushing the underside of one plump breast against the hard ridge of his penis. The soft give of her flesh against his rigid member sent a jolt of pure electricity through Jin-ho. Karina repeated the motion, this time with the other breast, teasing him with the incredibly soft and sensitive underside. It was a torturous dance of near-contact, her not fully showing him her breasts making the tease even more intense, the slight friction of her skin against his cock promising a pleasure that was just out of reach.

With a playful giggle, Karina widened the small gap between her breasts and, with a slow, deliberate motion, guided Jin-ho’s thick, long, hard cock right into the warm, soft crevice. The sensation for Jin-ho was instantly overwhelming. The feeling of her soft, full breasts enveloping his erection was like being cradled in the most sensual pillow imaginable. He could feel the heat radiating from her body, and the subtle pressure of her cleavage against his shaft was incredibly arousing. It was an intimate and daring move, trapping his cock in her personal warmth, and Jin-ho felt a rush of pure, unadulterated lust mixed with a thrill of disbelief at Karina's boldness. His breath caught in his throat, and he could do nothing but watch her face, his body completely captivated by the incredible sensation of being nestled between Aespa Karina's glorious breasts.

Even though he couldn't really see her boobs, the feeling of his hard cock sliding in and out between them felt amazing. Every time he pushed in a little, the tip of his dick would just about touch her lips. He watched her face as this happened. Her mouth would open a tiny bit, and she'd look right at him with this playful look. It was like she was teasing him. The feeling of her soft boobs squeezing his cock was driving him crazy, and the thought of his tip almost touching her lips with every push was so hot. He let out a soft groan, completely lost in the feeling of her body on his.

The way Karina’s thick, soft breasts cradled his hard cock was unlike anything Jin-ho had ever experienced. They weren't just resting against him; they seemed to mold around his shaft, the warm, full weight pressing in from both sides. With each subtle thrust, he could feel the silky smooth skin of her cleavage rubbing against him, a sensation that was both incredibly soft and intensely stimulating. Sometimes, as he pushed in deeper, his cock would slide up and nudge against the underside of her nipple, sending a jolt of pure electricity through him. He imagined how perfectly his head would fit right there, between those magnificent mounds of flesh. The feeling was so intimate, so incredibly carnal, that Jin-ho could barely keep himself from moaning out loud. Her thick body, pressed so close against his, only amplified the sensation, making every inch of contact feel charged with raw desire. He was completely lost in the moment, the playful tease having morphed into something deeply sensual and undeniably erotic.

Karina’s eyes dropped to where Jin-ho’s thick cock was nestled between her breasts, and she noticed the tell-tale sheen of precum glistening on its head. A mischievous glint appeared in her eyes. Without breaking contact with his gaze, she lowered her head slightly and parted her lips. Jin-ho watched, his breath catching in his throat, as her tongue darted out and traced a wet line along the underside of his glans. The sensation was electric, especially with the soft pressure of her breasts still surrounding him. Encouraged by his involuntary groan, she leaned in further, taking the very tip of his cock into her mouth, her warm lips closing around it gently at first, then with a more insistent suck. The contrast of the cool air on the rest of his shaft and the intense heat and moisture of her mouth was driving him wild. He could feel her hands gently squeezing his sides as she continued her teasing oral attention, all while his cock remained nestled in her cleavage

Karina’s sucking grew more insistent, her lips creating a firm seal around the head of Jin-ho's cock. She’d pull back slightly, just enough to expose the glistening tip, then plunge forward again, her tongue flicking across the sensitive underside. Jin-ho could feel his hips starting to twitch involuntarily, his hands gripping her sides tighter. The warmth of her breath, combined with the soft pressure of her breasts surrounding him, was sending waves of pure lust through his body. He closed his eyes, completely lost in the sensations. He could hear her soft moans of pleasure mingling with his own ragged breathing. This unexpected encounter was escalating rapidly, and he could feel himself inching closer to the edge.

Jin-ho’s body tensed, his thrusts becoming more forceful, his grip on Karina’s sides tightening. He could feel the unmistakable pulsing sensation building deep within him. With a final, shuddering groan, he unleashed a huge load of hot, thick cum into Karina’s mouth. Her cheeks puffed out as she took it all, her eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment. Jin-ho held her close, his body still trembling from the release. When the last drops had been expelled, Karina slowly pulled back, her lips glistening with his semen. Without hesitation, she tilted her head back and swallowed every last bit, her throat moving visibly as she did so. She then looked up at him, a satisfied smile gracing her lips. "Delicious," she whispered, her voice thick with his ejaculate.

Jin-ho’s mind was still reeling. He could barely process what had just happened. Karina, Aespa’s Karina – a woman idolized by millions, someone he never thought he’d even be in the same room with, let alone this intimate – had just swallowed his cum as if it were the most delectable thing in the world. He watched, utterly stunned, as she used her fingers to gently wipe the remaining drops from the tip of his still-erect cock, bringing her fingers to her lips and sucking them clean. Her eyes met his, and the satisfied, almost sensual look on her face was more arousing than he could have imagined. He was speechless, his initial surprise quickly turning into a potent mix of disbelief and utter gratification

Seeing his cock, which had gone soft after his release, begin to swell again between her breasts, Karina looked genuinely surprised. Her eyebrows arched slightly, and her eyes widened as she felt the growing hardness pressing against her skin. A soft gasp escaped her lips, and she looked down at his hardening member with a mixture of amusement and renewed desire. "Looks like someone enjoyed that," she purred, her voice laced with a playful tease. She reached down and gently caressed the growing bulge through her top, a knowing smile spreading across her face.

His cock was indeed still nestled warmly between her breasts, held captive by the fabric of her tank top. She reached down and gently squeezed the bulge, a playful smile gracing her lips. "Well then, Jin-ho ssi, it seems you have a head start. But don't think that makes things any easier for you. I still expect you to keep me entertained until I've had my fill." She leaned in closer, her breath warm against his ear. "And trust me," she whispered, her voice a low purr, "I have a very big appetite." And that brings us to the end of Part 1 of this steamy encounter between Aespa's Karina and her lucky personal trainer, Jin-ho! Jin-ho’s cock is still nestled snugly between Karina’s glorious breasts, and she’s just made it clear that this workout is far from over.

What will happen in Part 2? Will Karina finally give Jin-ho a full view of her famous assets? Will she slide his hard cock out from between her breasts and take their intimate play to the next level? You'll have to wait and see what unfolds when we continue their intensely erotic gym session! Stay tuned!

[xpulchritudinousx]

shopping again?

Katsuki loves you, he really does with all his heart. But your obsession with little trinkets drove him crazy, the thing that drove him even more crazy was how he folded every time you smiled at him. Letting you get away with everything under the moon. 

At least you were obsessed with collecting random cute things like sanrio character themed collectables, or those dumb dolls that come with the lip glosses he keeps finding scattered around your home no matter how hard he tries to keep the house clean. You could've been obsessed with cars or handbags.

But hey he wasn't going broke right away, just steadily and as willingly as your merciless soft and moisturized hands let him possibly be. Yes you loved handbags, it's what you put those dumb keychain dolls on, but you didn't force him to get you a bunch. Hell, half of your wardrobe was made up of things he just saw and thought you'd like. Of course he was right, he knew you better than you knew yourself. 

He really needed to stop spoiling you, you were starting to become a brat without even trying. Just giving him a little look before he just shrugged, trying to keep his act of nonchalance up. The truth was you were more expensive than making Izuku's damn suit and he couldn't even say anything about it. 

Especially when you'd been learning Japanese so diligently for him, your little accent just made it even more cute to him. Biting the inside of his cheek every time you stuttered over your words as you asked him for something. 

Today was no different, with you tiptoeing over to him with that sheepish look that told him you'd found out about something that required driving or money, usually both. "Katsuki... Could we go to the mall, please?" There it was, the answer was obvious even though he rolled his eyes and tried to keep up the facade of annoyance. "Why?" 

