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pepperyduck · 26 days ago

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“roomates” with satoru gojo

this is part five of my kinktober event!

word count: 2.3k

warnings: nsfw, roomate au, fingering, gojo has a nasty mouth, pwp!, virgin reader, overstim. (18+ mdni!)

notes: i love the idea of actor and roomate gojo so much,,, may talk about it later. uploading early again!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

kinktober masterlist | masterlist

having the satoru gojo as your roommate is quite the experience.

it was odd—

you had known satoru in college, always somehow getting stuck in the same overflow housing on campus. you had gotten to know each other well, being forced to live with the other off and on. after he had gotten his degree in drama—and you got your degree in a successful STEM major—he proposed moving in together. you needed a place off campus, and he needed someone to room with, because rent was too high for him to afford on his own as a budding actor.

things were fine for a while, daily routines consisted of seeing one another regularly. but then satoru had his first big gig. he disappeared for months, needed for a last minute replacement. he told you about the role; a younger version of a strong—no, the strongest—sorcerer. apparently, he got to play his part in a dramatic friendship breakup, which you figured perfectly suited the way satoru acted normally.

his fame quickly rose, with the series being released only a few months later. after that, satoru never really came around all that often; you saw him maybe twice a month, if you got lucky. but even after that, satoru stayed in the apartment. you didn’t mind, honestly, he kept up with his side of the rent plus some.

but the really odd part?

your social media feed.

every social wouldn’t shut up about him—“upcoming star, satoru gojo makes an impact in new tv series,” “he’s so hot, i’d let him do whatever he wanted,” “I NEED HIM,”

and yeah, maybe curiosity got the best of you when you searched up the fanfiction—but hey, people seemed like they would kill to be in your position. the creative minds of those online made you see your goofy, struggling artist of a roommate in a different light. the way they wrote about his chest, and how smooth and toned it is, or his sparkly blue eyes and how they could make clothes fall of with just a look. recently, satoru had shared in an interview his fingers are 6 inches, and boy did people go feral over that.

they focused on every part. his soft fingertips, and how lengthy his fingers actually are the more you look at them. the subtle veins that ran over the back of his hand and up his arm. his middle and ring finger, how nicely they slide in and out, hitting that spot, coaxing you toward—

“whatcha readin’?”

the abrupt question shocks you out of your trance, making you yelp and practically throw your phone across the room. it lands face down beside your vanity, earning a loud thud when it hits the floor. your heart speeds up as you turn to face your roommate, internal temperature rapidly rising.

“jesus, satoru! what are you doing home?” you ask, praying that he wouldn’t take it upon himself to grab your phone for you.

“it’s my apartment, too, y’know,” he retorts, throwing his hands on his hips dramatically. “i’m gonna be here for a few days, if you don’t mind.” every word off his tongue is laced in sarcasm. it’s annoying.

and just as you try to reply, gojo swoops to the other side of the room to grab your phone, intently staring at the screen before you can even say, “stop!” you want to run away because you just know he’s reading pure filth about himself that you looked up. but you find yourself unable to move whatsoever, only able to watch in horror as your roommate reads fanfiction about himself. immediately, a sly grin overcomes satoru’s expression, and his eyes flicker from the phone to you over his sunglasses.

“this is pretty detailed stuff,” satoru teases. you’re able to tell he is in fact reading whatever you had pulled up on your phone, because he’s taking his sweet time scrolling and reading through all the divine things said about his hands.

“stop, satoru,” you whine, pathetically reaching for your phone. gojo holds it out of your reach, of course, and even though you almost came to grab your phone that was almost touching the ceiling, you can’t quite reach it. “please just go away,” you sigh, giving up and flopping back down on your mattress. you can only look on, still mortified, as satoru continues scrolling.

after a few heavy minutes and some more comments on your choice of fiction to read, he throws your phone back on the bed next to you, placing his hands on his hips once more.

“how long were you gonna keep that from me?”

“never really planned on telling you, satoru. leave me alone.” you reply, grabbing your phone so it’s out of gojo’s reach.

“you could’ve just asked—,”

“go away—huh?” you furrow your brows and look at the taller man, who’s sassily posed next to your bed, “don’t fuck with me like that.”

“i’m not.” he assures you.

satoru wasn’t joking. in fact, he had never been more serious in his life. he’d always thought you were pretty – more like drop dead, breathtakingly beautiful – but never mustered up the courage to talk to you about it. you were his friend, his roommate. he didn’t want to scare you off. but all chances of him not scaring you off were thrown out the window because he knew you wanted him now.

so, yes, he did what he did with every other girl—encouraging a hot make-out session after you got over the embarrassment of what was on your phone. you hadn’t had a chance to think about all those stories you read online, because it was all happening to you in real time.

with your lips in a permanent lock, satoru takes his time rubbing his hands all over your body, grabbing your waist, flipping up the skirt you had worn in the previous hours to run errands—

“wait,” you labored out, breathing heavy as you pushed your roommate’s shoulders away from you, “i’ve never—i haven’t…” your words are tripping over themselves into silence as you try to explain to your – gorgeous, famous, actor – roommate that you’re a virgin.

queue satoru’s head almost exploding. he swears then and there that his nose should’ve started to bleed, and his face turned an awful shade of red at the news. it was unfathomable in his mind that you, his smoking-hot roommate, was a virgin. he swore he saw you come home with your ex-boyfriend plenty of times…but maybe you were saving yourself, or something.

“stop looking at me like that. you were a virgin too.” you scoff at his ogling, crossing your arms over your chest. you’re still trapped against your headboard, the sheer size of satoru making you stay in one place. your legs are draped over his thighs, not quite straddling but close enough for him to feel the heat radiating off of your clothed pussy.

“do you want me to finger you?”

the crude question rolls off his tongue with ease, and you smack his shoulder with the palm of your hand in return. but again, he’s being serious. it takes you a few seconds to realize he’s being serious, he wants to finger you and it’s written all over his face.

after a few moments and shocked blinks, you nod your head.

satoru’s nosebleed actually happens whenever he gets you in position; you’re laid back with your legs on top of his, knees pressing into his waist. he just stares in utter disbelief at how cute and sexy you look, flustered all because of him. he runs the pad of his thumb over the mound in your panties, relishing in how soft, warm and damp you are. he can’t take his eyes away from how his thumb presses into the flesh, pushing down just to watch how his thumb gets swallowed by it.

“satoru—your nose is bleeding,” you gruffly state, snapping the white-haired man back to reality. one hand stays pressed to you while he lifts the other one to wipe under his nose with the back of his wrist.

low and behold, a few droplets of blood smear on the back of his wrist—but he’s too entranced by you to care. he looks back in your eyes, wiping his face with his shirt grossly.

“i’m okay—can i take them off?” satoru asks, almost politely if he wasn’t bleeding from the nose at how horny he is. his fingers hook into the waistband, eagerly awaiting your nervous little nod that you give him. he rips the thin fabric off your legs, taking it upon himself to lift you up and move your legs so he can toss your panties to the side of the room.

your immediate response is to snap your thighs together, but satoru quickly stops you and holds your legs open, forcing you to show your most intimate area to him. he drools over how pretty it looks, folds spread open and glistening, a perfect display of anatomy. he’s in love with the view alone. a prominent tent pokes in his sweatpants, but he ignores the feeling to focus on the task at hand.

“stop staring,” you meekly speak up, eyes looking anywhere else but at your celebrity roommate.

satoru’s bright irises look up at you before asking, “can i?” with the looks of a child begging for a piece of candy. after another quick, nervous nod, satoru swipes his thumb over your hole, then all the way up to over your clit. the sensation makes you wriggle and gasp, it’s odd being touched by someone else—but it feels good, even better than alone. natural lubrication practically drips off your pussy, so prettily, and satoru continues dragging his thumb up and down, paying close attention to how you whimper or move around when he gets to the bundle of nerves poking out.

you feel particularly needy at his ministrations, they’re so slow and it leaves you aching for more when he moves to less sensitive parts of your cunt. every time your eyes flash to gojo, he’s completely locked on what’s between your plush thighs, making you all the more embarrassed. embarrassment is thrown away, though, when his middle and ring fingers close together and creep up to slowly rub your clit.

your body jolts and satoru silently giggles, god, you’re so sensitive for him, he might go insane. he finds it simply endearing how well you react to him. each small circle he draws over your bud makes your thighs twitch and hole clench, and from his view, he can see it all perfectly. satoru’s eyes look up at you for once, just to see your head thrown back on the pillow and your bottom lip tucked between your teeth to silence yourself.

“don’t be quiet, babe,” he says, and your eyes snap open to be brought back to reality.

“wh—uuht?” you drawl, mind hazy and foggy from just the little bit of pleasure he was providing. but as your mouth is open, he speeds his fingers up, forcing you to practically yell out, “satoru—wait!”

“i wanna hear you,” gojo taunts, his voice light and happy, not at all giving the impression he was playing with your cunt.

he does not wait, or slow down, he only continues to quicken the pace of which his fingers circle your clit. he feels accomplished when you finally begin to let out little moans and suck in air through your teeth, knowing the feeling of his finger pads was becoming all too much. this was the type of thing he lived for—making cute, inexperienced girls (you) lose their mind from pleasure.

it’s the type of pleasure that you weren’t able to achieve yourself; it made the bottoms of your feet tingle, and your legs move on their own—and the familiar feeling of an orgasm was quickly building up. the knot in your lower abdomen grows tighter and more intense, making you whine and thrash below your roommate.

satoru’s other hand comes down to prod his index finger at your tight hole, an unfamiliar feeling to you—especially as it’s being done by someone else. he pushes his finger in, causing another yelp to come from the back of your throat—but it doesn’t hurt. gently fucking you with just the tip of his finger, satoru’s hand focused on your clit speeds up more.

“mm—satoru, think i’m close,” your words are rushed as you warn him, but his movements don’t falter in the slightest.

“yeah? gonna cum on my fingers?” he teases, “gonna cream all my hand?”—and if you weren’t already so close, you would’ve kicked him out at the taunting. instead, you throw your arms over your face and try your best to hold back the feeling—wanting it to last as long as possible. he slowly pushes his finger in more and more, gradually coming to fuck you with one thin, long finger. the first bit he’s fully inside, it’s uncomfortable, but the pressure fades the more he plays with you. the bubble of your orgasm grows and grows until you’re about to topple over the edge.

“i’m gonna cum,” the words come out your mouth in a long, sultry string— satoru’s never heard anyone sound so good while telling him that.

“yeah, that’s it—come on, baby,” satoru encourages you, his voice having dropped multiple octaves to sound a million times more sexy — far from the satoru you’d come to know. his words force the orgasm to crash over you, your body continually jolting and stuttering—beginning to fight satoru because he doesn’t stop.

“i—i finished—stop, satoru—ohmygod—,” you stutter out, and satoru presses his elbows against your thigh, rendering you immobile.

“you’re so sensitive, princess,” satoru teases again, and you catch his eyes in a downright primal stare,

“gonna make you cum on my fingers again, baby.”

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu gojo #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x reader smut #kinktober #pepperyduck's kinktober 2024

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dorsalfin · 1 year ago

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dyke politics time why is everyone on twitter suddenly saying trans men can be lesbians like do they not get that it’s a) lesbophobic and b) transphobic???

like specifically saying “cis men cant be lesbians but trans men can” … why not unpack what you mean by that and where this idea comes from?

#anyway like idk there’s totally this rise in thinly veiled transphobia in online spaces in the guise of inclusiveness #like you’re allowed to be a man. you can be a trans het that’s normal that’s fine. no shame there #but having to describe lesbianism as the absence of men is like… forcing us to include men in the description #like why do you as a man want to be a lesbian????!??!???! drake behaviour #im a transmasc lesbian just fyi in case this falls into the wrong hands #disclaimer im from tumblr i just cheated on her for a couple years

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foone · 1 month ago

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Tumblr crashed and killed my post and I'm too lazy to go find what I was reblogging, but:

You need to understand that there is a type of right-wing person who is (relatively) sex positive.

You need to understand this because it explains some "contradictions" but more importantly so that you won't assume someone isn't wildly right wing just because they're sex-positive. These people still have horribly opinions on a lot of things, including sexual ones. They just don't think it's Inherently Wrong to do "weird stuff" in the bedroom.

I always describe this viewpoint as "it's okay to get freaky, but don't be a freak".

They're making a distinction between things you DO and things you ARE. They hate the latter, and think the former is fine.

This is a big part of why you get "confusing" things like right-wingers who are against trans people but those same people might enjoy crossdressing during sex. They're fine with wearing girls clothes while they get pegged, but don't think you should be allowed to go by she/her in the workplace if you're AMAB. Crossdressing is a thing you do. Being trans is something you are.

And the post I was trying to reply to was about swingers disliking polyamorous people: it's the same thing. Swinging is a thing you do: they're having freaky sex. What's wrong with that?

But polyamory? Having multiple partners at the same time, even when you're not fucking at the moment? That sounds like something you are.

Basically it seems to be the worldview of people who are sex-positive (to an extent! I don't want to overstate their positivity) in their personal life, but are against "the decay of society".

They're basically conservatives nostalgic for an imagined world where everyone has 1950s social roles in public, but can get up to whatever weird sex stuff they want behind closed doors.

I don't know how much this kind of few point is due to libertarian influence on these kinds of right wingers (where they've internalized the "the government shouldn't tell me what to do" part of the ideology, but still think "the government should tell those weirdos to get cut it out" is fine), or how much this is because of the rise of 4chan as an alt-right meeting spot, and that site was (and still is) partially a porn site.

It's slightly hard to argue that all sex besides married missionary for procreation is immoral when you're one click away from threads full of anal-toy-howtos and pregnant "dickgirl" hentai. (Not that they don't try, sometimes)

Just keep the fact that these people exist in mind: it'll better explain some of the strange opinions you sometimes see online.

It's probably also a major driving force behind Bidoof's law. They can easily argue against something innocuous like polyamory or trans people while filling their own timeline to with images of trans orgies, because they think Doing Sex Stuff is morally neutral, but Being Stuff is inherently wrong. You can cross dress or swing, that's fine, whatever gets your rocks off. But you can't be trans or be poly. That's wrong, apparently.

(This is probably also South Park's fault but I'm not an expert on that show so I'll not try to explain)

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youreverydayfangirl · 12 days ago

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LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO

pairing: max verstappen x singer reader

summary: the one where she's gone radio silent, everyone settles down and someone begins to plot revenge

warning: online hate, mentions of cheating

a/n: i thought i should switch between real life and online so i could feed you guys more

face claim: sabrina carpenter

f1 masterlist

main masterilst

series masterlist

y/nsprivate has posted

liked by thatoneartgirlalex, keekslikestospammmm and 18 others

y/nsprivate healing with my girls

tagged: thatoneartgirlalex, keekslikestospamm

thatoneartgirlalex what are friends for???

-> y/nsprivate I THOUGH JUST BEING HOT TBH

keekslikestospammmm and you better get your cute but downstairs cause we're going out

-> y/nsprivate OKAYY GIVE ME TWO SECONDS

leosfather GO QUEEN

-> y/nsprivate alex is training you i see

livbereallydumb SMASH SMASH SMASH

-> y/nsprivate me whenever i see you

itssabrinaaa YOU DON'T NEED NO TINY DICK MAN AND SKANKY FRIEND

-> y/nsprivate 😭😭😭

________________

Y/n felt a small smile creep up across her face as she went to turn off her phone. She looked up at the warm sun which had begun to set, casting a golden glow along the beach infront of her. The peaceful quiet of the beach was a sharp contrast to the chaos and heartache she had left behind. Still, it had been hard to stay in the moment and she often found her mind drifting back to everything that had happened. Something that seemed to play over and over in her head. Although it seemed everyone else had moved on.

She'd barely touched her phone, forced to reinvent herself and tune out what others had kept saying about her. The whispers, the hate and the betrayal had gone with a swipe of her finger. But the sting of it lingered, a wound that refused to heal.

She quickly grabbed her stuff and shoved it in the bag which lay beside her feet as her mind went to the two girls who were currently waiting in the lobby. They had been rocks for her through this whole ordeal. The trip was supposed to be a fresh start for y/n, a place to forget, but somethings weren't so easily buried.

Y/n hadn't been able to fully trust anyone since exbsf had turned her life upside down. The breakup, the voice recording, it was all too perfect.

Revenge is what had kept circling through Y/ns mind over the past few months. A lot of people had hurt her, turned against her, but their was one person specifically that Y/n kept thinking about. Maybe she wasn’t healing just yet. Maybe she was plotting her rise.

y/nsprivate has posted

liked by thatoneartgirlalex, keekslikestospammmm and 18 others

y/nsprivate not even sad anymore guys, just really mad tbh

tagged: thatoneartgirlalex, keekslikestospamm

thatoneartgirlalex AND AS YOU SHOULD YOU CLOCK EM

-> y/nsprivate you know i will

keekslikestospamm NEW SONG YOU BETTER SHOW US SOON

-> y/nsprivate trust me i will

________________

Y/n found her self sitting infront of the piano for the first time since everything had come out. She hadn't wanted to, because that would mean that it was real.

But after pushing from both Alex and Kika, the girl finally felt like she was in a spot were she could poor out her feelings. But something felt different this time, she had never felt this angry before.

She sat at her desk, the sunset infront of her casted a shadow across her face. Her notebook was open, was scribbled sharply expressing her inner turmoil. She tapped her pen on her desk, staring at the page infront of her, one line sticking out specifically.

All I think about is karma.

exbsf & landonorris have posted

liked by landonorris, f1gossip and 1, 432, 749 others

exbsf 6 months with you <3

tagged: landonorris

landonorris my gorgeous girl

-> exbsf your too cute

user1 I CANT BELIEVE THEYVE BEEN TOGETHER FOR 6 MONTHS OMG

user2 parents frfr

liked by creator

user3 pov its been 5 months since y/n disappeared 😭

-> user4 GOOD RIDDANCE

y/nsprivate has posted

liked by thatoneartgirlalex, keekslikestospammmm and 18 others

y/nsprivate smiling more

tagged: thatoneartgirlalex, keekslikestospammmm

thatoneartgirlalex and happy to see it

-> y/nsprivate stop i love you so much

keekslikestospammmm i can still through hands though right?