Watching your cheeks puff out a bit and your eyes flicker away from him told him everything he needed to know. Rolling his eyes before grabbing his phone and just checking for himself if there was something, groaning when he realized throwing his head back to the couch cushion. 

“It’s not…” “It is.” 

“Why? Don’t you already have enough of those stupid stuffed animals? Our bed barely has enough room for us on it anymore. Why do you need one giant one?” His question just made you huff a bit, grabbing his hand with that same begging look in your eyes. 

“It’s so cute, please? I know our room’s really girlie, but it makes me happy…” He hesitates at that admission, sighing before yanking you down and pressing a little kiss to your cheek, grumbling under his breath as he hugged your little tummy. “Fine, but you owe me.”

 “A thousand kisses?” The words earned a snort from him, shaking his head as he bumped his nose to your neck, nuzzling it in a bit. “Two thousand.” A little giggle left your lips at that, turning to hug him back as you start dramatically smooching his face all over. “Easy.” Yeah… He was a sap, but at least he got kisses.

kind words and comments r always welcome!

[austinbutlerslovers]

Star Student

Label Mature 18+

Summary Professor Butler casts you as the lead in the annual college play, coaching you through the difficulties of acting with ease, until it comes to an intimate scene, where he teaches you a lesson you’ll never forget.

🚨Depraved Smut 🚨 Teacher student relationship • unequal power dynamics • broken boundaries •sexual favors from a professor • manipulation •coercion• obsession •angst• regret• edging •fingering • clit play• romance denial • kiss it better • oral sex fem receiving• size kink• p in v• interchanging positions •multiple orgasms•squirting• oral gratification from student •dubcon 🔗 Masterlist

📖 Proofreaders @purejasmine @peggyao3 🎬Scene Consultants @eternal-love @aust-een ✨ Inspo via request 💝

Star Student

Your spring semester in college is a whirlwind of academic chaos. Between endless group projects, partying and essays stacking up faster than you can keep track, the sleepless nights in your dorm leave your vision blurry. 

But above all the unforeseen excitement as a freshmen, nothing compares to the thrill of landing a coveted spot in Professor Butler's Advanced Acting Course.

After impressing him with your intuitive talent over the first few weeks, and absolutely nailing the annual audition, he chooses you to star in the annual production of A Streetcar Named Desire. 

Now, with the performance looming ahead and expectations high, your nerves begin to rise.

He has cast you as the female lead, Blanche DuBois, a coveted role brimming with vulnerability and raw sensuality…a part that demands you kiss your co-star, Stanley, in front of a packed house.

You've never kissed anyone on stage before, and the thought of it makes your stomach flutter with sudden spikes of anxiety.

But Professor Butler becomes your lifeline, your mentor, your anchor, and he rehearses with you daily, guiding the cast with his quiet, unshakable energy.

Under his guidance, the script becomes instinct, your lines needing only fleeting glances as his technique shifts to channeling  the deep emotions and bold physicality into the characters.

Today Professor Butler stands at the front of the rehearsal hall, his sandy brown hair catching the late afternoon light filtering through the large windows. Trim and poised in a crisp white button-up, his sleeves are pulled back to reveal his forearms as he moves with the effortless grace of someone who's spent years commanding the stage.

“A Streetcar Named Desire is about raw human need,” he begins, his deep honeyed voice filling the room. “It’s not just a play it’s a collision of desire and desperation. Every choice you make on this stage has to give into that.”

He speaks with his hands, a habit that both fascinates and distracts you as they sweep through the air demonstrating the intensity of the play, his fingers coaxing the moment into existence. 

“This is a world where want drives every move, Blanche’s longing, Stanley’s hunger,” he says, his voice rich with conviction. “You have to embody that fire.” His blue eyes scan the room, then settle on yours with a familiar smile of expectation. “Let’s see that come alive.”

His full lips always smirk when he speaks about acting, and you can feel his passion for it, his perfect side profile catching the light just so as he pairs you into groups. 

“You two” he says as he teams you up with Jake who’s been cast as the male lead Stanley, his hazel eyes flickering with restless nerves beside your own unsteady energy.

“Blanche and Stanley are opposites, but they’re both driven by want. You’ve got to find that in yourselves and build that tension,” he directs.

You and Jake begin the Dive Bar Scene, where Blanche’s flirtation clashes with Stanley’s raw energy, and Professor Butler watches, his smirk—half-knowing, half-impressed, warming in amusement. 

You can’t help but glance at Professor Butler, his unwavering attention always makes you feel the reward of approval in his eyes.

When he bites his bottom lip in contemplation, it sends a jolt right to your chest, and you fumble through the scene, until he speaks again, his voice cutting in with quiet authority.

“Blanche isn’t fragile, she’s toying with him to hold herself together,” he says, his eyes locked on yours intense and focused. “You’re close, but dig deeper. Unravel, let us see her desire.” He says his words a personal challenge for you.

As you begin again, you can tell he’s pleased with you as he pauses, resting a hand on his chin, his thumb brushing his jaw in that slow, tantalizing way that always makes your pulse race.

Professor Butler is entirely fuckable, a fact whispered in hushed giggles among the class, but his guard is impenetrable.

He calls you all "kids" or "my lovely students," brushing off heated glances with a playful deflection.

Even during frequent late-night rehearsals, when he leans close to adjust your posture, his breath warm against your ear, seeing you shiver from his touch…he never falters, never slips.

It's not just his looks that make him magnetic, it's his intelligence and presence, too. Professor Butler, has worked with legends like Robert De Niro, Leonardo DiCaprio, and Christopher Walken… names that feel larger than life, shaping his craft into something extraordinary.

He's had a successful career too, starring in films that racked up critical acclaim before stepping back to teach. Everyone knows he could've kept going, but he always says he wants to give back to the next generation, and damn do you feel so lucky to be part of it.

In the evening, after your particularly grueling rehearsal, you linger in the studio as the others trickle out, leaving you alone with him. You fidget with the hem of your skirt, the stress of the kiss scene for the finale pressing down on you like a weight.

"Professor Butler?" you ask, your voice softer than usual. "Can I talk to you about something?"

He glances up from the script he's been annotating, his blue eyes warm but curious. "Of course, kid. What's on your mind?"

You take a deep breath, stepping closer. "It's the kiss in Streetcar. I've never done anything like that on stage in front of people and I'm terrified I'll freeze up or… I don't know, look ridiculous." He sets the script down, leaning against the edge of the table, his posture relaxed and attentive.

"Hey, that's normal, first time I had to kiss someone on camera, I was a mess, sweaty palms, the whole deal," he grins, his voice dipping into that smooth, honeyed drawl you love.

His blue eyes spark with excitement, a glint of passion lighting them up as his hands gesture to emphasize his point.

"Here's the trick: it's not about the kiss itself. It's about what's behind it. Blanche isn't just kissing Stanley, she's grasping for control, for survival. You've gotta lean into her desperation, let it fuel you. The kiss is just the punctuation."

You nod, hanging onto his every word, he has a way of making everything sound possible, even poetic. "But what if I'm still nervous? Like, physically shaky?"

He smirks, resting his hand on his chin, a telltale sign he's pleased with your honesty.

"Then use it. Channel that into Blanche. She's a wreck too, right? Let your hands tremble, let your breath catch. Make it real." He pauses, then adds, "You ever see the TV Show Carrie Diaries? Look up the scene where I…well, where my character, kisses his girl in the swimming pool. Might give you some ideas."

Your smile quirks. "Wait, you were in TV shows?"

He chuckles, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks.

"Yeah, in my early twenties, that's where l got my start. It's all about gaining experience." He says his eyes glancing over you with a quiet intensity.

"Did you ever film a scene that involved more than just a kiss?" you tease, testing the waters, a playful lilt in your voice as you lean in slightly.

His blush deepens, as he rubs the back of his neck, a rare break in his composed exterior. "Well, uh… yes, I have. But even with cameras in your face and twenty crew members around, it still feels personal, and the body responds in ways you don't expect….Acting's funny like that…" He admits, his voice trailing off, then he clears his throat, steering the conversation back. "Anyway, watch it. See how the nerves can work for you."

You leave the studio feeling a rush of excitement and triumph, the honesty of words, and the way he blushed, all rolled into one, swirling in your mind, lingering long after the moment fades.

Later at night, sprawled across your dorm room bed with the lights out, you pull up The Carrie Diaries on your phone. The scene is easy to find, Professor Butlers first name is Austin, and he is much younger in this series, closer to your age but no less captivating.

His toned, tall frame is striking in a pair of black swim trunks, his sun-kissed skin glistening with a casual confidence that pulls you in, his every move radiating a magnetic ease.

You watch the playful banter unfold between he and his co-star, how he tries to kiss her and she pushes back, only for him to pull her into the pool with him.

They play-fight splashing each other in the water until the mood shifts, turning serious. His hands slide around her waist with ease, lifting her to him and drawing her close as he kisses her with a hunger that seems far too real.

The way he holds her, and the slow burn of that kiss becomes etched in your mind. 

He's intoxicating, mesmerizing, and it doesn't help the stage fright for your own kissing scene, but it definitely plants another, far more dangerous idea in your mind.

Chapter 2: The Acting Studio

The next day class is upbeat and energetic. Professor Butler has planned a trust exercise: blindfolded confidence work.

You're paired with him for the demo, the rest of the class watching as he guides you through it. He ties a blindfold gently around your eyes, his fingers brushing your temples, and you swear you hear his breath catch for a second.

"Alright, kid," he says, voice low and steady. "I'm gonna lead you. Just listen to me, feel where I am."

You nod, hyper-aware of his presence and as he releases your hands, he guides you across the room, with his voice smooth and steady. "Alright step forward now…" he instructs, and you do, tentatively at first, the deprivation making you hesitate.

"Good, you're doing great," he says, his tone reassuring as you hone in on where he is.

The class fades away narrowing to just you and he as you step forward, your instincts taking over as you follow the sound of his voice. "You're almost there" he encourages.

When your palms press against his chest, you feel the warmth of him seep into your skin and he stops you, his fingers lingering on yours a second too long before he steps back. "You see?" he says, louder for the rest of the class.

"Trust is everything with acting. When you let go, when you give yourself to it, that's when the passion really begins." He says as he pulls off your blindfold.

You catch his gaze for a fleeting second, and there's something unguarded in those blue eyes of his, a flicker of heat that steals your breath, only to vanish just as quickly.

The rest of the session flies by, everyone feeding off of each other's energy with a newfound passion to perform as they build trust, but you're lost  in a daze, unable to shake the moment with him.

After class, as you pack up your things he calls you over.

"Hey," he says, his tone casual and light as his eyes search yours. "l've got something to show you. Could help with Streetcar. You free tonight?"

Your heart skips a beat. "Yeah, definitely"You say without hesitation.

"Alright meet me at the studio, eight sharp." He says with his signature smirk, but there is a shadow behind it..something he isn't saying.

You've always been quick to read people, and Professor Butler is no exception.

He is kind, happy in nature, teaching is definitely his element, but you can tell there's something about you as his student that rattles his carefully curated demeanor.

And you, eager, sharp, and with a growing crush on him, are just as reckless and determined enough to uncover exactly what that is.

The clock on your phone reads 7:58 as you push open the heavy door to the acting studio, your nervous pulse thrumming in your chest.

The studio is dim, lit only by a pair of soft spotlights casting a warm glow across the hardwood floors of the stage.

Professor Butler is already there, standing near the center of the space, his sandy brown hair slightly tousled, as if he's been running his hands through it.

He’s wearing a fitted black t-shirt and jeans, a shift from his usual button-downs, and the casual look only amplifies his effortless allure.

When he sees you, his face changes from contemplative to a wide, beaming smile, the kind that lifts the corners of his eyes, and it makes your knees weak.

"There she is," he says, his voice bright with enthusiasm. "Right on time. I've got something set up for you to help with those Streetcar nerves."

He gestures toward a tripod in the corner, a small camera perched on top, its lens pointed at the open space where you'll be working, like a silent witness to whatever is about to unfold.

You step closer, your sneakers squeaking faintly against the polished floor. "A camera?" you ask, tilting your head.

"Yep," he says, picking up a thin stack of papers from a nearby table and handing them to you. "We're gonna run lines, block it out, and see exactly how you look. Sometimes watching yourself back is the best way to shake those jitters. Plus, I figured a little one-on-one could get you comfortable with the physicality of it."

He says with a small smile, "You good with that?" he asks resting a hand on his chin for a moment, and you feel a familiar heat creep up to your cheeks.

You nod, glancing at the script seeing Blanche and Stanley's most intense exchange, leading right up to the kiss. "Yeah, I'm good. I trust you," you say quickly as your eyes meet…because you do trust him.

There's just something about him…his warmth, his steady presence, that makes you feel safe, even as your pulse races with anxiety.

"Alright then," he says, switching the camera on with a quick tap. "Let's dive in. You're Blanche, I'll take Stanley. We'll start from the top of the scene, right after she's taunting him about his roughness. Ready?"

You take a deep breath, slipping into character as you step into the spotlight. The studio feels smaller now, the air heavy with the weight of the moment. 

You toss your head back, channeling Blanche's fragile bravery, and begin: "You think I'd be afraid of you? You think I'd tremble in your big, clumsy hands?"

His posture shifts instantly as he embodies Stanley's tempered energy. He steps closer, his blue eyes darkening with intensity: "You talk a big game, Blanche," he drawls, his voice low and rough, tinged with that southern cadence he's mastered effortlessly. "But I see right through you, all that fancy talk …..it's just noise."

The script calls for him to circle you, and he does, his movements slow and intimidating sizing you up as you try not to falter.

You turn to him, your breath stuttering as he closes the distance sharply, standing at your side.

The air hums between you, the energy so heavy you can feel the heat of his body. Your line comes next, shaky but defiant: "You wouldn't dare touch me. You wouldn't know what to do with a woman like me."

He stops, inches away, towering over you just enough to make your heart pound. His smirk flickers, dangerous and knowing as he delivers Stanley's retort: "Oh, l'd know exactly what to do."He confirms his voice dropping an octave, his gaze locked on yours steady and unyielding.

The script denotes he'll grab your arm, yanking you in close, and he does, his grip firm his fingers squeezing against your skin as he pulls you to him. You fall forward, chest brushing his, and for a moment, you almost forget your lines entirely.

You tilt your chin up, Blanche's desperation bleeding into your own as the scene intensifies. "You're nothing but a brute," you whisper, your voice trembling, your true nerves rising and blurring the line between you and the act.

His hand slides up your arm, resting just below your shoulder, and you feel the heat of his palm through your thin shirt. His breath fans across your face, shallow and quick, and you aren't sure if it’s the aggression of the scene or something else simmering in his blue eyes.

The script denotes to pause here, right before the kiss, a beat of silence where Blanche's resolve crumbles and Stanley takes what he wants.

Your both at a stand still, breaths heavy, the space between you charged with uncertainty. His eyes flick to your lips, then back up, and you can’t tell if it’s planned or not, if this is still the scene or something more.

Your pulse thunders in your ears, and then, without warning, he breaks character and kisses you.

It isn't hesitant or staged. It is full-on, hungry, his mouth crashing onto yours with a force that steals your breath. His lips are soft and warm, parting yours as his tongue sweeps in, tasting you like he's been starving for it.

Your hands fly to his chest, script falling to the floor as your fingers curl into his shirt, kissing him back just as fiercely, a moan slipping out before you can stop it. He groans into your mouth, one hand sliding to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him.

You devour each other, the camera long forgotten, the script a distant memory, nothing exists but the heat of his body, and the way he presses himself against you like he can't get enough.

Then, just as suddenly, he pulls back, his palm outstretched to hold you at arm's length. His chest heaves, his lips swollen and tinged a deep shade pink. His eyes are wide with something raw, shock, maybe, or regret.