-> y/nsprivate KEEKS NO

leosfather as your honorary big brother i could not be prouder to see how much you've grown as a person

-> y/nsprivate CHARLIE STOP

livbereallydumb I JUST WANNA GIVE YOU A BIG HUG

-> y/nsprivate you saw me yesterday....

itssabrinaaa livbereallydumb wanna come to portofino with me for no specific reason

-> livbereallydumb already on the flight babes

-> y/nsprivate YOU GUYS BETTER NOT BE KIDDING RIGHT NOW ASSHHH

-> itssabrinaaa SUPRISE

-> livbereallydumb we wanted to make it a bigger thing then realised we dont really know where to go and we dont speak italian

-> itssabrinaaa didnt think that one through 100%

-> y/nsprivate 😭😭😭

TWO WEEKS LATER

________________

im trying to make the parts longer cause i feel like there too short

also do you guys like the switch i feel like i wanna give you guys more than just short SMAU chpaters

_________________

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#reputation #reputation series #f1 masterlist #max verstappen angst #max verstappen #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fic #max verstappen imagine #f1 fluff #f1 series #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 #formula1

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bunnys-kisses · 2 months ago

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hi! i was wondering if i could order pull-apart bread, sweet pastry and hot cross buns, with a side of cider and chocolate milk, for sub!max verstappen? nobody really writes anything about the reader body worshiping him and his softer body, which would be nice to reassure him about. id love to hold his love handles 🥹

thank you so much in advance if you’re up for doing this! 💙

bakery menu

submissions to the bakery are open! i'm accepting them all the time, even if they take a little while to get uploaded, i am constantly working on 'em! so thank you! and for this anon! hello!!! this is amazing, what the hell! i feel the same way, folks don't really write about it in fan fics (i've seen posts wax poetically about it though). so yes, this was awesome to write! thank you <333

pull-apart bread ("i love you") + sweet pastry ("i'll make it all better.") + hot cross buns ("don't hide your face from me. i'd hate to have to tie you up.") + cider (body worship) + chocolate milk (tenderness) served by max verstappen (formula one)!!

cw: smut/pwp, sub!max, body worship, tender sex, cowgirl position, bondage, praise kink, dom!reader, insecurities, love & intimacy

it wasn't that you were going to fight people online over your boyfriend. it was a pointless endeavor to snap back at someone on twitter of all places! especially someone with a lando norris icon. but if you saw one more comment about your boyfriend's body online, you're going to kick something.

you loved max, that was why you were with him. but, you worried about him. underneath everything, there was soft center to him. and sometimes the wrong comment got through all the layers and right to the middle.

it just so happened the comments you hated the most were the ones about his body.

it was near the end of the off-season, you two had come back from a sunny trip to celebrate the time together. it left your poor boyfriend a little more pink than usual. especially around the shoulders, where he was shirtless most of the time.

you loved how he looked regardless. he was immensely strong in ways you couldn't fully grasp. you were always impressed by his ability to pick you up and kiss you. you believed that people had a skewed notion of what "hot" men should be built like. and you blamed it marvel movies and alpha male podcasts. max was not a dehydrated body builder. layered on top of the strength was a certain softness and made at the very least you drool at the sight of.

he was strong, but enjoyed food. he liked his sweets on weekends and a little extra at dinner. it didn't help with the constant weigh-ins and other measurements for formula one. so when you noticed his eyes on another cruel post online in response to a photo of him shirtless. you wanted to take that phone and toss it out the window.

you watched him turn off the screen and put the phone down on his chest. the room felt tense and your fingers went into his short hair. he tried to pull away, but with a tiny bit of force kept him close. you knew what he was thinking. just like everything else, max verstappen had crippling self-doubt.

"max. my love."

"yeah.." he said softly. the self-doubt that followed him like a shadow seemed to encrouch in his mind. you could tell even if you couldn't see his full expression.

you took the phone and placed it on the coffee table. you ran your fingers through his hair and looked down at him. fingers trailed down his jaw. "why don't we forget about that and go to the bedroom. "i'll make it all better."

you were in bed with him soon enough. he left his t-shirt and loose shorts on as your hands roamed his body. your lips on his neck, jaw and face. little unsaid promises of how handsome he was. "don't listen to them."

"what if they're right."

"when has a formula one fan ever been right about anything? you know some people online make ragebait. they're trying to get a rise out of other fans and cause in fighting."

"if i tried a little harder... i could look more like the others."

you made him look at you. his blue eyes seemed sad, like cloudy skies over a rocky shoreline. he couldn't meet your gaze, he was almost embarrassed. "max, look at me."

he made eye contact with you, "i could... if i tried."

you held his face a little tighter as he looked away. you said to him, "max, you are training all the time. you push yourself to limits that could kill many others. you work harder than a work horse with half the pay sometimes." you kissed the bridge of his nose, "i don't know who planted these ideas into your head." you had an idea, two names came to mind that made you frown. that was neither here nor there, "but, i love how you look."

his eyes shifted away from you. embarrassed. this entire thing felt embarrassing. he was insecure like a teenage girl at the moment because some random person online called him a stupid name.

"max. don't hide your face from me. i'd hate to have to tie you up." you said, trying to insert a joke to lighten the mood. you watched his demeanor shift and his eyes meet yours.

"would you.. tie me up? make me forget everything for a little bit?" he asked softly, his words almost tripped over one another. while most would've sought heavy therapy and an early retirement for their issues. max tried to cover them up, and sometimes that meant being your good boy.

"then tell me one thing, max."

"anything." he replied.

"say one nice thing about your appearance. anything. just one thing. and then i'll get what we need.' you promised, sealing it with a kiss on the cheek.

he swallowed, not knowing what to say. he shifted a little in his spot on the bed before he sighed. eventually he responded with, "my nose." he said, eyes on yours, "i like my nose. makes me stand out a little more."

you smiled a little bit and kissed him on the cheek, a gestured he melted into you. you replied, "and i love your nose too. i'm proud of you, max. good boy."

he said, "i love you."

and before you pulled away to get the roped needed for tonight, you said to him, "i love you too." then quickly ran your finger down his nose, "i love you, your nose, those eyes. every last inch of skin. your strength and your softness. it makes you perfect to me and those jealous bitches on twitter can't say anything about it." you broke into a further smile.

max chuckled slightly, he found you language amusing. the internet was troll heaven, but sometimes he needed his guiding light to not get himself sucked into the chaos of his doubts. he watched you pull away from him and get off the bed. he took off his shirt and shorts, he tried not too think too hard, but rather keep his eyes on you.

when you went to the dresser to find what you needed, he propped himself against the rod-iron headboard. usually he didn't like them, but when he discovered his affection for bondage early into your relationship, the headboard was perfect to keep him bound.

you returned to the bed, placing the two pieces of rope down onto the bed before you started to strip out of your clothes. once naked you got into bed with him. your hands roamed his chest and straddled his waist.

"you're so handsome, max. jesus christ. look at you." you smiled down at him. skin so soft, he was just perfect and you couldn't believe it. you rubbed up against him a little more and explored his torso with your hands, you watched him squirm a little under your touch. he shuddered a little.

“i'm not that-"

“max verstappen. shush. i don't want to hear it.” you rubbed up against the bulge in his briefs. you held onto his shoulders a little as you moved. the dry humping felt good and left excitement racing through your lover, “that's it. that's my good boy.”

he groaned a little, which only go louder when you stopped your movements to grab the ropes. he dropped his wrists to the bed and let you tie them to the bars of the headboard by the mattress. he melted a little against it while you took his cock out of his briefs. the underwear was off him in no time and you got straddled on his waist with your hands on his shoulders once more.

you eyed him with heavy lust, “i know those idiots say that you're too fat or soft. well, i think they're blind. i think they're a whole bunch of idiots. you are perfect, turn me on every chance you get.” you took his face in your hands and kissed him as you continued to rub up against him. he panted against you when you broke the kiss soon after.

words of protest hung on max's tongue, but he never said anything further. this wasn't going to be a thing he could win. no matter what he said, you have a rebuttal. it was a losing battle, so he'd simply have to put his trust into you. if you found him hot beyond words, then you'd have to listen. but the fight was fully gone when you seated yourself onto his cock, then sank down on it to the base. he yanked against the ropes a little bit and found euphoria in the knowledge that you tied the ropes just as he liked them. tightly.

“planning to fight against them, max?" you asked as you raked your fingers down his pale chest, "you wouldn't do that, would you? because you're my good boy! my handsome good boy. with those dazzling eyes and stunning laugh. when you smile i'm in heaven. especially when yo let me make both of us feel good.

he shook his head, his cheeks grew hot from your gaze on him. if he was hot, then you were gorgeous. you were an inferno made human. the most beautiful woman he had ever laid his eyes on. the kind of beauty that brought him to his knees. he breathed heavily as the pleasure started to build in the bottom of his gut. his cock twitched a little bit the more you rode him.

he loved being at your mercy, under your thumb in a sexual manner. he bad so many choices all day, sometimes with only seconds to make them. so it was nice. to be in the comfort of your shared bed and letting you take what you needed from him. to give you total control. to love him, shower him in the praise he desired.

“i love you.” you said,

“i love you too.”

you started to move faster, really working your hips, making sure you could do as much as you could. you moaned a little bit and felt the stutter in your heart from the heat of everything. you pushed hair out of your face as you continued to ride him. the feeling between you two was electric. you said to him, “you're so handsome. fuck, you're perfect.” you started to move faster.

max bit back a moan but it spilled out when you crashed your lips against him. he almost whimpered from the fast speed. how good you took him. it made him clench his fists to try to compose himself. his chest rose and fell heavily he tensed up a little bit at the throb of lust in his body. you kissed him once more as you went as fast as you could go. you bounced on his cock and your nails dug into his jaw and shoulders.

the noises between you two were erotic. it was desperate on max's end. he wanted to make you feel good while also chasing his own pleasure. he fought a little bit against constraints. he was a little jerky as he tensed up. he could feel it all crashing down on him. no longer the lingering feeling of self-doubt but rather he heat of pleasure. the need to climax. to get out of his own head with the erotic bliss.

“please, my love. please.” he swallowed as his back arched a little. he leaned up to give you more kisses and watched you melt against him while your hips still moved. you held his face with both hands and clenched your thighs. he made a sweet, high pitched, almost whine like noise when you pulled away.

you carded your fingers through his hair and admired those blue eyes clouded in lust. “you're perfect, max. every inch of you. every spot you hate, i love more. damn those fuckers on twitter, they don't get to see what i see. everything.” you went in for another kiss and clutched onto his shoulders tightly as you came around his cock. your back arched and max went in to kiss your collarbones with such tenderness.

“my good boy.” you said out of breath as you continued to move against him. your cunt clutched around him as you kept your pace steady despite the tremor in your thighs. you knew max wanted to hold onto you and work your hips up and down his cock. but, you were in control. so you examined his expressions as you continued to move.

the kisses became sloppy once more as you brought max to his own climax. as he tensed up, he really yanked at the ropes for a good few moments before he felt all the fight leave his body. his eyes almost rolled back into his head from the head rush. he relaxed against the headboard and panted heavily.

he looked erotic, but totally blissed out. so when you stopped your motions. you kissed him gently on the lips before you got off his cock and felt his cum run down your leg as you tried to find your panties. once they were on, you smothered him in kisses and praise as you got the ropes off of him. you kissed his wrists and he slipped down onto the bed. the mattress felt nice against his body. he felt on cloud nine.

you rubbed his cheek for a moment with your thumb as you said, “i'm going to go get you some water. you just stay here, i'll be right back. now before i go i have to ask one thing. say one thing you like about yourself?"

he shakily exhaled while he leaned into your touch. his eyes were somewhat closed when he answered, sounding far away, “my eyes. they intimidate people. but not you. you love them.” then leaned further.

you smiled and kissed the top of his head, “that's what i like to hear. next time i want two things before and after we have sex. got it? i'm going to make you love yourself.”

he chuckled softly, cheeks pink, “easier said than done.”

you tapped his cheek before you moved away to go get him some water. you said to him while you approached the bedroom door, “max verstappen, you know i'm as stubborn as you are. ” then left to go get him some water. you could only hope you could make a dent in healing some of his doubt issues. and while you couldn't fight people on twitter, you could kiss and love the man you called your boyfriend. <3

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formulawolff · 2 days ago

Text

“you taste sweeter” — m.v.

pairing -> social worker!reader x max verstappen

word count -> 3.3k (oopsies!)

warnings -> cussing, slight angst, mentions of hate comments online, desperate + needy max, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, sweet moments, slight praise kink, tender max, yadayadayada

a/n -> the win in brazil today inspired me to write. it’s probably not my best work buttttt someone asked for a part ii to this fic here. i hope you guys enjoy! <3

"i'm sorry that this weekend has been a shit show."

lips press against your knuckles, carefully caressing them one by one.

"stop it," your hand darts out, cupping his cheek, "you're always so hard on yourself."

a chuckle rumbles in his chest, and you catch the hint of stars in his gaze as your eyes meet.

"i think i deserve to be a little harsh on myself. p17 is ridiculous."

you exhale, shaking your head slightly, "but you have to remember that was not your fault. you cannot control the weather, and you sure as hell cannot control what happens when the track is slick."

"i just feel terrible," he shrugs, folding his arms against his chest, "you flew all the way out here to just get drenched. you had to wake up with me at god knows what time to make it to the track. i'm supposed to be up in the fucking front and now i don't even feel like i have a chan-"

"stop it," your jaw clenches, "i wouldn't have flown out if i didn't want to be here. i wanted to be here and support you, max. there is nowhere else i would rather be than by your side."

the corners of his lips twitch into a meek smile, the dutch driver leaning in, "you're so fucking cute when you're all riled up."

"only because i hate to see you be so hard on yourself!" you protest, throwing your hands up in the air, "you are a generational talent. i wish you could see that."

"thank you baby," you can't help but notice that he's beaming now, "thank you, for being here."

"like i said," you murmur, your heart skipping a beat as you find the space between the two of you dissipating by the second, "there is nowhere else i would-"

"maxxxx! it's time for -- oh my god i am so sorry."

gianpiero's voice cuts through the space, the two of you shrinking back as he stands in the doorway the driver's room, a hand over his mouth.

"don't worry about it," max clears his throat, shooting you one more look before turning to gianpiero, "is it time?"

"it's time," max's race engineer confirms, checking his watch, "we need to get moving."

"all right," max sucks in a breath, rising to his feet, "i guess it's time."

you mirror his action, ensuring that you have your race day bag before shifting toward him. his arms wrap around your frame, bringing you in for a tight embrace.

for a moment, he's still, not moving a muscle as you bury your head into his chest. his fingers knead into your shoulder blades, strands of hushed dutch filling your ear. the words are tender, almost as if he was promising you something.

you weren't quite sure what, though.

"good luck out there tiger," you whisper, "i believe in you."

his arms pull away, the driver's lower lip trembling ever so slightly as he begins to follow gianpiero. before leaving the room, he ensures that gianpiero's back is turned, nearly bounding back toward you.

lips crash into yours, a hurried but passionate kiss. forceful enough to leave your knees buckling, yet laced with a sweetness that you couldn't quite place your finger on.

"i love you."

heat flourishes into your cheeks as he departs, looking back over his shoulder one more time before jogging down the hall, in efforts to catch up with gianpiero.

your heart flutters, a coziness seeping into your chest as you catch your breath.

max was never one to let his emotions get in the way of race day. he was always so poised, so focused on what was ahead. he was never privy to publicly showcasing his affection to you either. especially on sundays.

it never bothered you, really. you knew the stakes involved. you knew how important this was to him. you were well aware of the way people spoke about him online and in the media. lately, it had been nothing but negative energy. not only from the press and commentary, but from the fans as well.

you never overstepped. you never teetered over the boundaries he set in place for race weekends. you always ensured to keep your affection away from the public eye.

so, to witness that desperation to kiss you one last time. to hear those three words before he left. to feel him against pressed against you, reluctant to let go.

to you, that was everything.

and as voices buzzed in the air, the tension nearly electric as members of the crew paced around the garage as the rain pounded against the tarmac, max verstappen could only think about one thing.

and that one thing, was you.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

droplets of water scatter about, the team rushing toward the car as a shiver runs down your spine.

max slips out of the car, nearly tumbling as he makes his way to the ground. your limbs itch, from your fingers to your toes, nearly screaming to take a step forward.

to make your way toward him.

he's drenched, the color of his suit a few shades darker as he claws his helmet and balaclava off, running a hand through his hair. his eyes scan through the garage briefly, picking through the throng.

his brow is furrowed, lips wound tight together with concentration.

you know he's looking for you.

yet, you don't move.

there was too much to risk if you approached him. in the aftermath of colapinto's crash, a red flag was issued on the track. with max's current position behind ocon and the ability to change tyres, there was a new opportunity presented before him.

the opportunity to overtake ocon from p2 to p1, therefore maintaining the lead and potentially winning the grand prix.

however, there were other factors present.

with a fresh start, the other drivers were presented with the same opportunity. lando norris in the rocketship of the mclaren would also be able to overtake as well, potentially threatening max's chance of a win. and with the current conditions of the track, who knew what would happen in the final thirty laps.

there was so much to consider. so much to speculate. so much to lose.

and because of that, you knew you couldn't interfere.

you couldn't do that to him.

to max, winning meant everything.

and to risk throwing him off over a simple hello or you're doing great? you couldn't bear the weight of knowing you had something to do that. you couldn't be the reason he lost momentum.

so, you stayed put, now blending in with the crew as they returned back into the garage, max sailing off down the pit lane, back in the direction of the track.

yet, as the dutch driver clutches the wheel, his heart thumping against his chest, he could only focus on one thing.

that bright, beautiful smile plastered across your face the moment you saw his car rolling up toward the pit.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

"come here!"

he practically barrels into you, sweeping you into his arms. tears stream down your cheeks, cries of joy bubbling up in your throat as he squeezes you.

"i-i love you," he sputters, "fuck i love you."

your head tilts back, lower lip quivering as you take him in.

his eyes are tinged pink, glossy as your fingertips trace along his jaw. there's a swarm coming any minute now, ready to hoist him up on their shoulders, jeering his name. in the grandstands, there's the dull roar of the crowd, chanting along with the crew. his suit is soaked through, leaving a wet imprint all over your clothes.

yet, there is nothing else that matters but him.

"i love you m-more, maxie," you sniffle, wiping away a tear, "y-you have no idea how fucking proud of you i am."

his mouth collides with yours, a heated, heavy kiss as the rain patters. your hand wraps around the base of his neck, tangling into his hair as his mouth opens, deepening the kiss. his tongue slides along your lip, seeking entry.

you're about to let him in before he breaks away, nearly panting. a crimson hue paints his cheeks, his chest heaving.

"fuck."

"what?" you press, your brow arching.

"nothing," he shakes his head, nearly bewildered as he studies you, "you just look beautiful. so fucking beautiful right now in the rain."

your own clothes are beginning to cling to your body, damp from the stormy morning. your makeup is still intact, but smudged slightly from the kiss and the humid atmosphere. he can sense your exhaustion, but your eyes are wide, nothing but adoration swimming in their depths. drops cling to your hair, glittering as you cock your head.

"you just won a race and you're worried about how beautiful i look?"

to max, there was no other word to describe you in this moment but ethereal. a stunning ray of golden, pure light as the clouds hung low in the sky.

not just any light.

his light.

at your sentiment, his gaze hardens, the dutch driver's jaw clenching as the pad of his thumb grazes your cheek.

"y-you have no fucking idea what you do to-"

"max!" a voice cuts in, nearly grating through all the noise, "what a hell of a race that was!"

you bite down on your tongue as christian horner comes into view, along with numerous members of the crew. max's eyes dart to you, but he's swiftly whisked away, the sensation of his warm hands merely a phantom.

however, your mind can't help but replay the kiss. the way his hands roamed, desperate to bring you in closer than you imagined possible. the adrenaline coursing through your veins, the two of you floating from the euphoria. the way you swore you could see stars gleaming in his stare as you cried, overwhelmed with pride.

pride for your man.

the man who managed to go from p17 to p1 in a single race. the man who made a statement.

the man who managed to pull off the impossible.

and he was yours.

all yours.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

"you have no idea how much i've been looking forward to this."

sweats cling to his hips as he is snuggled against you, arms wrapped around your waist. his head rests on your chest, lashes fluttering as you run a hand through his hair. you're almost underneath him, his body nearly squishing you. but you don't mind, as you were savoring the minutes.

the final hours together before you would inevitably have to part ways, saying those goodbyes at the airport.

oh, how you dreaded that moment. more than anything.

you would have to return to work, and he would be halfway across the world, enjoying a brief break before the final few races.

at least you would have vegas together.

but that felt so fucking far away, especially with the race scheduled at the end of the month.

"what are you thinking about up there?"

max's voice is merely a whisper, catching you off guard. you flinch, his head lifting, swiveling so that you're forced to meet his concerned stare.

"nothing," you shrug, "nothing important."

"hmm," he hums, leaning in for a peck, "that's a lie. you're always thinking about something. important or not, i want to know what it is."

"i'm just thinking about tomorrow," you lower your head, careful to avoid eye contact, "i just had such a perfect weekend and-"

"it's not over yet," fingers grasp your chin, "we still have the night together."

"but we have to get up early and make sure i'm at the airport on time and-"

lips connect with yours, his body shifting so that he's on top, practically pinning you to the plush mattress. a whine rises in your throat at the fierceness of the kisses, the way they send a fiery sensation burning throughout as his tongue explores your mouth.

his mouth pulls away, drifting to your jaw. instinctively, your hips buck forward, brushing against his as places sloppy, wet kisses along your neck.

"don't worry about the morning," his mouth hovers by your ear, "just focus on me, okay?"

you nod, "o-okay."

"is this okay?" his brow furrows momentarily, "i don't want to make you feel-"

you lower a hand, fingertips brushing along the waistband of his sweats, "this is okay. i promise."

at your action, max's breath quickens, the driver finding it difficult to string the words together, "i-i just can't help myself around you. seeing you after my win today, looking so fucking beautiful in the rain. i couldn't fucking control myself."

"that kiss was very unlike you," a giggle rings through the space, "i almost thought i was dreaming."

"you weren't," the corners of his lips curl into a wide smile, dimples and all, "i was right there, kissing you, wishing i could just get down on one knee right then and there."

"m-max," you stammer, the temperature of the room almost skyrocketing, "y-you don't-"

"i do," his voice is firm, "i want to marry you. i knew i needed you, but seeing you there, just waiting for me, with that gorgeous grin across your face.. it made me realize that i wanted to see that smile for the rest of my life. we don't have to rush, but i want you to know what my intentions are.

i want you to be my wife, but i don't want you to feel like you have to abandon everything to be with me. i want you to still do what you love, and i want you to still make a difference in people's lives. just how you've made a difference in mine."

"i love you," your vision is blurred, your throat tight, "i-i love you so much m-max."

"my sensitive girl," he lets out a chuckle, carefully wiping away your tears, "i love my sensitive girl. more than she'll ever know."

"i'll be your wife one day."

"one day?" he cocks his head, "is that a yes?"

"yes," you affirm, "that is a yes."

"now this has truly been a day to remember."

"is that so?"

"yes," max responds. taking your hands, he raises them slightly, so that they're on either side of your head. intertwining your fingers together he continues, leaning in once more.

"i'm going to hold on to this memory for the rest of my life. i'm going to hold on to you for the rest of my life."

"there's nowhere else i would rather be," you whisper, "i mean that."

"oh i know," his mouth ghosts over yours, "you were so fucking ecstatic earlier. it was adorable."

"i was just happy for you," your lips form a pout, "you have to remember it's been a long time since i-"

he kisses you, this time a little more hungry than the last. as his tongue slips in, between your thighs, you feel your clit throb, desperate for his touch as he deepens the kiss, squeezing your hands. his hips grind against yours, sending a shiver down your spine.

"m-max," you nearly moan, "please."

"what?" he coos, "what is it baby?"

"i need you," the words are breathy, "i really need you."

"don't worry baby," a hand begins to drift lower and lower, savoring your heated skin along your stomach and abdomen, "i'll make sure you're taken care of."

"p-please," your head rolls back as his thumb meets your clit, dragging in slow, circular motions.

for a second, he's thrown off his game, completely and utterly bewildered at the stickiness coating his index finger as he plunges a finger deep inside.

"y-you're this wet for me? i've barely fucking touched you."

"like you said earlier," you grit your teeth, fighting a whimper as another finger slides in, your walls adjusting, "you have no idea what you do to me."

at that statement, max's jaw tightens, the lust that was merely a few flames now burning throughout, threatening to consume him whole.

fuck, was he going to ruin you.

his fingers pull out, hooking the hem of your own sweats, "i need this off of you. now."

sitting up, you kick off your pants, fumbling with your tank top in the process. your nipples are almost swollen, hardened from the brisk air. between your thighs, he can catch the glisten of your slick cunt, aching for him and only him.

in that moment, max nearly comes undone.

"let me taste you," the words are nearly a beg, "please baby, let me get a taste."

you nod, almost a little too enthusiastically, "please do."

he situates himself so that he's between your legs, his hands roaming your soft skin, spreading you open. he lowers his head, hands cupping your breasts as his tongue flattens against your weeping cunt. the tip of his nose brushes against your clit, earning a groan from you.

at that, a guttural noise rumbles in his throat, his fingers now gripping your hips, pulling you closer and closer.

there was no word that could describe the way you tasted.

the only thing that came close was heaven.

sweet, sweet, heaven that coated his tongue.

your back arches as obscene, filthy noises flood the room, hands in max's hair, tugging at the locks as his mouth envelops your clit, sucking lightly.

"that's it pretty girl," the words are ragged as you squirm, his lips shining in the dim light, "that's it."

"m-max," there's a feeling pooling in your abdomen, a feeling you knew all too well, "p-please."

"what?" his mouth curls into a smug smirk, "what is it pretty girl? you wanna cum?"

"yes. please."

"well since you asked so nicely," you're wound up tight now, merely seconds away from release, "i'll make you cum."

his mouth reconnects with your clit, applying the right amount of pressure as it dances. you writhe beneath him, stars bursting in your vision as you cum, bliss crashing over you like a tidal wave.

he pulls back, his cock twitching in his sweats, begging to be set free as he admires the way your chest heaves, your thighs almost trembling, overstimulated from the orgasm.

he wants to go back for seconds, lapping away until you're crying, pleading, begging for him to stop. if only you didn't have your early flight in the morning, then he would eat your pussy for hours, going all throughout the night.

"good girl," sliding off his sweats, his jaw nearly goes slack as your hand wraps around the base, pumping slowly, "good fucking girl."

as you jerk him off, two dingers dip inside, ensuring that their soaked before pulling out.

"here," he murmurs, pushing the digits against your lips, prompting you to open your mouth, "taste yourself."

as you take them in, tongue swirling along their length, the sweetness lacing your tongue, a groan tumble from his mouth.

"oh fuck."

"you like?" batting your lashes, you can't help but feel a grin form as he nods fervently, one hand gripping the heard board while the other rests on his shaft.

"victory tastes sweet, but fuck you taste sweeter. there's nothing like the way you taste and i'm addicted."

"is that such a bad thing?"

you nearly choke on a gasp as he pushes into you, stretching you out as his hips roll. he bites on his lower lip, fighting a smirk as your head hits the pillow, eyes squeezing shut as pleasure fills you to the brim.

"not at all," he's plowing into you now, "it's not a bad thing at all."

addicted was not even the word that described the way max craved you.

it was a hunger.

a hunger that would only be satisfied by your perfect, tight cunt.

and god, was max was going to savor the way you felt. the way you wrapped around him, practically begging him to go even further and further.

if only he could stay here, entwined with you. if only he could feel like this, forever.

however, vegas was quickly approaching.

and after that, who knew what the future would bring.

but for now, he was going to relish this moment.

tonight, and perhaps for the rest of his life.

#max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #f1 #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader #mv33 x reader #mv1 x reader #formula 1 fanfiction #f1 fanfiction #f1 fanfic #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen smut #max verstappen x you

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dirtytomatoedwrites · 1 year ago

Text

INDEBTED

Summary: When your father's scandal threatens your family's legacy, Rafe makes you an offer you can't refuse.

Paring: Rafe Cameron x KookFem!Reader

Strictly 18+ No Minors to Interact

Warnings: Dark!Rafe, Dub-Con/Non-Con, Coercive Behaviour, Choking, Graphic Scenes / Smut.

Word Count: 4.8k words

Author's Note: 1000 followers! Wow, I never thought I'd reach 1000 followers. A part of me believes that half of these are bots, but regardless, to those who are real and have decided to join me in my little corner of the Tumblr woods, thank you. Your love and support, especially during these trying times, means a lot. I had this one shot sitting in my drafts for a while and thought I'd finish the damn thing and share it as a thank you. But heed those warnings : it's a dark one. Much love to you all ❤️

Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Please don’t steal or copy bits of my writing or any writing from other writers cause karma will get ya.

Embezzlement.

What a weird word.

It rolls off the tongue with an unfamiliar bitterness. It's the kind of term you'd see in a crossword puzzle, nestled between "clandestine" and "malevolent." You never imagined it would be splashed across news headlines with your family's name and the face of your father in the centre.

For years, your family was among the shining stars of Figure 8, leaders in hospitality, prestige, and wealth. Your home was the epicenter of elegance, the heartbeat of social galas. But now, news vans line the perimeter of your estate, their cameras hungry for a glimpse of the fallen dynasty. While online vultures, under the guise of investigative websites, sift through every chapter of your family's history.

Naturally, it caused a ripple, and as the waves of the scandal crashed onto the shores of Figure 8 with relentless force, family friends who once sought your company now wrestled with their association to yours. The 'friends' who once envied your galas and soirées now whisper behind closed doors.

It was the talk of every gathering. At lunches, tennis courts, even the marina; your family’s name was whispered with a mix of pity and sensationalism. Every disclosed detail, every leaked piece of evidence, threatens to shatter the glass pedestal upon which your family once stood unchallenged.

Yet, amidst the tempest of rumors and glares, your mother remains the eye of the storm. Resolute and graceful, she doesn't waver. The titan of Figure 8's social scene, she's always known how to command a room, and this scandal won't rob her of that gift.

Tonight, at the Midsummer ball, she's an emblem of defiance against the rising tide of whispers. And she does it so effortlessly. She glides through the crowd with that same charismatic charm. She smiles warmly, asking about children and recent vacations, pets, and passion projects, extending olive branches even when met with frosty receptions and curt replies.

You, however, are not as composed. The weight of judgmental gazes is too suffocating, the murmurs too piercing. The confines of the ball, with its glittering chandeliers and faux smiles, become a prison. With each passing moment, the walls seem to close in further. You need air. A moment of solitude. An escape from the suffocating pretense.

Whispering a quick excuse to your mother about needing the powder room, you slip away. The soft hum of the party fades behind you as you venture down a paved stone path, leading to the beach. The cool breeze and rhythmic waves provide solace, a stark contrast to the stifling ambiance of the party.

You had taken off the flower crown your mother had insisted you wear and were about to remove your shoes when you heard it: the soft crunch of footsteps on sand, drawing closer.

Hesitantly, you turned, finding him. The one whose eyes often sought yours in a crowd. Whose lingering gazes you'd always felt but habitually ignored. The same person who continually asked you out, oftentimes rudely and crudely. The one you had rejected, rebuffed, and shut down more times than you could count.

Rafe Cameron.

"Came to rub salt in my wounds?" you asked, unable to mask the bitterness in your voice.

"Now why would I want to do such a thing?" Rafe murmured. He pulled a joint from his pocket, placing it between his lips. The soft flicker of the lighter momentarily illuminated his face, revealing a brief smirk before the darkness cloaked him again. "I thought you might appreciate some company instead."

The word 'appreciate' ricocheted around your mind, sounding almost absurd in this situation. Company? From Rafe Cameron? The notorious Kook King of Figure 8, a classic case book narcissist who, you were certain, had probably raised a toast to the scandal engulfing your family. At this moment, you'd rather eat glass than accept his sympathy. Rolling your eyes, you turned back to the sea, barely acknowledging his presence.

“I'm not in the mood to talk, Rafe," your voice steady but seething with restrained frustration. Your eyes remained locked onto the undulating waves before you. The smell of sea-salt filled your nostrils, and for a fleeting moment, you felt at peace. It lasts all of two seconds before Rafe opens his mouth again.

"Fine, I'll talk. You listen," he asserts, as he settles against a rock. He leisurely inhales from his joint before blowing out a plume of smoke into the night air. You can feel his contemplative gaze on you; it becomes evident in the softened timbre of his voice when he speaks again. “You know, it's downright shitty what they're doing to your dad. To your family. To you... I can't stand by and watch."

A scornful laugh escapes you as you finally meet his gaze. "Well, life's not exactly handing out fairness certificates, is it?"

He shook his head, "No, it isn’t. But, it still doesn't make it right. It doesn’t make it fair when your dad claims he’s innocent—”

“My dad is innocent,” you assert fiercely, standing tall, arms crossed defiantly over your chest.

“Oh, I believe he is. But the world? Not so much. Your dad’s always been good to my family. My old man took it hard when he heard. I mean, of all the people on Figure 8 to be arrested for embezzlement, your dad was the last person anyone would suspect—”

“What's your point, Rafe?” You snapped, clearly about to lose the last shred of patience you had.

"I’ve been thinking about it alot, and maybe my family can help.”

Skepticism etched itself clear as day on your face. It seemed ironic that Rafe felt his family could help when Rose and Ward shunned your parents the moment the news broke.

“And how do you propose to do that?" you asked, your voice tinged with mistrust.

Rafe shrugged, a casual gesture that contradicted the gravity of the situation. "My dad, he's got connections—”

“So do mine,” you shot back.

“But did yours play golf with Senator Whitfield every Saturday? Rain or shine? Nah, didn’t think so.”

You felt a moment of silence envelop you both, the distant murmurs of the sea a constant reminder of the world moving around you.

"Alright, I'll bite," you said with a lick of your lips. "What do you want in return? You're clearly not doing this out of the goodness of your heart."

Rafe flicked his joint onto the sand, extinguishing it with a deliberate twist of his shoe. As he stepped closer, moonlight illuminated his eyes, giving them an almost predatory glow.

“You've got me," he admitted, his smirk devoid of warmth. “I do want something in return. Something that has been on my mind. Something I’ve wanted for a long time now. You."

A shiver raced down your spine, a cocktail of revulsion and trepidation. Retreating a step, your voice quivered but remained defiant.

"So, you're after a date?" You clarified, eyes narrowing. The same date he'd pestered you for, relentlessly, over the past year. The same date you'd denied him repeatedly, because despite being handsome, Rafe Cameron's moral compass seemed nonexistent.

Rafe scratched his ear as he moved slowly toward you, his expression pained as though what he was about to reveal would hurt him far more than it would hurt you.

"Yeah, see, a date won't begin to cover what I'm risking for your old man, given his rap sheet is longer than my arm. No, what I want is far more... rewarding," his voice sank to a sultry whisper as he towered over you.

"And what would that be?" you asked, tension crackling in the air between you.

"I want to be able to fuck you whenever and however I want—for a month, maybe two, perhaps even a year..." he shrugged slowly, "The specifics are negotiable, but doesn't that sound fair? A little pussy in exchange for your dad's freedom?”

The slap was instinctual. Swift. The sting on your palm matched only by the shock on Rafe's face. For a split second, everything was still.

Rafe's eyes turned to steel, his demeanor shifting chillingly in a heartbeat. He closed in, his voice a venomous whisper slicing through the salty sea air. "You must have a death wish" he hissed, an unmistakable dangerous edge to his words. His hand gingerly brushed his reddening jaw, his piercing gaze never leaving yours. "Your dad's freedom? It's dangling by the thinnest thread... The right words from a senator could decide whether he walks free or becomes someone's bitch behind bars."