"Wait," he rasps, his voice rougher than you've ever heard it. "We…shit, I didn't mean…" He drags a hand through his hair, stepping back further, the distance between you cold and abrupt after the fire you'd just shared.

You stand there, dazed, lips tingling, your own breaths staggering. The camera's red light still blinks in the corner, a silent witness to the line you both crossed.

You don't know if it was part of the exercise or if he'd lost himself as much as you did, but one thing is certain, the dynamic in the studio has shifted, and there is no going back.

Professor Butler stumbles toward the camera, his movements rushed, like he is trying to outrun what just happened. He pulls the camera from the tripod, holding it in his hands as he sinks onto the steps at the side of the stage.

His shoulders hunch as he stares at the tiny screen and as you watch him you can't help the small smile that forms across your lips. He's completely undone, his impenetrable guard fractured to pieces letting something real and vulnerable show through, and it thrills you to to no end.

You walk over to him, sitting on the steps close enough that your thigh brushes his. The heat radiating off of him is intoxicating, and you can't resist leaning in, your breath grazing his shoulder as he presses play on the footage.

The screen comes to life, and there you are Blanche and Stanley, raw and captivating. You nailed the scene, every trembling word and desperate glance is perfect, and watching it unfold again sends a fresh wave of heat through you. The way he grabbed you, the way your bodies had collided, it was hotter than you'd even realized, and your breaths quicken as you struggle to stay still sitting so close to him.

The kiss comes up on the tape, and his finger hovers over the pause button. The second your lips met on screen, he hits it, stopping the frame. 

His eyes stare ahead, unblinking, as his voice comes out low and hesitant, laced with something dark. "That wasn't supposed to happen," he confesses, almost to himself.

"I'm your teacher. This… this is so fucked up." 

He swallows hard, his jaw tight, his hand trembling where it rests on the camera. "You're too good, you know that? Too fucking good, and I-I shouldn't have allowed that to happen."

You freeze, caught between the thrill of his confession and the edge of fear in your gut. But your body betrays you, leaning closer, your voice barely a whisper. "Then why'd you kiss me?"

His head turns toward you, eyes filled with conflict. “I shouldn’t have kissed you,” he says, his voice hushed as he sets the camera down. 

His breaths are heavier now, his chest rising and falling as his blue eyes stare at your lips, then back into your eyes filled with everything unspoken.

Your voice is a shy whisper as you look at him. “I liked it, Professor,” you confess, and he freezes, his breath catching, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. 

“You shouldn’t say that,” he chastises, his voice low and firm, but he doesn’t pull away, and that’s all the encouragement you need.

“I mean it,” you say as you look at him, your eyes soft and honest. “I liked it when you kissed me, Professor Butler” You say without hesitation.

His jaw tightens, a war raging behind his eyes, and then he leans in, rushed and desperate, as he claims your lips a second time.

He kisses you with a deep urgent press of his mouth, and it lunleashes all of your desire for him as his lips move against yours with a reckless edge

His hands slide down your sides igniting a throbbing heat that pulses through your core, and you whimper as his palms glide up your thighs, his touch hesitant before turning bolder, his fingers slipping under the hem of your skirt 

He grazes the soft fabric of your panties, stroking his fingers between your legs with agonizing precision, and you moan as he presses against your clit sending a jolt through you.

He breaks the kiss, the realization hitting before he can stop it. “I shouldn’t be touching you like this…” he says, his voice a shaky command. “I shouldn’t be doing this to you,” he says, his tone soft and broken, the hesitation overwhelming in his blue eyes as he looks at  you unable to pull away.

You don’t tell him to stop… you can’t. 

Instead you part your legs wider, a silent invitation letting him in, and he makes a soft, needy sound as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties, pulling them smoothly down your legs in one swift motion.

Your heart is hammering as he leans closer, his beautiful hand trembling as he presses it between your legs, testing you. “Fuck,” he mutters sliding two fingers along your slick heat. “You’re already so wet,” he whispers, his voice shaky, reverent.

He glides his fingers gently up and down, holding on to the last thread of his restraint as you reach for his wrist.

“Please, Professor Butler,” you beg breathlessly, your pelvis titling up pressing yourself against his hand, and he lets out a desperate groan of surrender as he finally pushes his fingers in, slow and deep. 

“You like this?” he breathes, his tone shifting darker, more commanding as his wrist flexes, thrusting his fingers just right and you nod, chest heaving as you try to stay focused.

“Show me,” he whispers, his thumb brushing your clit and you whimper, your hips bucking against his hand, and he watches you, his eyes locked on your face, memorizing every expression, every sound.

“Good girl,” he praises, thrusting deeper, steady and relentless. “You’re so obedient—fuck, you’re killing me.”

Your soft little gasps and whines spur him on, his words spilling out in a fevered rush. “You wanted this, didn’t you? Watching that tape, getting all worked up.” His fingers pump faster, slick and precise, and you moan louder, the sound echoing in the empty studio. 

“Fuck I love your voice,”he praises, his tone filled with awe “So full of emotion and range when you act.” He reveals, his fingers making sloppy wet sounds as you feel them deep inside. “But what I’ve really wondered”he confesses, his voice low and desperate. “is how you would sound just like this.”

His words make your whole body tense as your hips twitch taking a pounding from his fingers until your moans come out wild unstoppable.

You crave every part of him now, his touch, his voice, his passion, your desperation rising as you ache for him to claim you completely. Your body writhes, slick and needy, your heart racing with a raw, reckless desire to be his, entirely consumed by the thought of him inside you.

"Professor Butler please," you breathe, clutching his arm. "Please-more—"

"More?" he echoes, his breaths quickening, his eyes sharp and dangerous. "You want to give me everything, don't you?" He coaxes, thrusting his fingers inside, hitting the sweet spot that makes your vision blur as you cry out, trembling. 

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” he says, his fingers jostling you as they thrust harder inside, “I should’ve known my star student would always give her everything," he praises, his voice a low rasp.

His filthy encouragement pushes you to the brink and you moan loudly enough that he covers your mouth, his fingers plunging into your core as you choke back sobs against his palm.

“Be a good girl and come for me,” he commands, his breaths fast and ragged.

Your body seizes, a rush of heat flooding through you as you come hard, squirting all over his fingers in a slick mess.

His hand over your mouth stifles your pleasurable moans, but the whimpers slip out anyway, soft and needy as he works you through it, his fingers relentless until you’re shivering and delirious.

He slowly pulls his hand back releasing you and his fingers are glistening with your slick, then he looks at you, his chest heaving, eyes wide with something between awe and disbelief.

You sit there, panting, skirt hiked up, legs wide, a dazed expression on your face as you see the camera lying forgotten beside him, the frozen kiss still on the screen, a memory now surpassed by the real thing.

You are hopelessly in love with him now, your mentor, your teacher, Professor Butler, the man who's just finger-fucked you on the edge of a stage. 

Your breaths are shaky exhales, as your body recovers from the intensity of what he's done, and when you glance at him, your heart stutters.

He stares at his slicked fingers like they've betrayed him and he wipes them clean on his jeans, you quickly fumble to find your panties, pulling them back up over your thighs, feeling the wet fabric press against your skin.

He reaches for the camera with a jerky motion.

"I have to delete this," he says, voice low and rough, tinged with something heavy…guilt, maybe, or fear. "This can't… it can't exist. If anyone sees-"

"No!" you blurt, lurching forward to grab his arm. Your voice is desperate, pleading, and you don't care how it sounds. "Please Professor, don't. I-I want it. I want you to keep it." Your eyes lock on his, wide and pleading, and you see the conflict across his face. "It's ours. No one else has to know." You say shakily.

He pauses, his thumb hovering over the delete button, and for a long moment, he just stares at the screen. His blue eyes are stormy, torn between reason and whatever irresistible hold you have over him.

Finally, he exhales sharply, turning the screen off. "Fine," he mutters, relenting. "But it stays between us. Locked away. You hear me?"

You nod, a smile tugging at your lips as relief floods through you. "Yeah. I hear you."

He stands abruptly, gathering the tripod and script pages in a rush, like he needs to move to shake off the weight of it all.

You follow suit, tugging your skirt down and collecting your bag, your mind spinning with the memory of his fingers, his voice, the way he made you come on the side of the stage.

As you leave the studio together, the cool night air hits your face, but it does nothing to dim the heat you feel for each other.

"Good night," he says softly, his voice lingering in the air between you. "Good night," you reply, your tone dreamy, and drifting as a small smile forms across your lips.

You walk back to your dorm in a haze, every step light and floaty, your thoughts consumed by him, your body still on a high from his touch.

After your shower you lay in bed with the memory of him and a strange calm settles over you. 

Maybe he will fuck you. 

He could have tonight but he didn’t. Maybe that was the line he wouldn't cross, but you smile to yourself, a quiet, private thing.

You’ve already gone further than he wanted to go, and that alone feels like a victory. But you want for more. You want him entirely, you want him to lose control again when he takes you, and that idea alone makes your pulse race all over again.

Chapter 3: Restraint

The next morning, you arrive at class, your eyes meeting Professor Butler’s briefly, a fleeting spark passing between you before you tuck into your row, heart racing from the memory of last night.

The class is a test of restraint, and Professor Butler stands at the front, playing it cool—too cool. His posture is stiff, his voice tense as he outlines the day’s lesson: subtext in physicality, how to convey longing without words.

He wears a black button-down, sleeves rolled to his elbows, his sandy brown hair is tamed, but you notice the tension in his jaw, the way he doesn’t move his hands as much when he speaks.

You, on the other hand, are a glowing mess, cheeks flushed, eyes smitten and burning right through him. Every time he glances your way, you catch the flicker of his indecision: look away or hold your gaze? He can’t decide, and it thrills you to no end.

“Alright,” he says, clapping his hands together. “We’re pairing up. I want you to pick a moment of unspoken tension and play it out. Less dialogue, more movement.” His eyes sweep the room, landing on you, and your heart leaps.

“You,” he says, pointing and you practically jump out of your seat eager to be his partner, but then he nods to someone else behind you. 

“And Jake. You two are together. I have something special planned for you.”

Your excitement fades, nerves creeping in as your co-star Jake, the tall sophomore with dark curls and a shy smile, stands up.

You like Jake well enough, but he isn’t Professor Butler, and the thought of performing with anyone else after last night feels wrong.

He looks at both of you, handing you scripts. “You two are going to play out the kissing scene, emphasizing the subtext in physicality.” 

You and Jake nod standing to face each other, and Professor Butler circles you both to watch, just like he did last night, and his presence becomes a gravitational pull you can’t ignore. 

“Start closer,” he instructs, his voice steady but edged. “Let the space between you tell the story.”

You try to focus, standing inches from Jake, acting out the dialogue mirroring last night’s intensity, but your pace is lagging, slow and distant in an awkward orbit. 

Your mind is elsewhere, on Professor Butler’s hands, on how his lips felt against yours last night and your energy becomes soft, dream like, distracted.

Jake, picking up on the exercise, steps closer, his hand brushing your arm, pulling you to him gently leading right up to the kiss. 

Your eyes lock and both of your faces break into wide, giddy grins, your shyness eating you alive, and just as quickly Jake leans in giving you a soft chaste kiss, it’s part of the improv but it jolts you all the same.

“Stop,” Professor Butler says, his voice cutting through the room like a whip. Everyone freezes, heads turning, but his eyes are fixed on you and Jake, his hands on his hips, his composure cracking. 

“That’s not it…You’re rushing the tension, build it, make her want it, don’t just jump to the kiss.” His tone is sharp toward Jake, then his gaze lands on you, a flash of jealousy betraying his cool facade.

You bite back a smile, your lips still tingling from Jake’s kiss, but it’s Professor Butler’s reaction that lights you up. 

He looks rattled, his guilt surging back to the surface, as if seeing you kiss a boy your own age is supposed to fix something, to erase the line he crossed last night. 

Maybe he hopes it will snap him out of whatever this is, remind him you belong with someone like Jake, not him.

But it doesn’t work. You feel it in the way his gaze lingers, the way his hand pulls into a fist at his side like he wants to pull you away.

Jake shuffles back, his grin widening, muttering a quiet “Sorry” under his breath, but you don’t respond, too busy watching Professor Butler as he steps back slowly pacing, trying to regain control.

Your cheeks glow hotter, your smitten eyes still locked on him, and you know, kissing Jake hasn’t fixed anything….It only makes you want Professor Butler even more.

The rest of the class resumes as you rehearse, but the air between you and Professor Butler is heavy with unspoken tension.

The studio empties out, the chatter of your classmates fading into the hall as they file through the door, but you linger behind, moving slowly, like a cat stalking its prey.

Your bag hangs loosely over your shoulder, and you let it drop to the floor, your eyes tracking Professor Butler as he busies himself at the front of the room, stacking scripts and avoiding your gaze.

He wants you gone, you sense it in the tight set of his shoulders, the way he keeps his back to you so long. But he doesn’t say it, and that’s enough to keep you there, toying with him.

“Professor Butler?” you call, your voice soft and laced with intent you can’t resist. You step closer, your sneakers silent against the floor, stopping just a few feet from him. “Can I ask you something about the exercise?”

He stiffens, his hands pausing mid-motion, and when he turns, his blue eyes are guarded, flickering with something he tries to bury. “Yeah, sure,” he says, precise and careful. “What’s up, kid?”

You tilt your head coyly in a move to draw attention. “I just… I feel off with Jake. Like I can’t connect. You see it, right?” You take another step, closing the gap, and his breath hitches faintly. “I keep thinking about last night. How it feels… different.”

His jaw tightens, and he crosses his arms in a flimsy shield. “Last night was a mistake,” he says, low and firm, but his eyes dart to your lips for a split second before snapping back up. “We’re not doing that again. You should go.”

You don’t move. Instead, you smile…just a little, just enough to nudge him further. “You sure?” You ask peering up at him innocently. “You didn’t seem to think it was a mistake when you had your fingers inside me.” 

The words hang in the air, bold and unapologetic, and you can see the crack in his resolve, the way his hands squeeze his biceps.

“Stop it,” he snaps, uncrossing his arms as he steps back, but his voice wavers, betraying him. “You don’t know what you’re playing with. I’m your teacher. This—” He gestures between you, frantic. “This can’t happen. I don’t want it.”

But you see it, the bulge straining against his jeans, the way his chest rises and falls too fast. He’s lying, and you both know it. 

You step closer, bolder now, your fingers slowly tucking into his belt loop to pull him in closer  “Then why am I still here Professor Butler?” You ask your voice laced with a playful challenge.. “Why haven’t you kicked me out already?” You say staring into his eyes.

He exhales sharply, a sound of frustration and surrender, and then he moves fast, grabbing your wrist firm and pining your hand against the desk beside you.

“You’re becoming such a fucking menace,” he grits, leaning down his face inches from yours, his breath hot against your cheek. “You think you can just push me like this and I won’t break?”

Your heart races, exhilaration flooding as he towers over you, his control slipping. “I want you to,” you whisper, eyes locked on his.

That does it—He lets go of your wrist only to spin you around, pressing your hips firm against the desks edge, his body crowding yours from behind. 

“You’re gonna regret this,” he mutters, and his hands are already on you sliding up your thighs, pushing your skirt higher. His fingers brush your panties, and he groans, low and guttural. “Damn it, you’re already soaked again.”

You gasp, arching into him wanting more, but he pulls back, leaving you in place as he goes to lock the studio door with a sharp click, the sound echoing in the empty space.

When he returns, his cock is hard and strained against his jeans, undeniable now as he presses it against you caging you in. “Is this what you want?” he rasps, his hand slipping between your legs, tugging your panties aside. “Me losing it? Taking you right here?”

“Yes,” you breathe, trembling under his touch and his fingers tease you, circling but not dipping in yet, still fighting himself, even now, as his free hand grips the table like it can anchor him.