He paused, his gaze falling to the flower crown in your hand. Slowly, deliberately, he reached out to touch it, his fingers lightly tracing the delicate petals, an almost gentle gesture that was jarringly at odds with the tension of the moment.

"If you want to help your dad, having a friend like me might be your best bet." he murmured. "Think it over, yeah?" His gaze lifted back to yours, a sly grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Fuck you, Rafe," you whispered, disgust fueled your retreat as you stormed away, his chilling laugh echoing ominously in the night air.

"You will, princess. When you come to your senses, you will."

Rafe's lingering words pressed on you, growing heavier with each breath. The looming possibility of your father's life behind bars became ever more ominous as Rafe presented a potential solution—a solution with an inconceivable price tag.

How could he even insinuate such a thing? The mere suggestion repulsed you, igniting a fury at Rafe's audacity. Yet the unease gnawing at your belly made you question: to what lengths would you go to save your dad? With your family facing disgrace and teetering on the brink of bankruptcy, Rafe's proposal offered a faint glimmer of hope, even if it took the ugliest of forms.

In the solitude of your bedroom, the pristine walls seemed to close in, just like the midsummer ball. Picking up your phone, you stared at the screen, the bright white light harsh against the dim setting. The contacts list stared back, an overwhelming list of names, none of whom had reached out during your family's time of need.

You scrolled, hesitating briefly before landing on Rafe's name. A whirlwind of emotions — from anger to desperation — consumed you as you pressed on it. Trembling fingers typed, deleted, and retyped a message multiple times, finally settling on the simplest of words.

"We need to talk."

Almost immediately, three dots danced on the screen.

"Tomorrow 7pm, Tannyhill.”

Was Rafe’s curt response.

You could barely sleep that night, as your mind raced, forming what you hoped was a semblance of a plan. You needed to negotiate on your terms, to retain some shred of dignity. It wasn't a detailed strategy, but it was enough to at least get through Rafe's offer with your sanity.

The next day as you approached Tannyhill, you whispered silent affirmations to yourself, reaffirming your resolve, your worth, and the necessity of your mission.

And then, there he was. Rafe Cameron, leaning casually against the frame of the ornate door, a picture of wealth and arrogance, a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within you. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of you in the impending darkness of the evening.

Rafe opened the door for you, his face betraying a flicker of something you couldn't quite read, but there was no turning back now. You stepped in, ready to negotiate with the devil himself if it meant saving your family.

"Where's everyone?" you asked, there was no point in exchanging pleasantries. Nothing about the situation was remotely pleasant.

"Movies. You know, I hadn't expected a text from you so soon." his voice dripped with condescension, "I was betting on at least a week or two."

"Yeah well, it is my dad's life on the line," your footsteps echoed with purpose as you followed him into the living room, eyes steeling for the battle ahead. "The sooner we finalize our agreement, the quicker you can pull whatever strings you have, right?"

Rafe spun around, his gaze locking onto yours. The sly curve of his lips unsettling. "Sure, I’ll make a few calls,” he stated, voice dark and sardonic, "but it'll depend on the terms we agree to."

"Alright…” you braced yourself, your arms folded trying to regain control. "Let's start with how lon--"

“A year,” Rafe cut in, not breaking eye contact.

"That's out of the question. A month," you shot back.

His chuckle resonated with an underlying seriousness, his eyes narrowing in focus "Sure, we can say a month. You willing to fuck me at least twice a day? No? Then eleven."

You straightened your back, your resolve hardening. "Two months, tops."

His eyes gleamed as he considered your counteroffer. "How about this, we keep our little arrangement going until your dad's free. It could be a month, maybe two…” he shrugged nonchalantly “It might even be a year. It depends on how soon he’s out. What do you think?"

You hesitated, visibly weighing the implications of such an open-ended commitment. Your dad’s charges were serious. The chances of those charges disappearing and him being released in a month seemed like a miracle. "What if it drags on for years?" you whispered.

Rafe’s grin grew more pronounced, relishing your distress. "Well, princess, that's for you to decide. You can always walk away whenever you think it’s unbearable. Does that seem fair?"

"Okay, fine. Now about condoms--”

“Not using them--”

“Oh, we’re using them. I’m not interested in having your kid, Rafe, and I’m certainly not interested in catching anything from you.”

“While I should be fucking insulted” he said dryly “I always glove up and get tested regularly too.”

“Okay, so why are you suddenly against using condoms with me, then?”

“Because I promised myself…” he said slowly, his voice lowering as he made his way towards you, “If I ever got the chance to fuck you, I'd do it raw.”

Your jaw clicked, your hands itching to slap him again. “Weren’t you fooling around with Letizia a couple of weeks back?”

“Yeah, so? I was gloved up.”

“I don't care. You've slept with half the girls on figure 8. I want you fully tested before we even think about doing anything. Condoms every time, no excuses.”

“Alright. I’ll get tested. Condoms while fucking, no condoms for blowjobs.”

"Yeah, about that, I'm not doing oral.'” you said folding your arms in resignation.

Rafe's eyes bore into yours, annoyance coloring his features.

"No. No. You don’t get to dictate how I fuck you." he snapped, his voice taking on edge of authority. "Look, i’m willing to let you negotiate a few terms, give you some semblance of control but it’s got to be worth my while, and for it to be worth it, I get to fuck you how I want, when I want.”

You swallowed, feeling your resolve waver.

"Now, here's what I want to make this deal work: when I call, you answer. No matter the place, no matter the time. You show up. Clear?" Rafe said.

You paused before giving a hesitant nod, the magnitude of your agreement dawning on you.

"And if I ask you to wear something specific, you will. No questions. We have a deal?"

Your throat tightened as his demands began to overwhelm you, but you managed a brief nod in response.

"Remember, fail to meet my terms, and our deal ends. Understood?"

Another nod.

"Anything else?"

“When will you make the call?” you asked quickly.

“After our first session,” he proposed, his smile revealing a hint of anticipation. “After that I’ll do whatever I can to make sure your dad’s free”

" I want proof. I want proof that you’d stick to your part of the deal.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get it.”

“Good." you said as you took a deep breath and released it slowly. "Get tested and send me the results," you responded, you're tone neutral, treating it as a standard business transaction. "I'll do the same. We can then choose a time and date."

Rafe nodded in agreement, his gaze intense and piercing.

You extended your hand towards him.

"What's that for?" he chuckled lowly.

"A handshake. To seal the deal."

Rafe reached out, his arms enveloping you in a firm yet tender grasp, pulling you against him. It took everything within you to not push him away.

"How about we seal this deal with a kiss, hmm?" he murmured, "Especially since we'll be doing a lot more than kissing very soon."

Rafe leaned in, letting his lips graze yours. But you stiffened, instinctively tilting your head so that his lips met your cheek instead. A soft chuckle escaped him as he retreated just a fraction.

“Ah ah” he chided. With his fingers gently but firmly cradling your jaw, he directed your face back to his, an unsettling tension growing palpable between you.

"Play. Nice.” he whispered, his voice considerably smug. "Kiss me. Like you mean it." It wasn't a mere request; it was a command that left you feeling completely cornered.

A battle of wills ensued; neither of you making the first move, both of you waiting for the other to blink first. Rafe's eyes never left your own as he leaned in once again, his determination clear.

His tongue gently pushed past your parted lips, and you allowed it, setting off a delicate yet conflicting dance between your tongues and lips.

Groaning into your mouth, his eyes shut as the kiss deepened, carrying an undeniable intensity. He sucked on your bottom lip, nipping at your tender flesh until his tongue lashed hungrily against yours sending a peculiar mix of tingles and dread coursing through you.

Finally, you pulled away from the kiss, catching your breath while your chest heaved. Rafe remained close, his lips just a whisper away from yours, his breathing matching your intensity.

"I'll get tested first thing tomorrow," he whispered, his voice thick with urgency and desire. "Make sure you do, too."

"All clear."

That was the message Rafe sent you two days after your heated conversation, accompanied by a screengrab of his test results. Without hesitation, you replied, sending him your own results in return.

As your fingers tapped across the screen, a surge of disgust washed over you. The very idea of being intimate with Rafe was anything but appealing; it fact, it made you feel sick.

You'd never choose Rafe of your own volition. Sure he was handsome but his excessive drinking and drug habits were repellant, and his disdain and bullying nature towards the Pogues was disturbing. None of his qualities were remotely attractive, let alone fuckable.

But then, the stern, resilient part of you asserted itself, urging you to focus on the goal at hand.

This was not about you or Rafe; it was about orchestrating your father's release from prison, a critical mission where failure wasn't an option. With this clear objective ingrained in your mind, you steeled your resolve, preparing yourself for what lay ahead.

When he proposed meeting up that same night, you didn't find it strange given Rafe's impulsive nature. However, the location he suggested did catch you off guard.

It wasn't Tannyhill, the somewhat familiar and comfortable place you had anticipated, but instead, an unfamiliar address. The randomness of the location set off tiny alarms in the back of your mind, making you wary but you took a deep breath, quickly typing out your response-

"I'll be there."

It wasn't just any random address, as you initially thought.

At the front of a gated tree-lined drive stood a prominent sign declaring, “Cameron Developments.” The freshly poured concrete and stacks of lumber clearly indicated that it was a home under renovation.

As you made your way along the winding path, unease gripped you, but the sight of Rafe’s truck haphazardly parked near the entrance reassured you that you had indeed reached the right place.

The estate was draped in an unsettling darkness, punctuated only by the soft chirping of crickets, the distant hoot of an owl, and the sporadic glow of work lights from inside, hinting at the ongoing renovations.

Exiting your car, you took a moment to absorb the scene before approaching the house. With each step towards the porch, your heart rate quickened. But before you could even announce your presence, the heavy door groaned open, revealing the looming presence of Rafe.

His expression, obscured by the shadows and dim work lights from within, gave away nothing. Without a word, he stepped aside, allowing you to enter, then closed the door and locked it.

A knot formed in your throat, a cocktail of dread and adrenaline. Pushing the mounting fear aside, you gathered your voice, attempting to sound braver than you felt. "Alright, let's get this over with," you said.

A wicked grin tugged at the corner of Rafe's lips. You felt an icy dread settle in your chest. "Oh, we will," he murmured, "But first, I want to play a game... to make things... interesting." The atmosphere grew heavy, oppressive.

"One minute" he said, as he cracked his neck from side to side, his eyes boring into you. "You get a one-minute head start and after that, after that--" he sighed happily "I'm coming for you. Run."

Panic gripped you. "Run? What? What the hell are you talking about? What do you mean run?" you stammered, your voice edged with rising panic.

But his eyes were cold, devoid of humor or empathy. He leaned closer, his voice a menacing hiss that left no room for interpretation. "Run."

A rush of adrenaline hit you, and without another word, you sprinted past him as if your very life depended on it.

You had no clear destination in mind, only the primal instinct to run and hide. Every fiber of your being was attuned to survival. Heart pounding in your chest, you sprinted up the grand staircase, taking the steps three at a time, feeling the weight of your own desperation in every leap.

At the top, a maze of doors and hallways stretched out before you. You lunged for the nearest one, finding yourself in a dimly lit bedroom freshly painted in white. Shadows danced on the walls from the solitary work light, and your gaze immediately snapped to a closet on your right.

Without hesitation, you slipped inside, gently closing the door behind you. The smell of paint and cedar filled your nostrils. Placing a trembling hand over your mouth, you tried to muffle the sound of your heavy, ragged breathing.

Gently, so as not to make a sound, you nudged the slatted shutter doors of the closet closed, leaving only thin slivers of the room visible – distorted, but enough to keep watch.

The ominous sound of footsteps reached your ears; they were methodical, unhurried. Rafe was searching, savoring the hunt. You watched in horror as his elongated shadow, cast by the work light, drifted across the closet. A cold sweat formed on your forehead, and you had to fight back the urge to gasp as the shadow paused momentarily by the closet doors.

After what felt like an eternity, the shadow moved away, and you heard his footsteps retreating. Letting out a silent sigh of relief, you gave yourself a moment to gather your bearings. But you knew all too well you couldn't remain hidden for long; he would inevitably retrace his steps and find you.

Gathering your courage, you carefully eased the closet doors open and quickly scanned the room for an escape route. Your heart pounded violently in your chest as you made your move. Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you tiptoed across the room, avoiding the creaky floorboards that might betray your presence. But the moment you stepped out of the bedroom, you collided with a solid mass.

Rafe's eyes pierced through to your soul, pure hunger reflected in them as he stared down at you. His hand clamped around your throat, pulling you close as the smell of your fear and his cologne filled your nostrils in a nauseating mix. His lips crushed against yours, ravaging your mouth with an intensity that nearly made you faint.

As your fight-or-flight instincts kicked in, you frantically writhed in his grip. Your fists relentlessly pounded against his arm, trying to get him to relinquish his hold on you, but it was no use. In one swift motion, Rafe backed you into the bedroom and forcefully dragged you to the floor, your fingers wildly clawing at his arm as you searched for any type of leverage you could find.

Rafe ravished your neck with unbridled hunger, his other hand violently tugged at your skirt and panties, scraping the skin of your thighs until finding your moist center—the slippery wetness signifying your surrender to pleasure. Rafe groaned as his fingertips slid through your slick folds and into you causing you to gasp at the white-hot jolts of pleasure.

"For someone who's only doing this to save their dad, you're soaked..." Rafe laughed breathlessly, trailing a line of wet kisses up your throat. "All that sanctimonious bullshit about what you will and won't do and look at you, fucking dripping for my cock—”

"Fuck you!" you screeched, a potent mixture of embarrassment and venomous rage coursing through you has you writhing beneath him, your determination to push him off almost frantic.

"That's it—fight back," he jeered, his voice dripping with dark amusement. "Fight back. It'll make this all the more satisfying."

You kicked and screamed, only for Rafe to capture your lips in a bruising kiss. His hands connected your wrists together over your head. In a single move, he flipped you onto your stomach and straddled you from behind, his erection pressing against your ass.

One of Rafe's hands tears off your panties, your screams in protest seize immediately as Rafe stuffed the flimsy cotton into your mouth.

"There" he taunted with a sinister chuckle, pressing you down further as you desperately attempted to wriggle free. You strained to let out a scream, your voice stifled by the makeshift gag.

That same hand worked feverishly to free himself from his pants. You could feel the throbbing heat of his erection at the cleft of your ass. Could hear him tearing open the condom packet with his teeth, the necessary prelude to satiating his ever-growing hunger.

Not too long after he was grinding the head of his cock against your wetness while you fought to express your protests through the gag.

"No, no, this is what we've agreed to. What you agreed to..." Rafe's breath hitched as his cock slid over your weeping slit. With one hard, raw thrust, barely allowing you time to adjust to his girth, he plunged himself deep inside you.

He wasted no time, immediately beginning his relentless thrusts, utterly indifferent to your muffled struggles behind the gag. Your body writhed beneath his weight, your movements punctuated by desperate grunts, the hardwood floor beneath you offering no mercy.

After a brief moment, Rafe released your wrists and drew you closer, his grip on your hips unwavering as he continued to drive into you with unrelenting force. Your head spun as you gradually surrendered to the powerful cadence of his movements. His hands clung to you possessively, guiding both of you in a desperate, synchronized dance. Every nerve in your body ignited, primal heat surging from deep within.

Your eyelids fluttered shut as your body succumbed to his unyielding force. Despite the freedom of your hands, you found yourself paralyzed, incapable of resisting or offering any form of resistance. Instead, you relinquished control, allowing Rafe to claim you entirely.

"I'm gonna fucking cum. I'm gonna cum. Cum with me," he growled through gritted teeth, his tempo increasing to a punishing pace.

You weakly shook your head, 'no,' your determination unwavering as you fought to maintain control over your desires. The mere thought of your pleasure becoming entangled with his, sullied and exploited for his depraved fantasies, was something you could not bear.

"Oh, you'll cum-" he sneered.

In a sudden, ominous gesture, he swiftly removed his leather belt from its loop around his pants and coiled it around your neck, pulling and winding it tightly around his fist.

"If you want to breathe, you'll cum," he snarled, pounding you with relentless force. The room was filled only with the sound of your choked gasps for air, Rafe's ragged breaths, the creak of the leather as he tightened his grip, and the rhythmic punishing slap of his hips against your flesh. You fought with every ounce of your being not to succumb to your impending orgasm, tears streaming uncontrollably from your eyes as you waged a futile battle.

The room reverberated with your agonised screams as your orgasm consumed you. Your muscles tensed and quivered beneath you, each wave of pleasure crashed over you like a violent tsunami drowning you. Your fingers clawed at the belt constricting your throat, the leather biting into your skin and to your abject horror, you were gushing around his cock as you climaxed.

Rafe fucked you harder, burying his face in the back of your neck. With a triumphant roar, Rafe's orgasm struck, and he shuddered against you, muffling his moans of pleasure into your skin as he stuffed his cock deep.

Sated and content, he collapsed on top of you, his breathing heavy and laboured, the condom filled with his cum. After a moment, he withdrew and shifted to lie beside you.

Summoning every ounce of strength you had left, you managed to free yourself from the tight confines of the belt and the stifling gag that had cruelly silenced you. Every fiber of your being, every muscle in your body, screamed with raw pain as you gulped in fresh air, each breath feeling like a hard-won victory. Tears of relief and anguish streamed down your face, and with a shaky hand, you hastily brushed them away.

The room seemed to sway, a disorienting blend of fear, relief, and vertigo threatening to drag you into terrifying darkness.

Yet, slicing through the fog of your distress was the haunting sound of Rafe's laughter. His voice was breathless, yet unmistakably gleeful. His fingers, dampened with sweat, raked through his messy hair, highlighting his heightened state of manic exhilaration.

"Next time," he grinned, a chilling promise lacing his words, "Next time, we'll use rope."