“I shouldn’t,” he says, almost to himself, but then he gives in, his two fingers sliding in to you, slow and deep, stretching you with a precision that makes your knees buckle.

“Professor Butler it feels so good,” you cry out, your voice filled with lust as he thrusts steady and deliberate. 

“You’re driving me insane, you know that? All damn class, with those eyes on me.”he grits.

You moan, soft and desperate, your hands bracing against the table as he works you open nice and slow. 

“More Professor Butler please,” you beg, and he complies, his pace quickening, fingers curling just right, his thumb finding your clit and pressing down.

“Shit,” he curses, his control unraveling as your little noises fill the room. “You’re gonna take this aren’t you? Everything I give you.” 

“Yes” you moan and his free hand slides up your back, pressing you down until your chest meets the table, and he leans over you, his hard cock grinding against your hip through his jeans.

“I try to stay away,” he says, pumping his fingers harder, faster, his voice dark and desperate. “I try to be good. But you—you just keep begging for it.”

You whimper, lost in him, your body tightening as he pushes you close to the brink, until you can’t hold back anymore, his fingers, his words, the weight of him pinning you down, it’s too much. 

“Come for me,” he orders, as his lips brush your ear, and you do, climaxing on his fingers with a cry you can’t stifle, your walls clenching tight as pleasure rips through you.

He slows but doesn’t pull away, his breathing heavy as he feels you tremble beneath him. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, easing his fingers out, slick and glistening. He steps back running his other hand through his hair, his cock still straining, untouched. “Get your stuff,” he says, voice hoarse but softer now, the fight drained out of him. “We’re done here.”

You straighten, dizzy and glowing, your love for him a wild, reckless thing as you pull up your painted and adjust your skirt. He takes advantage, sure, but you want it, you push him to it, and the thrill of it lingers as you grab your bag, casting him one last smitten glance before slipping out the door.

At night in your dorm room you lay sprawled across your bed, utterly wrecked. The play A Streetcar Named Desire is only a day away, and your mind feels like it’s been dipped in jelly, sluggish and sweet. 

All you can think about is Professor Butler, his hands, his voice, the way he lost it and pinned you across a desk and made you come in the acting studio. Now the only thing on your mind is how badly you want him to fuck you until you see stars.

Chapter 4: Just a Girl

The next morning, you wake with a lingering smile, your body still on a high from Professor Butler’s touch, his voice echoing in your mind. 

You head to the theater, heart pounding to see him again, to catch that spark in his blue eyes that makes your heart flutter with excitement. 

The final rehearsal for A Streetcar Named Desire is today, the play set for tomorrow evening, and the pressure is undeniable.

You arrive early enough to see only few crew members adjusting props and Professor Butler is already there, standing near the stage, clipboard in hand. He’s in a sepia button-down, sleeves rolled up, but his posture is tense, his jaw set in a way that makes your stomach knot. 

You approach slowly, a smile on your lips, “Good morning Professor Butler,” you say sweetly, your voice laced with intimacy.

He cuts you off turning sharply, his blue eyes cold, devoid of the warmth you crave. “No,” he says, his voice low and biting, a harsh edge you’ve never heard directed at you. 

“We’re not doing this here.” He says his eyes darting over the crew members working dutifully. “Yesterday  was another mistake ..a fucking stupid one—and it’s not happening again.” His words land like a slap, each syllable intensified as you stare at him.

“You’re my student. I’m your teacher. That’s it. Get it through your head.” You freeze, breath catching, heart plummeting, because  the  rejection stings, raw and unexpected.

“Professor Butler, please you don’t mean it,” you whisper, voice trembling, stepping closer, desperate to bridge the gap. “I want to be with you… you can’t just—”

“I can,” he snaps, stepping back, his tone brutal, blue eyes flashing with a mix of anger and guilt. “And I will. This stops now. You’re a kid, chasing something you don’t understand. I’m not your boyfriend, and I sure as hell am not yours to play with.” He voices, trying to keep his tone low. “Focus on the play. Be a good student. Leave it at that.”

His words shatter you, your chest tightening as tears prick your eyes. You want him so badly the ache hurts like a physical pain, he’s shutting you out, his denial now a wall you can’t breach. 

You open your mouth to argue, to beg, but his glare silences you, “Go,” he says, turning to his clipboard, dismissing you.

You stumble into a seat, crossing your arms and sinking down, legs shaky, heart hammering. The cast trickles in, their chatter a distant hum as you open your script, trying to anchor yourself.

You throw yourself into, memorizing every nuance of Blanche’s lines, every stage cue, determined to prove your worth to him, to channel the pain into your performance. 

Your eyes keep drifting to Professor Butler, standing at the front, directing the cast with  precision and each time you look, tears well, stinging as they threaten to spill. His rejection cuts deeper than you expected, a wound that deepens with every glance.

Rehearsal begins, and you force yourself to focus, running scenes with Jake, whose timid acting feels like a shadow compared to Professor Butlers intensity. 

You pour everything into Blanche, her fragility, her longing, her desperation, using your turmoil to fuel her. Your voice trembles authentically, your movements bold yet brittle, and the cast notices, their whispers of praise and awe lifting through the theater. 

Jake grips your arm for the kiss scene, his touch gentle, and you flinch, remembering Professor Butlers firm grasp. Your eyes flick to him, standing in the wings, watching you with a neutral expression, and you catch a fleeting crack the tensing of his jaw, a shadow in his eyes. It’s not enough to undo his words, but it sparks a flicker of hope, he still wants you.

You push through the scene allowing Jake to kiss you deeper making your performance raw and electrifying driven by the need to show Professor Butler what you’re capable of, to make him see you. 

When you pull away from the the kiss you glance over at Professor Butler but he’s focused elsewhere, intentionally avoiding your kiss with Jake, and the tears well again your vision blurring. 

You blink them back, refusing to let them fall, channeling the hurt into Blanche’s unraveling. The final run-through ends, and the cast applauds, Jake whispering, “You’re incredible,” but it’s hollow without Professor Butlers approval.

As the theater clears, you linger, script clutched to your chest, eyes drifting to Professor Butler as he gathers notes, speaking to another student. You want to talk to him, to understand why he’s pushing you away when you both know the truth, but his words—“I’m not yours”—echo, rooting you in place. 

A single tear escapes, trailing down your cheek; you wipe it away quickly, heart heavy with longing. Tomorrow’s the play, and you’ll be Blanche, flawless and fierce, but tonight, you’re just a girl broken by the man you love, acting through the pain, his rejection a fire that both burns and drives you.

Chapter 5: Muse 

You arrive to the theater for premiere night of A Streetcar Named Desire and the air is filled with frantic energy. Backstage is a whirlwind of organized chaos as crew members dart about, adjusting velvet curtains and testing flickering stage lights.

A rack of costumes sways as a wardrobe assistant rolls them past, while props like a poker table and a tarnished brass lamp are shuffled into place from the prop warehouse.

You spot Professor Butler near the front of the stage, clipboard in hand, giving directives with calm authority.

He’s in a blue button-down, sleeves rolled up, sandy brown hair catching the glow of the theater lights, his blue eyes sharp yet distant.

He looks stunning, visionary, commanding, and you try not to get distracted as you head to wardrobe, your heart beat quickening despite the ache of his rejection.

In the cramped dressing room, you slip into Blanche’s costume, a delicate, cream-colored chiffon gown, the soft fabric clinging to your frame, paired with pearl earrings that evoke her fragile elegance.

Jake, as Stanley, wears a tight, stained white t-shirt, slightly torn, with worn jeans that hug his tall frame embodying Stanley’s raw edge. You exchange nervous smiles in the wardrobe room, the weight of the performance settling in.

Sitting in front of a bulb-lit vanity, you powder your face, the warm glow framing your reflection as your eyes drift to the mirror’s edge landing on Professor Butler in the background.

He’s been watching you, and as your gazes lock in the reflection, his blue eyes are filled with a mix of longing and restraint that silently echoes your own.

The moment holds, heavy and restless, until he looks away, jaw tightening as he busies himself reviewing prop placements with a stagehand intentionally avoiding your stare.

You weakly smile, eyes welling with tears as you understand the forbidden love you have for him. You love him fiercely… recklessly… but it’s a secret you promise to keep locked away, suffering in silence as the theater bustles around you.

You blink back the tears, focusing on your reflection, channeling the ache into Blanche’s desperate soul, determined to make tonight’s performance flawless.

When the curtains rise on stage, you’re a different person. No nerves, no hesitation, just Blanche DuBois, aching and luminous beneath the spotlight. 

You meld into her like she’s always been inside you, waiting to be let out. Every tremble in your voice, every subtle gesture and glance is embedded with meaning. You pour everything into the performance, the longing, the desperation, the heartbreak.

When you argue with Jake, the theater is silent , not a whisper from the audience. And when you kiss him full on confident and alive—it’s seamless, charged with a kind of raw power you didn’t know you had.

At curtain call, you all hold hands and bow as the crowd erupts the applause crashing around you as the focused spotlights warms your skin, bight and dizzying. 

As you rise from your final bow, you glance side stage and see Professor Butler there, just beyond the curtain. His smile is small, and real, a sense of pride flickering in his misty blue eyes, and it lights you up brighter than the stage lights ever could.

As the curtain falls, cheers and whistles echo across the theater and you head backstage into the celebratory chaos. 

Ecstatic classmates hug and laugh shouting praises after a successful performance. Jake touches your shoulder, beaming. “You were absolutely amazing,” he says, and you glow, not just from the applause, not even from the kiss, but knowing it was your talent brought out from what Professor Butler sparked in you, the fire still burning bright inside.

As the chaos settles, your eyes scan the backstage area until you find him. Professor Butler is leaning near the stage door, his arms crossed, a fond smile curving his lips. 

You approach slowly, the chiffon of your gown whispering with each step as the adrenaline surging inside you becomes something more.

His eyes soften as you near, the look in them doing something dangerous to your heart as you feel that spark, that pull, knowing what you want as you gaze up at him.

“You were incredible out there,” he says, his voice low and intimate. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

His words wrap around you, warm and private, and your cheeks flush under his gaze. The two of you stare at each other, caught in the moment, heavy with heat and anticipation, both of you aching to touch—but knowing you can’t. Not here. Not with people still darting past, the noise of the post-show adrenaline still filling the air.

You make a small daring gesture, your hand drifting toward his belt loop, fingers tucking in subtly at his side in a silent request for more.

His eyes flick down, a smile forming across his lips, and he gently takes your wrist, carefully pulling it back. “Not here,” he says, soft and steady.

He tilts his head, his eyes glinting with a question as he nods toward the hallway with an invitation.

“Come with me,” he says, his tone gentle but sure.

“Okay,” you whisper, your mind racing with anticipation.

You follow him, heart pounding, as he leads you through the backstage corridors, each hallway quieter than the last, until it’s just the two of you.

He stops at a large nondescript door, pulling out a set of keys, his movements quick as he unlocks it, and you both step inside, revealing the college’s prop and set storage warehouse.

It’s massive, high ceilings with rows upon rows of props and set pieces. Painted backdrops hang like giant tapestries, Grecian columns from past plays lining the wall with sets of knight’s armor. 

Racks of period costumes in plastic wrap line one section, hats and crowns perched on shelves above, and a gilded throne from Hamlet sits beside a velvet-draped bed from Romeo and Juliet

You’re speechless walking in, your eyes scanning around every infamous theater prop before landing on a large scaled ship for the Odyssey.

Professor Butler closes the door behind you and locks it, the latch click echoing in the silence. 

His eyes darken as he steps closer, his voice low and reverent. “I couldn’t stop thinking about us,” he confesses, each word heavy with longing. 

“The way you channeled your heartbreak and commanded that stage tonight, I understood everything you felt about me,”he whispers, and before you can respond he tilts your chin up, his mouth claiming yours in a slow passionate kiss.

He gently backs you against a pillar, grasping your waist. “I can’t do this anymore,” he pleads between kisses, his large hands roaming your body, tugging your chiffon gown up. “Pretending I don’t want you is killing me,” he whispers, his hard cock pressing against you through his pants and you softly moan, fingers sliding up his neck to pull him closer. 

“I want you too,” you confess, your voice shaking with needs as you look in his eyes, and that’s all it takes.

His fingers reach your hips, sliding your panties down, and he turns you around, bending you over a weathered table from a play, his hand sliding between your legs, teasing your slick entrance. 

“My perfect little muse,” he praises, and you wait, expecting his fingers to slide in, but instead he sinks to his knees behind you almost worshipfully. “Let me satisfy you,”

You gasp, voice shaky as his large hands cup your ass, his tongue lapping at your core and pushing in with a warm probing glide. He hums against you, and the vibration making you moan, until he nips at your sensitive skin, drawing a sharp yelp. 

“You taste so good to me,” he praises, his voice thick with lust. “I’m so sorry I hurt you,” he whispers, and he dives back in, his tongue swirling in circles, teasing your entrance before plunging slowly back in.

He eats you out until slick drips down your thighs, and you choke back sobs, your core throbbing under his relentless mouth.

“Fuck, you’re getting so wet,” he groans, and he wipes his mouth along your thigh, pulling back as he pushes two fingers in, stretching you wide with steady, precise thrusts.

You whimper as he gently flicks your clit, his fingers scissoring inside as your body rocks against the table, chasing the torturous pleasure.

“Don’t stop! …Please keep going… I’m so close!” you plead, hips pressing back to offer more and his fingers curl, hitting a spot that blurs your vision, pumping relentlessly until you lose yourself, back arching.

Your moans grow raw, desperate, your body trembling as you come, a shuddering cry escaping your throat as your walls clench tight on his fingers feeling the surge of release flood through you.

He slowly glides his fingers out as he stands, and you shudder, gasping, “Please…give me more, Professor Butler,” your voice threadbare as you peek back at him, and you tremble when you see he’s unbuttoning his pants. 

“I’m going to give you everything this time,” he promises, a grin on his lips as his hands shove his pants down just enough to let his hard cock spring free, thick and heavy, daunting in its size.

You gasp, eyes widening, a mix of awe and nervousness and he places his palm on your back. He keeps you in place as he nudges the tip against you, the blunt pressure slipping  making your core clench instinctively. 

“Fuck, you’re gonna be so tight on me,” he whispers, his voice dripping with lust.

He pushes in, slow at first, the stretch immediate, overwhelming, a sharp ache that has your feet kicking out. 

“Shh shh take it all the way in,” he soothes, his voice low and patient, “You’re my star student I’m giving you everything you wanted,“ he says one hand gripping your hip as the other keeps you steady.  

You whine, your senses overwhelmed, a raw, keening wail erupting from your throat as his cock stretches you beyond belief, your feet kicking out against the floor

The sensation becomes too much, a delicious pressure that narrows your senses as he settles in, and he claps a hand over your mouth, muffling you completely unaware you’ve been making high pitched crying sounds the entire time.

“Fuck your little sounds are breaking me,”he rasps, his voice thick with lust.

He works himself deeper with several thrusts, each one harder than the last until your squirming, half-fighting it, half-taking it, your body resisting even as you crave more.

“Doing so good for me…such a good girl” he praises, slipping two fingers into your mouth to soothe you, and you give in to his encouragement, sucking on them, swirling your tongue and making him buck his hips even harder as you moan in pleasure. 

“Fuck,” he curses, his restraint slipping as he starts to thrust faster, his need taking over as his thighs clap against yours with rhythmic force, the sounds echoing in the warehouse with your moans and stifled whimpers.

He slips his fingers from your mouth as your moans fade into silence, the pressure so deep and relentless, you can’t speak , you can’t even  think, all of your senses consumed by his cock, and how well he fucks you with unrestrained awe.

“Such a good girl, taking me so well,” he says, his hand sliding between your legs to circle your clit. The wet squishing sounds are slick and messy until you can’t hold back anymore and you to come, squeezing tight against his cock.