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

Thanks for reading x If you enjoyed it please like/reblog/drop a comment would love to know what you think. Until next time ❤️

#rafe cameron #rafe x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe fanfiction #rafe imagine #rafe fic #rafe smut #rafe outer banks #outerbanks rafe #rafe obx #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #dark!rafe cameron #obx fanfiction #obx #18+ read #dirtytomatoedwrites #dark rafe cameron #smut warning

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iznsfw · 10 months ago

Text

Reputation, Or Whatever That Is

IZ Days of Christmas 2023: Day 12 - Jang Wonyoung

IVE's Jang Wonyoung x Male Reader Smut

7,063 words

Categories | daddy kink, brat!Wonyoung, squirting, blowjob, please appreciate Wonyoung's power bottom capabilities

Sorry, Yena is coming out sometime but I wanted to finally write something timely. JANG WONYOUNG WHAT THE FUCKKKKK.

Please bear with the religious metaphors, I have Catholic guilt and Wonyoung reignites it. I'm not sorry for all the other fucked up shit here I'm just ooga boogaing because what the FUCK

It’s a little brighter today than usual. The sun surely knows what's about to happen upon its rising. It has no plans of telling you beforehand, so you’re forced to find out yourself.

You open Instagram, which is insane because you never bother to look at pictures—much less edited, filtered ones made for meaningless impressions. Your blissful ignorance of online concepts is what would make your fans hate you if they had space in their deluded hearts to. Or maybe that’s your age talking.

But today, clicking on that app is what you do, and that already should have been a sign that something’s not right. The usual run of your universe has gone off course. Who could have made that so?

Coffee. The black stillness that’s pure of sweetness and sugar. That’s supposed to keep everything normal. You sip on it as you scroll through clickbait, fan accounts, edits—

Then you wish you never took that hot gulp at all.

Wonyoung.

It’s all because of her.

She stands there from behind your screen, silky hair tangled in those lithe long fingers. She’s looking at the camera like she wants whoever took the time to click on her profile to come over and fuck her right now. Man or woman, poor or rich—it doesn’t matter. What ought to matter though is the fact that she doesn’t have someone’s hands slipped around her waist and pulling her close.

You shouldn’t even be thinking about it.

Usually, she’s dressed in knitted pink coats and miniskirts; looking fashionable but modest, modest but unplain. That’s what everyone loves about Jang Wonyoung: she’s prim, sweet, and the daughter of the nation.

Now, she’s the ideal girl to take right home and have your wicked way with. Yes, you’d feel guilty since she’s so young, just the little age of nineteen. Still, that doesn’t mean you’d have any regrets. She’s the kind of girl you can’t get away from. You’ll always come back for more.

You’d hate to be so upfront, but there’s no other way to interpret it.

There’s that fucking denim bra hugging her tiny chest, stitched up so high that her abs are on full display. That little pinch of a waist curves so perfectly right up to her wide hips that invite and invite and invite—

Remember to exhale.

So, yeah. That’s how Wonyoung ruined your day, and you barely had your morning coffee.

A text message from your boss appears. You nearly miss it because of how you’re staring all ogle-eyed at the tempting girl on your screen. Before you even click it, you already know what you ought to do.

hey, it reads, you need to—

—go to Wonyoung, and for such a scandalous photo, she’s chosen a remote but classy hotel only the biggest stars know of to shoot it.

There’s no going back when you drive like you’re running from the law when you’ll break one if you pull the wrong stunt with her. Your throat’s coiled with an unreleased breath that won’t go away unless you see her. It’s like traveling with the promise of meeting a goddess, and although you’re not religious anymore, you wear very, very close to rediscovering faith.

The hotel is grand—clear marble floors and shining chandeliers—and it’s no surprise. Wonyoung wouldn’t have things any other way. You know that when she’s come to your office to complain about her outfits and brands.

You go up to the desk with prepared evidence for what you’re going to say. “I’m an associate of your client miss Jang Wonyoung,” you say to the lady tapping away behind her computer, “and I’ve come to visit her.”

Associate? It’s more like mentor. You’re a veteran idol whose efforts inspire the rookies, therefore getting you the responsibility of looking out for Wonyoung. So, father figure, maybe? You wince at that.

She makes a polite sad look, still not removing her eyes from the screen. “I’m sorry, miss Jang doesn’t have—”

Slide your ID card on the counter.

She glances at it, stiffens, then looks up at you. There’s only one of you in the entire South Korea, and although the 1x1 traces back to when you were a bit more youthful, it’s not hard to put two and two together.

She apologizes quickly and offers you an elevator ride exclusive for VVIPs. Smile. It’s been a while since your last return to music, but everyone knows you here. Everyone knows your power.

Wonyoung’s place is the first room on the twelfth floor, a flinching irony.

Knock. You rap your knuckles three times for good luck and charm, because you’ll need it with her. Jang Wonyoung is everything save an easy girl. You remember the many times she refused to give up a debate on how she’s managed, how she’s styled, how she’s treated. She wants things to go her way only.

“Wonyoung,” you call out. Fidget with the handle of the door that refuses to budge. “It’s me.”

Knock a little more. There’s no eye behind the peekhole or a soft “come in.” You receive only the unlocking of the furnished knob and a welcome that makes you wish this could go the way your morals would want it to go.

The door opens you to a gorgeous suite that’s the supreme of all room tiers. This is the kind that only the richest of the rich are able to attain. Big as a house with a soft carpeted ground, there’s a queen-sized bed before a wide window of the city. Picture frames commissioned by the wealthy hang from the painted walls. All for the fucking aesthetic.

Even you, a star who paved the way for the Korean entertainment industry itself, aren’t used to this type of wealth.

Find her sitting on the ledge of the window frame. Wonyoung has her hands resting on the sides of the window frame. She doesn’t try at least a stance at nonchalance—no admiring stare at the beautiful view, no worried gaze at her clean fingernails. Her interest is you standing before her like you’re afraid to touch her. She might be right, but it’s not like you’d ever have it in you to admit that.

Even you, a man lusted over by girls and women all over the world, aren’t used to this kind of woman—the kind that eats away at you.

“Wonyoung.” Inside, you feel like the weakest man in the world.

She has this smarmy, confident smile on her perfect lips that tells you that it’s no surprise that you’ve come all the way here for her. No surprise at all. She expected it. Anticipated it, if you will.

Don’t mistake the coquettish float of her lashes for theatrics. No, Jang Wonyoung’s just naturally someone you’d want to fuck, no matter the politics of it. “Yes?”

Her voice is also just that pretty. That’s a large part of why it’s so hard to act professional in front of her when she’s your mentee. Even more so by the fact you’re someone she’s looked up to for the majority of her trainee years, which is already something that would make people’s brows lift.

“Wonyoung.” You let your shoulders rest. “Why are you still dressed like that?”

You know all the dialogue that passes around the general public. Oh, Jang Wonyoung’s so gorgeous! Jang Wonyoung’s even more beautiful in real life! You hate to say you can’t disagree. She’s deadlier in person; her body’s there before the glass like she’s waiting for someone to give in to temptation. That coy simper can ruin careers. It can ruin yours.

To think it all could be gone because of a nineteen-year-old celebrity with a tiny waist and legs you’d love to have around your head.

“Why are you still dressed like someone from the eighties?” Wonyoung taps her chin, then grins. She’s figured it all out. “Oh wait, you are.”

You’re not taking insults from someone who’s below you in experienced years and power. Unluckily, she’s not taking advice from someone above her or below her.

The step you take towards her, towards the little star seated comfortably waiting for you, feels like a sin.

“You’re incredibly unprofessional for a girl who’s worked her way up here,” you note. Cross your arms and give her a reprimanding look.

Wonyoung’s immune to nasty looks, too. She’s been doing this since she was a child. If someone gave her a glare that read all too well of a career assassination, she’d wink the bullet away sweetly. “Hm,” she says contemplatively, “I don’t think you get to say that, honestly.”

Your laugh is blunt and sarcastic. Unbelievable. Wonyoung’s the kindest girl according to the people who work for her, so why is she a rebel in your hands? It doesn’t make sense.

“Look here, we—”

You take three steps closer to her. You’ll keep your little rituals and superstitions to keep yourself grounded. Without them, you’d go insane.

Then without her having to do anything, she comes nearer, like a doomsday foretold by a ticking clock. Who knows? That clock could be a bomb, and that bomb would set off if you dare to touch her with a trembling fingertip. You’d leave the scene injured. And eventually, you’d die the moment they try to help you, because the deed’s been done.

“Oh, I’m looking, alright,” she chirps. She’s doing what you’ve held yourself back from doing: letting her eyes wander. “And I really, really like what I see.”

You’re someone several awards her senior, and you’re still quite intimidated by her at this moment. She’s so sweet yet so honest—she won’t make up a lie to make you feel better and she won’t hide the truth to make you comfortable. Refuse the truth her eyes locked on your crotch tell. You won’t accept it. It’s not right.

“I’m serious.” Approaching her makes you want to go on your knees and beg the lord for a little saving. Do it anyway. No one will rescue you. That’s what the industry taught you. “You’ve made it all the way up here. All by yourself. There’s gotta be something. What are you throwing it all away for?”

She laughs. Funniest thing she’s ever heard. “I’m not. How am I throwing it all away?”

“Those posts,” you hiss. Doesn’t she get it?

Before she could ask you what you’re talking about, you whip out your phone. Click on the app icon. It instantly shows you the opened tab containing Wonyoung’s recent Instagram posts. Look at her, wrapped in nothing, not even those curtains—giving the camera bedroom eyes when girls her age shouldn’t be shooting them at anyone or be aware of how to.

It’s already massed a million likes in under an hour. But you know what people who turn on anyone easily will say, and what they say could blot Wonyoung’s bright future by a lot. A million people around the world have caught sight of the abs she’s worked hard for, her toned back, and just about everything. A loud minority with frisky influences can sabotage her whole reputation.

“These posts,” you continue, shoving the screen into the poor girl’s face, “can take away everything you’ve worked for. All that fame, all that money, you can’t brag about them after this.”

Wonyoung looks on innocently. She stares at the screen with uninterested eyes, then switches them back on you. She looks like such a good girl in that second, with her hands seated beside her and that face so full of sparkling perfection.

Deception can’t lead you away.

“So, what’s it gonna be, Wonyoung?”

Long silence that builds up your frustration. Finally, she clicks her tongue. Gives you a shrug of her thin shoulders.

“You liked it.”

“What?”

She points to your phone. “You liked my post,” she repeats. “It says so right there.”

What the hell is she talking about?

You look at the device you’re brandishing. For a while, you can’t find out what she’s referring to. You can never take a liking to her posts, although if they switch on something you didn’t know you can feel. You’d die before—

The heart.

Wait.

The heart button below her set of pictures is filled with red.

Your heart pumps faster, a button pushed and played.

Fuck.

You turn to her and open your mouth. No sensible words come out. You swear you didn’t tap twice on her update or take it to a private setting. How did it happen? Worse, even if you say that to her, she’d take it as a pathetic lie.

Wonyoung giggles. It’s a tinkly sound that’s adorable, but you’ve long realized that being cute is not all there is to her. She rises slowly, sets her palms over your blazer-clad arms, and gives you an empathetic face. It’s so condescending that you want to dissolve.

“I know what men like you are all about,” she tells you. She speaks with a sultriness that makes you feel warm and has bumps appearing in masses across your skin.

She smiles. Her eyes disappear into crescent moons and the dimple appears on her cheek. You’re done for.

“Come on,” Wonyoung continues, squeezing your forearms. “Here you are, a big old man known for being a good singer or whatever. You’re so popular that the first thing that pops up on Naver is your face. Everything goes right for you, doesn’t it?”

You have no idea where she’s going with this. You’re afraid to even ask. Your teeth grit as her massages grow stronger, harder.

Something else is, too.

“Then, of course, you see me.”

Her hand. It’s curling around your wrist and bringing your fingers right around that flawless waist. She closes them there tightly.

It’s so bad that it’s good. You want to keep touching her, maybe slip your gliding fingers down her jeans. Oh, you shouldn’t. You can’t.

“You see me, and you get all hot and bothered. And what’s so funny is I’m not even doing anything. I’m just being myself, you know. Being young and rich… a beautiful girl…” Wonyoung is unbuttoning your shirt and you don’t realize it. “You can’t understand how I’m allowed to be this hot when you can’t even fuck me with a normal conscience.”

It’s all so wrong. You want to shake her by the shoulders and tell her to shut up. But if Medusa has her eyes, Wonyoung has her lips to turn you to stone. They keep opening elegantly to speak the filthiest, most fucked up shit, and you can’t deny anything.

Her eyes are creased with knowing pride. Her youth doesn’t rescue her from being so messed in the head already. Those thoughts don’t go along with such a pretty face.

“That’s why you like to get rough with me. You tell me to watch how I speak, watch how I act. You tell me to stop talking to you like you’re no one. You tell me that I’m such a little brat. But you only do that so you can get to control me. That’s your most fucked up dream, right?”

Her mouth is the tiniest space away from your chin.

You’re another word away from saving yourself a spot in damnation.

Her finger that scratches a flaw on your blazer beckons you to the fire. “You’re not breaking the law or anything,” says Wonyoung, “so why not break me instead, daddy?”

That’s a deal sealed with a rough kiss.

You grab her cruelly and cover her lips with yours. They’re more amazing than you imagined, soft and competent with how she pushes in deeper, depriving herself of the air she needs the most just to get what she needs just a bit more:

You.

Your tongues collide and clash, striving to get the most taste. She pulls your blazer off (because fuck professionalism, right?) while she kisses you with a hunger that’s equally mental and physical. It’s not like she’d bruise up if you didn’t get your hands on her yet it’s close to that.

And, in your case, it’s not like you’re breaking any law. She’s nineteen, not anywhere under the limits you’d kill others and yourself for touching. Nonetheless, you’re much older—by age, she could be your daughter; by career, she’s your junior; by power, you’re much stronger.

So, it’s still so wrong.

Can’t be when Wonyoung’s fist, firm around your cock, feels so right.

Can’t be when she lands on the edge of the bed with her lips parted in delight as she watches your dick stiffen under her service.

“There you go, daddy,” she coos, smirking. “Just get all hard for me, then you can stuff that big thing up in my pussy.”

Her thumb toys with your cockhead. You purse your lips to hold back a groan. Let go of it anyway when her smooth, closed palm rubs your sensitive flesh. She cups your balls lovingly before gliding her teasing fingertips under your length, right up to your tip. The girl knows how to do this; she’s good at more things other than MCing and performing.

Wonyoung hones this skill with firmer pumps, giving you the handjob of a lifetime. Her long fingers are just made to handle dick. Each stroke is perfection that holds and pulls and slides. You’re leaking so much already.

So you turn into the driver of the hate train, the press that loves getting her bad angles and the articles that slash up her name:

Blame it all on her.

Because you have here a girl, young and pretty and confident, so of course you have to scrape off your sins and nail them all on her, like a quivering hand to wood.

“You think you’re getting it that easily?” you say. Your moan is squeezed in your throat. “Baby, you’re not even close to it.”

Wonyoung smirks. It’s that self-assured, elegant smile that tells you that won’t work on her. She might be a rookie, but she knows how to play the game.

She tightens her grip painfully. That’s what you get for trying to one her up. Do that to anyone, just not Jang Wonyoung. Your cry goes unheard as she yanks you rather than jerks you off. Spits on your head for good measure. Wonyoung’s eyes make a connection with your soul and says, Yep, that’s what I’d do if you weren’t my senior. In fact, I’d do it regardless. I’d choke and spit and leave you to die, because a pretty Samaritan is better than a good one.

“You’re really out of touch, daddy.”

With Wonyoung slathering her drool all over you, you’re forced to teeter on the line between heaven and hell. It burns yet the offer of pleasure leaves you sated.

“You think I’m like the pretty girls out there? Other girls might have broken down and begged you to come back.”

Your rod is subjected to a brief torrid kiss, then a smile as the wicked girl looks up at you.

She laughs, gives you this smile full of haught and womanly power. “Too bad I’m Jang Wonyoung,” she says, her last words before taking you in.

Yes, it’s too bad she’s Jang Wonyoung. It’s too bad she’s not the other girls who’d kneel for a burning touch of stars like you. She wouldn’t be holding control over you with the power of her lips if she had sanity in that pretty head.

Her plump tiers wrap around you and seize everything, encasing it in softness and wetness. Her tongue, the one she uses as a killer expression for her selfies and Instagram updates, kills you all the same with how it swirls around your skin and tastes you. Trying to pretend the girl wasn’t a pro at this like she is with everything else is useless. She’ll keep proving you wrong and overpowering you.

The whole of your shaft is sucked in, then, when her cute nose is pressed directly to your stomach, she lets out a hummed laugh. You shudder—as much as it makes you feel good, fear grips your muscles and makes them limp. She’s loving how wrong everything is, and you’re not sure if you like it.

Her jaw slacks, and then Wonyoung’s swallowing you like you’re water. Can’t be water when you’re this solid in her throat. You let out a shivering groan. You can picture the bulge in Wonyoung’s neck and it’s the last thing you’d count on turning you on, but they did tell you to expect the unexpected.

Her saliva becomes excessive, resulting in some dribbles down her chin that help her work her mouth on you. Wonyoung’s drool sheens you entirely and she keeps adding more. On the occasion she pushes her face into your stomach, your cock gets wetter. She does, too.

“Fuck.” Cussing won’t help deter the onslaught of pleasure. You’re unsalvageable. Say it anyway. You babble meaningless, slurred words and not one gets to Wonyoung. All she can hear is the sound of your quivering moans and her mouth taking you all in.

She becomes less of an idol, less of the elegant princess for the cameras, and instead a fleshlight. However, she reminds you that it isn’t that way with a fierce sneer that stays on at all times. She’s not your girl—she’s Jang Wonyoung, and you’re already incredibly lucky that she chose to go down on you.

All that beautiful hair isn’t of any purpose if you don’t get to touch it, to gather it in a ponytail, to pull on it. Your fingers creep into her brown locks not only to give it a little meaning but also for sanity.

That isn’t a thing in Wonyoung’s world. She pulls your hand off and slaps it on your side. “No,” she says with a shake of her head. “Daddy can’t touch me, not when he’s pretending that he’s hot shit.”

Her nails bury themselves in your hips. Oh, the manicured talons of a gorgeous monster. Oh, the pain that runs through your sides. Should you run before she devours you? Too late for that.

“Wonyoung,” you breathe, and then ask, genuinely: “What the hell is wrong with you?”

She’s so proper and serene on her shows that not even her most desperate fan would think she’s a terror. They don’t know she’s a girl who likes older, weaker men who’d ruin her if she hasn’t the pretty face and attractively black heart to do them the favor instead.

“What’s wrong with you?”

You’d respond if you knew the answer.

Wonyoung rubs her thumb under your dick, sending little sparks aflying. “Why’d you kiss me earlier?” Her lipstick decorates it as a kinder girl would to your face. “Why didn’t you grab my hair and tell me to be a good girl? Why didn’t you leave? It’s not my fault you want to fuck me.”

All these words of destruction and your cock remains standing. It’s a staunch reminder to her that you can say whatever you want and the hard evidence remains. You want to fuck Wonyoung. You want to do it to a rookie who’d turn the story around on you if it ever came out. You want to fuck her so bad it’s borderline pitiable.

“I’m just giving you what you want, daddy.” Her fingers caress your sides. “Trust me, I could be a very good girl if I wanted to.”

You almost didn’t believe that until Wonyoung started to suck you off again.

Her lips stroke you effortlessly as if this were her pastime. That’s your most accurate guess, because this seamless performance—the one of her mouth working on you with the impression that this whole thing is nothing to her—can’t be a natural gift. The combination of dripping saliva and her soft lips is lethal.

It’s unbelievable how she manages to find all your tender spots. She preys on them, licking and licking until you’re very sure you were going to blow all over her. But you can’t give her that satisfaction.

You’re very close to doing so though. She’s perfectly sloppy and rough. You glare at her when she lightly teases her teeth on your girth. She winks at you in response. She leaves you breathless in so many ways.

“Wonyoung, Wonyoung, god—” you whine. It’s so hard to adapt to the girl sitting there with that innocent face and wild mouth that doesn’t dare give up on you.

Her expressions on camera are always poised. Off camera, there’s this one she flashes you as she shoves her face into your stomach that looks downright evil. Although she’s already fucking you with her throat, Wonyoung partners it with strong suction that’s sure to drain you.

“Yes, daddy?” She doesn’t pant when she goes up for air, replacing her sucking with her long fingers.

“I’m really close,” you admit. It’s obvious from your shaking legs.

Sounds of returned wet suction start to increase. Criticism and compliments prod Wonyoung on. How else would she improve in her idol life? In blowing you? In devouring you?

You realize you’re fitting the cliché. There’s you, an idol whose name is uttered on the daily by both young and old fans, igniting a scandal in the making by fucking a girl beneath you in everything. There’s this expensive suite where stars go for a little precious privacy to do what they want. There’s the two of you doing exactly what you desire: fucking each other. There’s the classic maneater trope with how it’s more like Wonyoung fucking you—she fucks you with her face, fucks you in the head, fucks with your righteousness. Well, fuck.

Wonyoung drools so much that you’re invited to a sea the moment your head pushes past her tongue again. It’s slicker, sloppier, and so much sexier because she’s so completely devoted to your cock. Her hypnotizing eyes trap you and so does her body, tight and tiny—that tummy is flatter than a board and only thin panties hide what her long legs lead to from the bottom.

The only time she stops sucking you is when she darts her tongue side to side with an unhinged pace on your sensitive tip. “Good. Cum in my throat.”

“Shit, god, I can’t—”

Wonyoung attacks you again, and there, in her warm orifice, your plentiful orgasm spends itself. Her throat welcomes you tightly every time. Her hot restricted breaths fan your groin and evokes more semen that spills with no care.

Your hands ball into fists. Although you’re hot and shaking, you can’t touch her. Why are you following her rules when it should be the other way around? It’s a reversal of roles, a Stockholm’s Syndrome of some sorts whose victim is your cock never wanting to leave from the predatory embrace of Wonyoung’s puckered kiss.

Of course, after she gathers all of your cum in the pool of her mouth, she swallows.

She really could be a good girl.

“Awh.” Wonyoung pouts mockingly. “Daddy, are you crying?”

Touch your face. To your horror, she’s right. The electricity and shock of her continuous blowjob results in a few tears on your cheeks. You haven’t done that in years. Wonyoung is the first one to make you cry like this.

You flush. What more to hide your weakness than anger? “Wonyoung,” you start, then you realize you don’t know what to say, “I—you—”

She smiles. You aren’t going anywhere.

She shoves you to the bed. You’ve reached rock bottom in spite of the softness of the quality pillows. You’ll scrape your way out if not for Wonyoung finishing the job by keeping you there assisted by her legs. They close around you with not even a courtesy false promise of an escape. No negotiation, no coaxes.

Wonyoung is sitting on your crotch but not on your dick, which is a problem. Which is a solution. Her hands are pinned to your chest while you try not to meet her eyes. It’s a losing game when your runaway glances are met by her grinding hips, silky thighs, and the hard, flexing abs of a perfection of a midriff.

Her fingers tug on the waistband of her panties before slowly slipping them off. Her pink pussy clear of blemish or hair comes in contact with your length. Up and down she goes, her dancing hips always seeking for more friction. You understand their need because you share the same—Wonyoung’s splayed lips on your member feel heavenly. It’s kind of disappointing that she might as well have climbed her way out of hell.

If she did, she’s the prettiest little devil you’ve ever seen.

“Ohhh, don’t you get it?” Wonyoung asks. She moves so smoothly, you nearly forget she’s humping you rather than dancing. Her soft moan brings you back. It’s the first time you’ve heard it, and you’re melting; it sounds so seductive and innocent in the same breath.

You know her. She knows you. So it’s clear: Jang Wonyoung can be anything—supermodel, actress, dancer—but she cannot ever be innocent.

Her gorgeous voice is silky when it twists into moans and gasps. Looking down at your crotches meeting and swaying is a better show than end-of-the-year performances. The blowjob and commanding you around must have turned her on by a lot—her flesh is hot and wanton with juices as it slides up and down you.

“You’re not going anywhere, daddy!” Wonyoung giggles. She kisses your nose, then your chest until her lipstick marks you. You burn up with feverish lust after each peck. “Daddy is only Wonyoung’s. And I knew your perfect cock would be mine when I posted those pics. I know men like daddy would do anything for me.”

“Wonyoung.” Breathe again, because you’ll need to after this, so why not do it now? “Why are you doing this?”

You thought her flirtatiousness in your office was just her coyness coming out to play. She’d rest her chin on your desk, suck a red lollipop on some days, maybe run her fingertips over your knuckles. Day in and out, she plays the same game. You didn’t know it would reach this level.

“Because I want to mess you up, daddy,” Wonyoung says. Her tongue swipes at the cavern of your mouth right until she nibbles at your lower lip. Her lipstick peppers your face. “I want to fuck my daddy up so bad he’ll never go a day without thinking of me.”

Swallow. The friction of your sexes is driving you crazy and close to the edge. All the same, you don’t want to make a fool of yourself cumming early for Wonyoung.

What happened to your dynamics? Your relationship? There wasn’t a romantic one, but it was always you holding the reins professionally and her just being an insistent passenger. Now she’s wrapping that rein around your neck and claiming you for her own. Looks like you have control everywhere excluding the bed.

“That’s it?” you ask. Shut your eyes—just seeing her grind on you with her utterly wet cunt can make you bust. “Your career doesn’t matter to you?”

“I could say the same thing to you.” Wonyoung lifts herself up and flashes that wicked smile again. “But I want to feel this in me before you wimp out.”

You and Wonyoung fall down a bottomless hole of consequence and wrongs but Wonyoung makes sure to bottom out the first time she sits on your dick. She engulfs you whole and traps you there with her soaked, grippy walls that slide all the way down.

You’d say her pussy has a vise grip, holding onto you like all goes wrong if it didn’t, except you think it has the grip of a vice. Need for her juices that coat you replaces the need for alcohol. Even if you get out of this suite alive, (which is a low possibility), you can see yourself always coming back for more. You could be addicted to anything—smoking, eating, cheating—but it just so happened your vice is Wonyoung.

“Daddy!” she yelps, and from there you can’t count the times she slams her cute butt down your thighs. “Oh my god, daddy!”

Her dainty, cute yells make you throb inside her. Perhaps it’s the kittenish quality of it that turns you on so much. She sounds so appealing, so fucking ruinable that it’s surprising to see that she’s doing the ruining here. Her expression in bed is more animated than the ones she makes onstage—her nearly closed eyes look upwards while her mouth falls open.

The squeeze of her tight, wet cunt renders your knees weak. It’s a good thing you’re lying down. Wonyoung makes sure you stay that way by penetrating herself with you over and over again. Her being barely a weight on you doesn’t stop you from lying there uselessly. You know better by now not to challenge her, not when each time you enter her vagina is better than the last. Her pussy is slippery and tight, proving to be the smallest and the best fit for your shaft simultaneously. Her hole is too tight and too good.

“Is this all for me, daddy? Huh?” Wonyoung circles her hips, making you moan, then continues her up-and-down movements. “You’re so hard, you naughty daddy. I know you got a b-boner when you looked at my posts. Now I’m giving you another one.”

You always thought of Wonyoung as justifiably confident yet arrogant. She told you once at your desk that she doesn’t deserve a stylist who only has a four-star rating. She lamented about the lack of competence of her staff preparing her comeback stage. All those you turned down to give the topics of her complaints the benefit of the doubt, but you know she’s right. She doesn’t deserve less when she’s better than the best. She doesn’t deserve less when she knows her place: a royal throne. So you can’t deny that she’s too hot to handle, undiscriminating to you whose connections always have impossibly beautiful women somewhere in there.

She’s so hot that her small breasts bouncing from behind that denim bra and tube top looks appealing. She’s so hot that the heat between her legs grows wetter. She’s so hot that when her soft ass crashes down on you again, you don’t find it a repetitive bore.

She’s so hot that you’d let the slim, tall girl use you until dusk turns to dawn, even if the curtains behind her are drawn apart and the secret cameras get to snap a photo.

“Shit, Wonyoung,” you say, your core squeezing. “You’re so fucking tight.”

“I bet you’ve thought about this, daddy. You thought that one night, I’ll be so bad that you could book us a whole hotel and fuck me in all the rooms, just like this one. I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Yes, fuck yes.”

“You wanted to open my legs and use my little pussy all day long, huh? Until I’m yours to throw around and do whatever?”

“Y-yes.” Nod. Your face twists—she shouldn’t speak when she’s fucking you because all the filth she says makes you want to blow inside her already. It’s the kind of truth that arouses rather than hurts.

Wonyoung’s riding switches to a rapid intensity that makes you yell. She lets you in so deep to the point that her butt cheeks touch your heavy balls. She’ll drain them for sure; the pace she sets is terrifyingly quick. It seems that she becomes tighter after each bounce, and it’s not helping you hold out at all.

Watch the wildness in Wonyoung’s eyes become animalistic. It makes you all the more certain now of one solid fact: there is something seriously wrong with Jang Wonyoung.

She smirks. “Well, you got it wrong. I’m not all yours, daddy.” She leans down, resting her palms on your shoulders. “You are all mine.”

Her hands might as well be a chained collar waiting to close around your neck. Her devilish simper is supposed to scare you, not turn you on. Somehow, it does both.

She flicks back her hair as she sits up again. Through it all, her riding doesn’t stop. “This cock?” she asks before slamming her pussy down it with a different kind of ferociousness. Cry out but she shuts you up with a furious kiss. “It’s gonna be my dirty secret. I’ll always go to daddy after my schedules so I can make him cum—over and over again.”

To think that a young girl like her has you at her beck and call is laughable, but there’s no laughing now. As you stare at Wonyoung’s fluid body and her hair bouncing beautifully, you realize she actually can have you for herself. It only took one Instagram post to lure you to her. She sees you’re falling deeper and deeper for her.

She didn’t exactly tell you how to escape.

“You gonna cum, daddy? Is my perfect pussy milking you?”

You can do nothing except nod.

“Of course, I can feel you throbbing, i-it’s making me lose it,” gasps Wonyoung. Her whines are making you lose it yourself. “Let’s cum together, okay? You can only cum when you feel Wonyoung squirt all over your massive cock.”

She squeezes tighter on top of you when she reaches down to rub her clit. She’s in search of any kind of stimulation: the slap of her ass on your thighs, the upward shoves of your erection, the pulse of her clit. Her moans increase in their whiny girlishness. Their tender vulnerability makes you think she should be the one underneath your body though you’re aware that’s never going to happen. Wonyoung belongs on top, just the same with her name in first place in the list of brand reputation rankings, browser searches, followers.

Once upon a time, you took charge over her. You managed her lessons, her videos, her behind-the-scenes duties. Funny how it’s the opposite now, wherein she jounces on you freely with the domineering message of caution: don’t cum until she does.

And god, is she making that hard. Everything about her is so attractive, from the bounce of her hair to her midriff showing your entering cock to her pretty pink pussy clutching you. What gets you, however, is her face—everyone loves looking at that face. Today, you’re under an aphrodisiac for it: you’re in love with the roll of her eyes as she rides you, the pink on her cheeks, the part of her lips.

“Fuck yes! Ugh, daddy, you feel so good inside me…” Wonyoung’s core clenches and slides your penis along its textured, sensitive walls. Her gasp is straight out of fantasies. “You’re balls deep, see? Look how your meat’s filling me. My pussy’s going to be so sore after this.” She chuckles. “Wait, who says we’re stopping?”

You shudder. You’re getting very close. Your earlier orgasm still has its effects on you. You’re afraid you’re going to do something you shouldn’t under her bedroom law. She’ll imprison you with her thighs and waterboard you with all the girl cum she promised until you confess that she’s the best fuck you ever had.

“Daddy’s going to cum so hard he’s probably going to breed me. Then I’ll, oh, I’ll feel it inside my tummy and it’s going to be a scandal. Wouldn’t you like that? Getting to knock up Jang Wonyoung? I can hear you moaning. I think you really like that. I think that’s why you’re thrusting up in me. You want to be a real daddy and make your baby girl a mommy. That’s so fucked up, you know that, right? You shouldn’t be having sex with me, let alone breeding me. But you’re a fucking weak old man, so of course you like that.”

You’re burning up. They’re the signs of what’s to come. If her confident words inspire her young fans, her monologues of lust make you feel like you’re the worst person in the world. Of course, the boner is part of the effect.

You groan. “Wonyoung, baby girl, please—”

“Oh god, daddy, I’m going to cum!” she squeals. Her emotions control her and tell her to go harder, bounce harder, squeeze harder. She’s pushing past her limits. “Agh, agh, you’re cumming, too, right? Cum for me. You’ll be—fuck, my daddy’s going to make me cum! I’m squirting all over his cock!”

She slams herself down roughly and repeatedly till your lower body’s flooded with her cum. You can’t take it anymore. It feels like dying because you swear you can see stars in the ceiling, stars of lust in her eyes. La petite mort. How poetic, since Wonyoung’s screaming still sounds as beautiful as her singing and speaking.

Her shouts are close to breaking the windows’ glass. Anyone can figure out what’s happening without the destruction of the pane—the curtains are wide open, letting the world see the youngest icon of the new generation pumping herself onto her co-worker.

You wonder if there’s actually poor watchers out there seeing you cream Wonyoung’s princess pussy, grab her ass to guide her, and kiss her when she leans down.

Wonyoung tastes the best when she’s squirting.

Consequences always catch up no matter what. You can hide under a cloak, in another country, underneath the earth in a secluded bunker and all that won’t help. You’ll be stuck dealing with the outcome, thorns from a rose you thought was too pretty to have some.

That’s the first thing you remember when you wake up, wrapped in the bed sheets and by Wonyoung’s arms. Someone’s calling you. Bad news: it’s your boss—the ringtone itself sounds angry, too.

“Hello?” you ask. You can’t help the grogginess of your morning voice, try as you may. If your boss didn’t know what happened, he can perfectly guess from the exhaustion riddling your greeting.

“You dumb little shit.” You can feel the spittle of your boss’ insult from miles away, cities away, screens away. “You’re lucky I’m friends with the fucking CEO.”

“What happened?”

“Don’t give me that. Some janitor saw you from the wing. I needed to hear it from you: did you fuck Jang Wonyoung?”

Unexpectedly, a veiny hand you remember holding something else grabs your phone. Wonyoung leans against your shoulder wearing nothing as she holds the phone to her ear.

“Why?” she quips, loud and clear. “Wouldn’t you?”

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holylulusworld · 9 months ago

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Alone again - Naturally

Summary: Even around your so-called friend you are alone.

Pairing: Clark Kent x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, loner reader, introvert reader, flirty Clark, low self-esteem, almost accident, fluff, Lois bashing

Alone again. Naturally.

You should’ve known better than to go out with your so-called friend.

A few years back Lois Lane was your best friend. Now you are only an excuse for her to go to a bar or attend a party without one of her flings.

She always was the one drawing all the attention toward her person. In high school, during your freshman year and after you landed your first job at a cat magazine.

Lois Lane. The rising star.

You have always been in her shadow, and this will never change. If you are shy, meek, and introverted, people easily overlook you.

Just like tonight. Lois is once again the center of the party. She chuckles loudly and bathes in the attention she gets from the men in the room.

You sigh deeply, wishing you didn’t follow her invitation to the party her employer throws only for her.

Her latest article got all the attention, while your job led to nothing but articles about birthdays, other people’s weddings, and missing cats.

Your career is just like your love life – non-existent.

Her laughter fills the room, and when she looks your way you hope Lois will save you from drowning in self-pity. Sadly, she turns her back on you to talk to someone else than you.

She always does this. Sometimes you believe she’s the cruelest person on the planet. Maybe she only keeps you around to show you how much better her life is.

“I’ve never seen you around here,” crap, someone found you standing in the corner. Now you have to engage in small talk. You wring your hands and force a smile on your face. “Hi, I’m Clark Kent.”

“Hi,” you glance at his offered hand and murmur your name. “I’m not working here.”