He pulls out abruptly, the sudden emptiness leaving you aching, and his hands find your waist, lifting you as if you weigh nothing. Your arms wrap around his neck, pulse hammering, as he carries you to the large stage bed.

Its canopy looms in the dim light, a silent witness to performances past, and he sets you on the edge, the bed tall enough to allow him to stand between your legs.

“You’re so damn pretty like this,” he praises, his voice low and reverent as he hitches your legs around his waist. “I’m gonna let you feel me all of me now,” he says, his hand cupping your jaw and he kisses you, soft and slow, nudging his cock against you, then pushes forward, filling you all over again. 

The slow glide of his cock stretches in your pelvis deep, the aching fullness making your body quiver involuntarily as your back arcs overwhelmed by his size.

Your hands cling to his neck, anchoring yourself as he builds a steady rhythm, and his palms grip behind your knees, spreading you wide.

Your eyes lock, yours wide and pleading, his eyes dark with lust as his hips clap between your thighs, the force slamming your deepest point, your moans desperate feeling your clit throb as he wrecks you. 

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he asks, feeling you take his cock deep, each thrust sending a jolt through your core on the verge of another orgasm.

Yes, Professor Butler!” you cry out, your voice trembling with need. 

“Austin,” he responds, his voice a low, breathless plea, letting you call him by his first name for the first time, and the intimacy makes you fall for him all over again. 

“Yes, Austin,” you say softly, voice pleading , looking up at him with worshipful eyes, and he groans, a deep, primal sound, holding your legs tighter, snapping his hips, harder seeing the the way you’ll do anything for him.

“Do you know how many times I watched our little tape?” he asks, his thrusts hammering fast now. “You know how many times I’ve wanted you like this?” he breathes, and you’re a feeble mess your moans rising higher, knowing you’re about to come.

“I wanted you all along, I wanted you to be mine,” he says, his tone resolute . “I won’t fight it anymore.”his confesses, his voice breaking and he kisses you, tongue diving in, as he delivers his most devastating thrusts, your core throbbing, as your eyes fall shut feeling the indescribable pleasure.

You pull from the kiss, unable to breathe, unable to think, begging, “Please…please,” not even knowing what you’re begging for. Then it hits, your body tensing as you orgasm, whimpering as a surge of your release soaks him, his thrusts rebounding faster, tighter. 

He groans, breathing ragged, his cock twitching as he makes soft sounds of pleasure. “Fuck, I’m gonna come,” he gasps, pulling out abruptly.

He holds the base of his cock, stroking it as he guides you down onto your knees before pressing the tip to your tongue.

“Take it all for me,” he instructs, and you nod as he slowly pushes it in, guiding his cock and smoothly filling your mouth with a warm, weight that makes your jaw stretch to accommodate him. You seal your lips around it gently sucking trying and draw him in deeper and he groans in pleasure l.

“So pretty…such a good girl…satisfying me like this .” he praises and your knees press together, unable to withstand the surge of arousal from pleasing him. 

He thrusts gently, the wet, slurping sounds amplifying each slick glide in your mouth as you whimper around his cock, the vibrations sending shivers up his spine. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” he gasps, his voice strained. You look up into his eyes silently begging, and in that moment he comes, warm and slick on your tongue. 

His voice is tense as he groans, slowing his thrusts to release more into your mouth, and he cups your jaw, guiding you to taste the last of him before pulling out.

His thumb wipes the corner of your mouth as he tucks his cock away, and he pulls you up into his arms letting you rest against his chest, your hearts pounding. You look up at him wide-eyed, and breathless, soft sighs escaping as you tremble.

He gazes down at you, his eyes softening as he traces his thumb along your cheek, “I can’t be without you now,” he says, his voice low and heartfelt, filled with unspoken promise. 

You smile, heart beat slowing as you place your hands behind his neck pulling him down into a kiss. “I can’t be without your either,” you whisper against his lips.  

He smiles, taking you into another kiss, and his fingers weave softly into your hair, holding the back of your neck. “My star student” he says with pride.

His thumbs slide down your neck as he pulls back slightly. “I’ll find a way to make this work, I promise,” he says, his gaze steady and affectionate.

 “I know,” you respond, your eyes filled with trust.  He looks at you a moment longer, as if envisioning a shared future before he smiles kissing you again,slow and tender. 

You wanted him: your mentor, your teacher, your lover,

—and now you had him.

END 🎭

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[heartseungbin]

Honey- O.B

synopsis; he's sweet like honey

notes; ur favorite freaky nasty gal is back writing for a new fandom no less lmao but I am a beomseok lover and understander (don't support his dumbass actions btw) and see no stories or smut for him (let alone sub smut) saur here we are, this is before beomseok did all that shit—how tf do you end a fic help wc-697

warnings; none that I know of, smut ofc, trying some new shit so beware..1st person shit

His grip on my shirt is maddening, tightening with every brush of my tongue against the sensitive skin of his neck. He's moaning loudly in the still air, the moonlight illuminating the pink flush of his neck. "Good?" I whisper, unwilling to disturb the atmosphere. He hums in response and pull away from his neck, scanning his face. His head is thrown back, eyes squeezed shut with his plump lips slightly parted, showing off his bunny teeth.

Soft hums are escaping his lips, making me smile. "Eyes on me," I say, trailing a hand down to his pants while the other holds his jaw. I press rough kisses to his jawline and he moans directly into my ear, the hot air sending goosebumps down my spine. His legs tighten around my waist, locking me in place with his cock flush against my stomach. He opens his eyes then, big and glossy, attempting to focus.

I move my hand from his jaw to the back of his head, pressing his lips against mine. I begin to palm his cock through his dress pants with my free hand. His breath hitches and his grip on me tightens yet again. I pull away, a string of saliva connecting us still. His eyes are lidded and he almost looks drunk, the soft glow of the moonlight hitting him just right.

I can almost feel the moment he decides it isn't enough, yet he stays relatively silent save for the occasional whimper of my name as he grinds his wet cock into the palm of my hand. "Do you wanna keep em on?" I ask, pulling my hand away from his cock and placing it on the waistband of his pants. He bites his lip and nods. "Actually, I have a better idea," I say, placing my hands onto his waist and guiding him to sit on the bed. His eyes are studying my every move, moving when I do as he silently questions what I'm doing.

I get off the bed, removing my pants and panties. His eyes widen, hands flying up to his face in embarrassment. "Nothing you haven't seen before," I laugh, crawling back into the bed beside him. I push him onto his back and crawl on top of him as he laughs nervously, eyes looking anywhere but my own. I slide down his body, sitting myself onto his thighs.

He watches me now as I slide down his pants and underwear together and his cock slaps his stomach, hard and leaking. "You're soaked honey," I smile, and he whines, embarrassed at my words. He attempts to help me by wiggling out of his pants and underwear. I take them off, throwing them onto the floor beside the bed. I crawl my way up his body once more till I'm face to face with him, studying his expression.

"Wanna six-nine?" I say, head tilted in amusement. He bites his lip, cheeks turning a soft pink. He looks at the wall away from me, hand coming up to rest over his mouth. I snatch his hand away, narrowing my eyes. "Yes, or no?" I question, searching his face for an answer. He nods once again.

"Words, Beomseok." and he turns back to me, eyes blown with lust. "Yes, please," and I smile. The first words he's said since we started this. I sat up, moving to the side of the bed and turning around. I throw a leg around his body, face to face with his cock. "We can start now," I say, grabbing his cock. I feel his hands wrap around my ass, pulling me by my waist.

He seems hesitant until I feel his lips against my pussy, placing a chaste kiss there. He tentatively licks a stripe up to my clit and I moan, sinking my lips onto his cock until my nose hit his . He moans into me, the vibrations making my hole clench. "mphf—more," he moans, suckling me like honey. I grab onto his ass, taking him even further. His hips buck into my mouth, forcing him deeper into my mouth and I quickly sit up, away from him. "Don't do it again."