“I got that,” he flashes you a stunning smile. “I assume one of the gentlemen brought his charming girlfriend with him. A shame he left you here.”

“Oh, no,” you shake your head. “Lois invited me and she’s…” You bite your tongue. This man is a stranger, and you don’t want him to believe you are the kind of person talking behind your friend’s back. “She’s busy and I’m not much of a partygoer.”

“Honestly, I came here to hide in the shadows. I’m not much of a partygoer myself,” he grins and finally drops his hand. “So, what do you do for a living.”

“I’m a…” You are embarrassed to admit that you are working for an unimportant online magazine that barely anyone reads. “I write articles.”

“Oh, I’d like to read some. Where can I read them?” He gives you a soft smile. “Anything I should read first?”

“I write about missing cats and such,” you drop your eyes to avert his gaze. “Nothing important like you and Lois. I guess no one even reads the things I write.”

“I’d still like to read your articles.”

“It’s fine, really,” you sniff, and wring your hands again. “I know that the things I write about are boring. No one wants to know about Miss Fluffy ending up stuck in the neighbor’s car. You don’t want to read the things I wrote about.”

“Never underestimate your talent,” Clark tries to cheer you up, but you don’t believe a single word leaving his lips. “I’m sure you are a very good author.”

“No. I’m not.” Your fake smile drops. “I know my place, Mr. Kent.” You get defensive and step back. “You should go back to the party and talk to more interesting people.”

“What about?” He asks as you try to find a way to sneak out of the room without drawing any attention toward you. “Why don’t you come with me and talk to some of the people in the room?”

“I told you, I’m not much of a partygoer, or good at making small talk,” you wince at your words. You sound like the pathetic loser you are in your opinion. “Uh-I should go now.”

“What about Lois?” Clark takes a step toward you. “Don’t you want to say goodbye to her at least?”

You glance at Lois and quickly avert her gaze. She’s not in the mood to hold your hand or talk to you. “I think she’s good without me.” Your voice cracks. “I don’t even know why she invited me.”

“Wait—” Clark tries to stop you, but you hurriedly make your way toward the exit. “Y/N, don’t just go.”

You are out of breath when you finally leave the building. Feeling like a fool for coming here to watch Lois celebrate another milestone in her career.

Before you can go back and apologize to her for leaving without saying goodbye, you hurriedly cross the street.

One moment you want to reach the other side, and the next a car speeds toward you. You gasp, and close your eyes, waiting for the impact.

You don’t feel the car hit you, and you don’t end up dead on the street. You’re suddenly high up in the air, clutching Superman’s suit.

“You should be more careful.”

“I-“ you look up at the superhero you heard so much about. Rumors said that he was dating Lois Lane not so long ago too. At least you read an article telling you so. “Clark?” You furrow your brows as the same soft eyes you saw not moments ago look back at you. “How…?”

“What? I—” He seems to be confused. You’re the first person to uncover his secret. “Y/N, you can’t just run over the street. That’s dangerous.”

“Okay,” you hastily say. I mean, you are floating above a building, your life in a stranger’s hands, and you won't argue with him. “I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“You can worry me any time,” he wraps one arm around you to bring you closer to his chest. “How about I bring you home?”

“Does…uh…Lois know about your secret identity?” You can’t stop yourself from babbling.

“No,” he whispers lowly. “I guess she wouldn’t have left Clark Kent if she knew I got a secret,” Clark smirks when you look at him with wide, fearful eyes.

“You won’t drop me, right? I swear I won’t tell anyone about your secret.” You claw at him. “No one would listen to me anyway.”

“Do you honestly believe I’d drop you?” He quirks a brow.

“No…I mean…you’re a hero…right?” You pout. “I didn’t want to find out. It’s just…your eyes give you away.”

“I should wear sunglasses from now on,” he laughs while floating toward the next building to land on the rooftop. “If you promise to not tell anyone about my secret, I believe you. And I won’t drop you, sweetness.”

“Hmm…” You nod thoughtfully. “Did you date Lois as Superman too?”

He laughs now. “No. She didn’t know we were the same person. Lois broke up with me for Superman and the stories she wanted to write about him.”

“Oh, that’s awful,” you pat his chest, admiring its firmness. “I’m sorry this happened to you. Sometimes she’s just…” You trail off while patting his chest. “You know…”

“Let me bring you home,” Clark stops you from defending your friend. “Please.”

“Can we…uh…walk?”

“I’m already in my suit and got no clothes to change back into Clark,” he lies. Clark could easily change back into his alter ego, but he’d love to fly you home.

“Does this mean you want to fly?” You suck in a breath. “Do you have a seat belt or something?”

“I’ll bring you home safely, Y/N.” You end up back in his arms. This time you sling your arms around him and hold tight onto Clark for dear life. You close your eyes and hide your face in his chest.

You squeak when he pushes off the building. “Now that you know about my secret, do you want to fly with me again someday?”

“Uh-“ you blink your eyes open but still claw at him. “If you bring me home safely, we can do this again.”

“It’s a date then,” he smiles and flies into the night, making a detour to hold you a little longer…

Part 2: Not alone any longer

Tags in reblog.

#clark kent x reader #clark kent x fem!reader #shy reader #clark kent #clark kent x you #clark kent x female reader #Alone again - Naturally

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hairyjocktf · 5 months ago

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Fire in the Forest

Adam sighed deeply as he unlocked the door to his apartment. The familiar scent of old laundry and takeout boxes washed over him as the door swung open. He slid his bag off his shoulder onto the floor and slumped onto the couch. Today had been one of the worst days of his life, to put it mildly. The company he’d slaved away for since graduating a few years ago had unexpectedly let him go as part of cost cutting measures. Every late night he’d spent at the office suddenly hit him as a waste, his hard work had never mattered to those up top. Adding insult to injury was his paltry severance package; with his rent it’d barely last two weeks. He wouldn’t even have time to breathe before having to find a new job.

Before he knew it he’d passed out sitting on the couch, waking up hours later to a dark sky out the window. Shit, he muttered to himself, rubbing his eyes before forcing his body up and off the couch. He tossed a frozen meal into the microwave before setting his laptop up on the table. With the microwave humming in the background he started visiting websites of companies he knew of in the same sphere. Career page after career page yielded no luck. He grabbed his food from the beeping microwave and continued to solemnly scroll through page after page of indeed listings, applying to every one he could convince himself he was qualified for. Soon enough it was two in the morning, and Adam decided to call it quits. He cleaned up his now very cold dinner and went to the bathroom to splash some water on his face and clean up for bed. His red hair glowed under the ceiling light, looking almost like fire. It was one of his more attractive qualities, he thought to himself, looking at his skinny frame and ghostly skin. He flipped off the lights and hopped into bed.

It was around ten the next morning that Adam finally crawled out of bed. He grabbed his phone off the desk and quickly checked for any job notifications. There was only one, and not one he recognized. It was a recruitment email from a logging company, Cascade Lumber. He skimmed over the email, they’d “found” his profile online and thought he’d be a good fit for a lumberjack role? That was ridiculous, he thought, and closed out of his email. Frustrated at no actual leads, he decided to take a walk for the morning and get back to searching that afternoon. While out trying to enjoy the rare sunny day, that email stuck in his mind. Really? A lumberjack? It was absurd, insulting almost. He was a software developer, not some country laborer. He got back to his apartment and threw himself back into the search, sending out applications one after another. The next day was much of the same, desperately trying to find more niche positions that might be hiring. Still no responses, though. Each day he became a little more stressed, a little more frantic in his search. How had no one responded yet? He had plenty of qualifications and experience, he didn’t understand the problem.

Two weeks had passed and Adam was against a wall. His severance cash was nearly dried up, and still nothing had come through, not even an interview. Even his connections had fallen through. With the bills starting to pile up on the counter, he was out of options. That was when he remembered the email from weeks before. At this point it couldn’t hurt to respond, maybe they had a tech position he could weasel into. He wrote a short response and sent it off. Just minutes later, as Adam was in the middle of making lunch, his phone buzzed. They’d responded already, inviting him out to their office. The address was nearly an hour out west, but what choice did he have?

The next morning he was on his way out of the city, high rises giving way to fields and then forest. Dense groves alternated with barren patches of recently logged areas, letting sunlight down to the road. He pulled down a narrow road and a few minutes later parked in front of a modest building tucked into the trees. His car was surrounded by huge trucks filled to the brim with tree trunks, as well as some large machinery he couldn’t identify. Upon walking inside he was greeted with a dim room full of old logging gear. He heard the footsteps of someone large approaching, before a huge man descended the stairs to greet him. He looked enormous in this small room, almost scraping the ceiling, and his frame was equally wide. His open shirt revealed a forest of hair on his chest, and his beard was incredibly thick. Adam suddenly felt very intimidated, despite the large smile on the man’s face.

“Hey there! You must be Adam, so glad you took us up on visiting. We really think you’d be a great asset on the team. Whoa! I’m getting ahead of myself, the name’s Derek,” he reached out his absolute paw of a hand. With a shake Derek immediately began touring Adam around the office. Derek was overwhelming with his enthusiasm, but also in his assumption that Adam had agreed to start working there. He didn’t have another option, but they didn’t know that. They got into Derek’s truck and he drove off into the forest towards a work site. The majority of the information Derek was spitting out went in one ear and out the other, but Adam tried to look as engaged as he could. The truck came to a screeching halt in an area they were currently clearing. The sound of chainsaws was like nails on a chalkboard to Adam as they stepped out of the truck. In the distance he saw machinery whirring away cutting trees, as well as men harnessed up with saws. Derek went into more detail about working in an active logging site, the dangers and safety measures. Adam was instead busy looking at the men working nearby. They had on hard hats and bright orange vests overtop thick jackets or flannels. They all looked big and burly, like they’d been lifting for years. Adam wasn’t sure how in Derek’s mind he would be able to do anything here.

“...and I think that just about covers most of it. Oh! And the salary is $55k per year, with annual raises and benefits. We try to do right by our guys here,” Derek smiled at Adam. That number had finally gotten his attention. Nothing close to his old job, but better than zero. In a decision that probably warranted some more thought, Adam opened his mouth.

“Great, when do I start?”

Derek’s smile doubled in size and he slapped Adam on the back. “That’s my man, let’s get you all set up then while you’re out here,” he said. They both got back into Derek’s truck and drove back to the office. Inside Adam was handed the same hat and vest he saw the men at the site wearing.

“Now that’s just the basics, you’ll probably want some heavy clothing while on the job, and get yourself some good boots while you’re at it,” he chuckled, looking down at Adam’s aging vans shoes. Adam thanked him and walked back to his car. Still unsure of this whole venture, Adam departed. On the way back he stopped at some workwear stores, looking for boots and clothes to fit the job. Having no idea what he actually needed, he just looked for the closest things to what he remembered the guys there wearing. Close enough, right?

Back at his apartment he cautiously tried on all the clothing he’d just gotten. To his surprise, it all fit fairly well, despite his body being much smaller than most of the guys out there. His thin frame looked bulkier under a thick layer of protective and warm clothing. He almost… liked how it looked? Adam quickly put that thought out of his head and stripped off the gear. The sun was already dipping below the horizon and he had to be out there early in the morning from now on.

The alarm came even sooner than he thought. Adam rolled out of bed at four in the morning, and was out the door as soon as he could get himself together. The air was chilly outside, with not even a hint of the sunrise yet in the darkness. He drove straight to the site Derek had assigned him to, finding a group of men chatting together while donning their equipment. Adam introduced himself, and began putting on his own assigned gear. The day flew by as several other guys instructed Adam on how things worked. He was more keen to pay attention to everything this time, listening intently to each burly man who showed him how to use a chainsaw. By the end of the day he’d felled a few trees and learned the basics of the larger machinery the team used. Despite it being cool all day, Adam was sweating up a storm in his thick coat. Maybe he’d overestimated how much layering was needed. The drive home felt shorter than it had the day before, but Adam was frustrated at a recurring itch on his jaw, it just kept coming back no matter how much he scratched at it.

The next few days were much of the same, Adam’s time was highly supervised while he was learning, but he was surprised at how easily he took to it. His original plan of finding a tech position to switch to had already been forgotten. The other lumberjacks seemed to like Adam as well, despite his scrawny stature. His red hair made him easy to point out, even though it was usually covered by a hard hat. The itch on his face reared its head a few more times, as Adam’s baby smooth face was slowly overtaken by a light red stubble. Each day it would poke out just a hair more, reaching out from his chin towards his sideburns. Adam failed to notice this, just as he was blind to the muscle his skinny body had started to put on. In just a week he’d gained serious definition, he had slight pecs and shoulders, and his arms looked like he’d been working out for years. Must be the intensity of the job, he thought to himself when one of his old t-shirts no longer fit. As the days passed, his stubble connected across his face, and some wispy hairs poked out of his growing pecs. Barely noticeable, but there nonetheless.

The weeks continued to pass as Adam got settled into his position. He started to feel like a real lumberjack as trees fell by his hand day by day. He began to fit in more with the other men as well. His bright red stubble thickened. Hairs that were barely more than peach fuzz grew thick and pushed out into a true short beard. The wisps on his chest likewise grew thicker, curlier, as more pressed out of his pecs. The red hairs grew and wove together until the hairy coating could no longer be ignored. His chest hair was normally kept beneath multiple layers, until one of his fellow loggers spotted the rug while he was changing. The crew gave him their old flannels and forced him to wear them and let some of the fiery red hair poke out. They all loved it, he was looking like them with their thick beards and hairy chests. The tiny new hire was quickly vanishing beneath muscle and fur, as the hairs on his chest spread downwards over his tight stomach.

Adam began noticing that each day he would leave work absolutely soaked in sweat. His layers just absorbed it leaving him a sopping mess as the job was so labor intensive. It didn’t bother him, he just bought more work clothes to cycle through, but he was oblivious to the other effects it was having. Adam’s body, steeping in sweat all day, was producing more and more. Not only that, his previously bare pits began sprouting fine red hairs. At first it was just a few thin hairs poking out, but as they were soaked in sweat they grew thicker. More hairs popped out of the damp pit, filling in rapidly. His once smooth pits were growing into a dense jungle of hair, the hairs thick and red, tangling together into a tuft that trapped even more sweat and stench. They spread out of the confines of his pit, connecting with the pelt on his chest and beginning to pop out across his upper arms. He would dig his fingers into his furry pits to scratch, the hair growing in itching like mad. Each day more hairs pushed out, more sweat was trapped, and the more he smelled like the other men around him.

As the weeks rolled on, Adam kept having to buy new clothes between sweat stains and simply outgrowing them. His body had put on a lot of size since starting, his thin frame bulking out as he grew taller and wider. The weather was growing colder, and the added layers were hiding his growing size, as well as his growing fur. The hair from his pits was continuing its march, with wiry hair cropping up across his shoulders, triceps, and was especially dense on his forearms. Red wispy hairs sprouted all over his upper body, filling in gaps and growing into a thick ginger rug. His body was growing at a rapid rate, biceps filling out and pecs becoming real pillows, but it wasn’t all muscle. His size was softened by a healthy layer of fat that only encouraged more hair to sprout. His already dense chest hair thickened further, red hairs swirling around his nipples and growing longer and curlier. The chest fur grew up and over his shoulders, creating a seamless carpet from his hands through his torso. Even his back was beginning to show signs, as light red fuzz was gathering around his shoulder blades and above his waistline. Hair sprouted out of his shirt collars and poked from his sleeves; even under his layers of clothes his coworkers knew Adam was hiding some impressive fur.

What they couldn’t see was below Adam’s waistline. The fur coat from his stomach slowly inched downwards, the wispy hairs occupying his groin quickly overrun with a thick red bush. The hairs pushed out from the base of his cock, thick and curly they sprouted and tangled together as the bush expanded. The hairs climbed up and connected with the rug on his stomach, and out to his thighs before racing down his thick legs. His pubes grew denser into a thick triangle of red hair, his cock growing larger to not be hidden beneath the jungle. Adam hardly noticed as the bulge in his jeans grew day by day, sweat soaking the area as it developed a thick musk that was barely contained by his underwear. He had to buy larger sizes after his balls swelled considerably, dropping lower than before and sprouting with their own rug of red hair. The hairs spread down over his taint before blossoming in his ass crack, a thick fiery explosion of fur pushing out as the hairs grew like weeds over his large cheeks. His legs grew stockier to support his growing body as the hairs continued their march from the thick nest of pubes. His thighs were coated before it spread to his calves. His feet stretched and ached as they grew multiple sizes in just a few weeks, before too being buried beneath a thick mat of red hair.

Winter finally began showing its ugly face, and Adam’s job grew rougher daily as temperatures plummeted up in the mountains. His body adapted, packing on considerable bulk. Gone was his thin, twinky frame, replaced now by a thick and strong body, built for strength and warmth. His thick muscular frame was coated in a layer of fat to insulate him, and his belly seemed to just keep growing. The fur coat he’d been developing only continued to come in. The red hairs grew thicker and denser every day, pushing against his clothing. His fiery red beard, which had been well kept until now began erupting from his face with a fury. Thick hairs curled over his upper lip as the hairs on his cheeks pushed out inch after inch. More hairs filled in between as the coating crawled higher on his cheeks. It surged down his neck and blended with the thick chest hair. He looked wild, but it kept his face warm from the frigid winds. He even got complimented on it, earning a reputation as a real mountain man from his fellow lumberjacks. Adam had fully adapted to his job, there was no going back. He was now a hairy, hefty lumberjack with a fur coat to rival an animal’s. He’d grown to be one of the best in the crew, each tree felled returning as a hair in his pelt.

#male tf #hairy tf #hairy #hair growth #bear tf #hairy chest #hairy pits #hairy torso #beard #hairy shoulders #my writing

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edenfenixblogs · 11 months ago

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Let’s put some numbers to Jewish fear right now.

In news that I’m sure will thrill all antisemites, it would take startlingly little effort to foment widespread violence against us and cause another genocide of the Jewish people.

I have had many fellow Jews express to me how overwhelming it is to see the rising antisemitism. I have seen many Jews express fear at being drowned out of public, online, and IRL spaces due to dangerously violent vitriol.

I have also seen people who claim to advocate for Palestine—especially western leftists—openly mock Jews who express this fear.

Finally, I and my fellow Jews have often expressed that, while we wholeheartedly support Palestinian freedom and self determination, it is exhausting to have to say so repeatedly, especially when we are trying to advocate for ourselves. This is not due to any latent or widespread hatred of Muslims, Arabs, or Palestinians. It is because we are an extremely maligned and marginalized minority that is fighting to be heard against strong, hostile forces that at best wish we’d shut up and at worst want us eradicated from the planet.

There is a disconnect about how much harm people can do to Jews by spreading antisemitism and refusing to dismantle their own internalized antisemitism—and everyone has internalized antisemitism. It is one of the oldest forms of prejudice in the world and is found in almost every single culture. It is as, if not more, pervasive than white privilege. Yes. You read that right. And if asked to elaborate, I will provide numbers on that to the best of my ability. For the purposes of this post, however, I want to focus on the global distribution of religious groups only.

Specifically, this disconnect is between Jews who are fully aware and feel the affects of this damage and goyim who simply do not comprehend our marginalization.

To help, let’s put some numbers to this. In this post, I’ll be using the Pew Research Center’s survey and findings on the Global Religious Landscape. This is the most recent data from a reputable source that I could find which surveyed every world religion at the same time. While the Jewish population has grown slightly in the intervening years, so have most (if not all) other religious populations around the globe. I wanted to use figures measured at the same time to avoid bias for or against any religious group.

For the purposes of this post, I will not be discussing folk religions or other religions. This is not because they are not important. This is because they are not a monolith and individual folk religions and other religions may have even fewer adherents per religion than Judaism. I am currently only focusing on religions and religious groups who have more adherents than Judaism.

In descending order of adherents, there number of people in the world belonging to these groups:

2,200,000,000 (2.2 Billion) Christians

1,600,000,000 (1.6 Billion) Muslims

1,100,000,000 (1.1 Billion) Religiously unaffiliated people

1,000,000,000 (1 Billion) Hindus

500,000,000 (500 Million) Buddhists

14,000,000 (14 Million) Jews

Reduced to the simplest fractions there are:

1100 Christians for every 7 Jews

800 Muslims for every 7 Jews

550 Religiously unaffiliated people for every 7 Jews

500 Hindus for every 7 Jews

250 Buddhists for every 7 Jews

Combined, there are 6,400,000,000 non-Jewish people in religions or religious groups (including religiously unaffiliated people).

This means that for every 7 Jews there are 3200 people in religious groups who outnumber us.

Jews are 0.2 % of the global population.

When we tell you that hate is dangerous, it is because…

It would only take 0.21% of 6.4 Billion people to hate us in order to completely overwhelm and outnumber every single Jewish person on the planet. In other words, only 67.2 out of every 3200 people.

And given how violent and aggressive people have become toward us in recent weeks, that doesn’t seem far off.

No, most Christians, Muslims, Atheists/Agnostics, Hindus, and Buddhists do NOT hate Jews.

But if even 0.21% of them do hate us, Jews are at a legitimate and terrifying risk of ethnic cleansing and genocide.

It is not possible for Jews alone to fight this rising tide of hate. There simply aren’t enough of us. And many of us are too scared to tell you the truth: if you don’t vocally and repeatedly stand up for Jews (and not just the ones you agree with) you will be complicit in the genocide that follows. Police your own communities.

Nobody acting in good faith is asking you to abandon Palestinians or their fight for self determination and equality in their homeland. All we are asking is for you to learn about antisemitism, deconstruct it in yourself, and loudly condemn it when it occurs in front of you. We are asking you to comfort us and not run away when we are scared or even angry at you. Because a lot of us are angry with you, because we are extremely scared right now and many of you are not helping us. Many of you are actively and carelessly spreading dogwhistles that further the global rise in hatred against us.

You can support Palestine AND avoid Islamophobia WITHOUT making antisemitism worse. But you can’t stop antisemitism by staying silent in the face of it. And if you don’t speak up, you will get us killed. Silence, in this case, is quite literally violence.

Many of us have armed guards posted at our synagogues and schools and community centers because of this. I certainly had times where my synagogue and school had to have armed security for our safety.

The only reason more of us haven’t died already is because we have millennia of experience in confronting this kind of hatred and guarding against it.

But in pure numbers, if you don’t speak up for us now, we don’t have a chance at survival without support.

So, what can you do, specifically?:

* Make a stand or public statement about condemning antisemitism without mentioning another group. Acknowledge Jewish fear, pain, and current danger without contextualizing it in someone else’s. It could literally be something as simple as “Antisemitism is bad. There’s never a reason for it. I won’t tolerate it in presence in real life or online.” If you cannot bring yourself to publicly make this statement, you should have a serious look at yourself to understand why you can’t.

* Learn about the six universal features of antisemitism and the many, various dog whistles affecting the global Jewish community

* Do not welcome people who espouse rhetoric that includes any features from the above bullet point in your community unless you are able to educate them and eliminate that behavior.

* Check in on your Jewish friends, regularly and repeatedly. Do not wait for them to reach out to you. They are scared of you. Even if you don’t have the emotional space to have conversations about antisemitism. Just send a message once in a while, unprompted, “Jfyi, antisemitism still sucks. I support you.”

* Redirect conversations about which “side” is “right” to how to attain peace. Do this by saying that this line of argument is not conducive to peace, and link to a well-respected organization not widely accused of either antisemitism or Islamophobia that is devoted to achieving a peaceful resolution, increasing education, or providing humanitarian aid to relevant affected groups—including Jews, Israelis, Palestinians, Muslims, and Arabs. You can find over 160 such organizations at the Alliance for Middle East Peace https://www.allmep.org/

* Look to support experienced groups without widespread and verifiable claims of prejudice against either Jews or Muslims or Arabs or Palestinians. Many of these organizations can also be found at the AllMEP link above. Avoid groups on the shit list as well as unproductive and harmful movements.

* Do not default to western methods of political demonstration. Specifically, protests are not useful in attaining peace in western nations at this time. Israelis and Palestinians can and should protest to the best of their abilities in Israel and Palestine so as to pressure their own governments. However, protests in western nations have proven to be poorly regulated and to further the spread of bigoted rhetoric and violence against Jews, Muslims, Arabs, and Palestinians. Furthermore, there are nearly as many Palestinians in the world as there are Jews. It is extremely easy and common for the voices of bad actors and bigots on all sides to completely drown out Jewish and Palestinian voices and concerns at these events.

* Spend more time listening and learning than speaking and acting. Anyone who tells you this conflict is simple is someone who is lying to you. Take the time to learn the ways in which your actions and words can get people hurt before joining the fray.

* Stop demonizing Zionism as a concept, even if you disagree with it. Understand that it is a philosophy with many different movements that often conflict with each other. The Zionism practiced by Netanyahu and the Likud party is NOT representative of most Zionists or interpretations of Zionism. It is an extremist form of Zionism known as Revisionist Zionism.

* Don’t deny Jewish indigeneity to the levant. It doesn’t help Palestine and hurts Jews by erasing our physical and cultural history as well as erasing the Jews who remained in Israel even through widespread diaspora.

* KEEP THE HOLOCAUST OUT OF YOUR MOUTH

Things That Are Always OK

* Denouncing Antisemitism loudly and publicly

* Denouncing Islamophobia loudly and publicly

* Telling your Jewish and Muslim and Arab friends you support them and won't abandon them

* Elevating the work of respected, widely accepted people and organizations devoted to attaining peace for all, rather than just one group of people.

* Develop media literacy

* Understand what aspects of the current western leftist movements Jews are criticizing, rather than assuming our criticisms are motivated by hatred for Palestine or Palestinians.

* Expressing sorrow for civilian deaths regardless of religion or nationality.

* When you are not Jewish and you share a post about antisemitism from a Jewish person, please say you’re a goy. This isn’t because you’re not welcome to share. This is because it is indescribably comforting to know we aren’t just talking amongst ourselves and screaming into the void. Let us know you are supportive of us. It doesn’t mean that you or we hate Palestine or Palestinians or that we oppose their full and equal rights in our shared homeland.

#antisemitism #leftist antisemitism #israel #Palestine #Zionism #anti zionisim #jewish muslim solidarity #Jewish goyim solidarity #media literacy #responsible advocacy #direct action #life under stochastic threat #I dare a goy to reblog this challenge

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astralfortune · 5 months ago

Text

You're the manager of a rising idol group. When a fan finds their apartment and posts it online, your group is forced to move to another home. Which happens to be the same apartment complex as yours.

Now, this wouldn't be a problem except for one thing. Nobody knows that you're a completely different person at home! Will you do whatever it takes to keep up the act at work or will you reveal your true self to your new neighbors?

Bridging the Gap is a simple slice-of-life story about letting down your guard and connecting with the people you're around. Play as the manager of an idol group and help them as they settle into their new home and prepare for their comeback.

Play as Male, Female, or Non-Binary

Choose between four work personalities (Stoic, Aloof, Caring, Energetic) and four home personalities (Shy, Reserved, Prickly, Easygoing)

Experience the personality gap lifestyle

Manage your idol group and build your relationship with Fortune

Perhaps find love with one of them?

Romance Options

Taeyang/Hayoon Lee

Leader of the group, Fortune

As the leader, they carry a heavy burden on their shoulders but that doesn’t stop them from pursuing their dreams and striving to be the foundation their fledgling group needs. Calm and perceptive, they take things in stride and somehow always seem to find the best solutions to any complications. Will you be the equal they need in the middle of change?

Taeyang stands at 5'9 with short black hair while Hayoon is 5’7 with long black hair. Their deep brown eyes show every emotion.

Xavier/Xanthe Cothran

Vice leader of Fortune

X is the quiet sort, preferring to let the others do the talking. They’re passionate about their work, often the last one to leave the practice room. That doesn’t mean they’re cold or distant. In fact, they love spending time with their group even if they don’t say anything. Will you be their solace from the noise of the industry?

Both Xavier and Xanthe are 6 '0 with shoulder length dark brown hair. Xavier prefers to tie it back while Xanthe keeps it loose. Their hazel eyes are deep and captivating.

Elias/Elaine Auclair

Dance leader of Fortune

The most outgoing of the group, E is very much a mood maker. They love dragging the members for outings or meals. New experiences are what motivates E to become more successful. Somehow they almost always have a smile on their face, so surely they must be hiding something underneath, right? Right?

Elias stands at 5’10 with short blonde hair, often styled. Elaine is 5’7 and her long blonde hair is well taken care of. Their blue eyes shine with life and joy.

Oliver/Olivia Harcourt

The youngest of Fortune

The youngest of the group and also the oldest of four siblings. O shamelessly takes advantage of their position now that they have others to be the responsible ones. They’re cheeky and full of life, O is often found with E coming up with a variety of shenanigans. However, underneath all the mischief O cares deeply about those they’re close to, including you. Will you find comfort and healing during your time with O?

Oliver is 5’7 while Olivia stands at 5’5. They both have blue dyed hair. Oliver keeps his short while Olivia’s is shoulder length. Their brown eyes are warm and welcoming.

Demo: Here

#interactive fiction #choicescript #if wip #dashingdon #hosted games #choice of games

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moonchildstyles · 7 months ago

Note

has Older!Harry ever had to work later than he thought, maybe running into plans he had with pretty girl?

wordcount: 3k+

—————

"What do you think, H?"

(Y/N) twirled in front of where Harry sat on his couch, showing off the new dress he had pushed her into rewarding herself with (with his credit card, of course) after getting through midterms. He'd seen the photos online, but she wanted him to get a look at the real thing—see if he liked it on her as much as he said he would.

Looking up from his phone, he gave her a bright smile. "Sweetheart," he crooned, appraising her with an adoring gaze, "Y'look—"

His phone buzzed in his hand, the disturbance cutting him off as he was forced to glance down at the device. His features posed into something grim with a set line on his jaw and pursed lips.

"What is it?" (Y/N) asked, fiddling with her nails with her purse hanging from her wrist. He'd been attached to his phone since he'd come over to pick her up, constantly going back and forth between doling out his attention to her before being taken away by his phone.

He shook his head much like he had done every other time (Y/N) had asked what had been going on. "Jus' something at the office—trying to figure out what happened."

"Is it bad?" she asked, sinking into the couch next to him in hopes of skimming a glance at his screen.

"A little, if it is what I think it is," he murmured distractedly, scrolling through a report (Y/N) had no hopes of recognizing.

Quietly, she watched as he tapped away, aware of the time ticking down towards their reservations. "Do you think you'll be done before we need to leave?"

Seemingly suddenly realizing the time, he heaved a sigh. "I hope."

Just as the words left his mouth, an incoming call colored his screen.

"Hold on," he told her, rising from his seat with his phone in a tight grip, "If 'm not off the phone by the time we need to leave, come and get me, 'kay?"

As soon as she gave a nod, Harry had his phone pressed to his ear and was heading upstairs towards his office. His voice was rumbling and low, but she could hear the curt tone even from where she sat. She watched as he disappeared up the staircase before pulling her own phone out. She'd give him ten minutes, she decided—it would be cutting it close to the reservation, but she didn't want to stress him out any more than he obviously already was.

—————

(Y/N)'s lips thinned as she watched the time tick off one more minute.

6:45pm.

Harry had been tucked away upstairs for the full of the ten minute timer she had set for him. She hoped the problem wasn't as bad as he had feared, but she had a feeling it was that or much worse. He hated being late for any kind of appointment, so she doubted he had just lost track of time while working.

Rising to her feet, joints popping from being folded up on his couch while she had waited, she started for the stairs. Her heels clicked over his floors, following her up the case and towards his office. Only a few paces away, she could hear him speaking behind the door. None of the words were clear, but it definitely wasn't a good sign to hear him still on the phone.

She quietly knocked on the door, pausing for a moment before pushing it open. Peering around the wood, she found Harry just as she figured she would: sat behind his desk, features pinched and sharp as he stared at his computer screen with his phone pressed to his ear.

He hadn't even noticed her peeking in, mumbling something to his associate with his eyes reflecting whatever he was scrolling through on his screen. Clearing her throat, (Y/N) finally gained Harry's attention.

His features quickly softened at the sight of her.

"H? Are you ready to go?" she peeped, hoping whoever was on the other end of the call couldn't hear her.

Lips thinning, he murmured an excuse to his call before pulling the phone away from his ear for a moment. With the receiver pressed to his shoulder, eyes speaking apologies before he'd even shared a word.

"Sweetheart," he started, the syllables floating on a sigh, "I can't leave, yet. 'S worse than I thought."

While she was sympathetic to whatever he was dealing with—Harry never liked to bring work home if he could help it, especially if it was problem based like this—she couldn't help the way her shoulders deflated some. "Will we still be able to make dinner? It's almost six."

Harry glanced at the time himself then, hesitating meeting her eyes once more. "I don't know, love. 'M so sorry, I really didn't think it was going to be this complicated."

"It's okay, it's okay," she waved him off, already creeping out of the room, "I'll call and see if they have anything later, but don't worry."

A sad smile wormed its way onto his lips, molding into the apples of his cheeks though the curl didn't meet his eyes. "Thank you, love."

After offering her own small smile, (Y/N) slipped out of the room with the door clicking behind her. Taking in a deep breath, she slipped her phone out of her bag before pulling up the restaurant's website. She had a feeling, just with how coveted their original reservation was, that there wouldn't be anything else available but she didn't feel like telling Harry that kind of news at the moment.

Taking in a sigh, (Y/N) started towards the stairs with her phone pressed to her ear.

"Thank you for calling Elio, how can I help you?"

"Hi—um—I have a reservation in thirty minutes, but I was wondering if..."

—————

After shooting off a text to Harry that there wasn't anything else available fore the night, (Y/N) had resigned herself to a night on the couch. Even when he'd answered with a promise that he would figure something out as soon as he fixed whatever was going on, she hadn't bet on the possibility.

When it came to things like these—problems outside of his control, unanticipated mistakes—Harry had a hard time letting them go until they were back up to his standards. He wouldn't be able to relax enough to spend the night with her, she knew that. Instead she had only messaged him back that she'd be downstairs for him whenever he was ready with a heart emoji tacked on the end.

That was how she found herself tucked into the cushions of his couch, shoes kicked off under the coffee table, and a fluffy blanket over her lap with one of her reality TV shows on screen. She wasn't paying much attention to the scenes, the episode one she had already seen, instead poking at her phone for entertainment.

As the time ticked on, closer and closer to Harry having been stuck working for over an hour, part of her wanted to head upstairs and see if she could pry him away. If he finished soon, they could still at least go out somewhere, keeping her dress and makeup from going to waste. But, she could still hear his rumbling voice at times carrying through the walls—he was still stuck on the phone. She could only imagine the kind of stress he was feeling if he was still stuck on the same problem almost an hour later.

Curled on his couch, (Y/N) almost winced when her stomach growled. She had kept herself from snacking after class, knowing she was going to want to have all the room possible for the immaculate dinner Harry had planned. Now, with the time ticking well past their reservations, she was feeling the consequences of her abstinence.

Though she wasn't particularly keen on the idea of padding upstairs and asking Harry if he would be okay with some takeaway for the night, there wasn't much else she could do. (Harry had been teaching her as much as he could when it came to the kitchen, but that didn't mean that she was particularly good yet). Especially after she had made the choice to indulge in watching too many sushi videos that popped up on her social media—she doubted she could wait for Harry to finish up before scampering off for dinner.

Moving upstairs, (Y/N) paused outside of Harry's office, her ear keen to the door in hopes of finding a good time to pop in. Though she wasn't encouraged at the stretching silence on the other side, there wasn't much of a better time, she decided when she finally knocked on the door. A responding grumble came from the other side.

Peeking inside, he didn't look much different than when she had seen him last. Now, his sleeves were rolled to his elbows and his hair mussed, but that pinch between his brows lingered with his jaw in a strong set. He looked tired this time when he glanced up at her, the fan of his lashes becoming a drooping frame around his eyes.

"Sorry," she started, keeping her voice low at the sight of his phone still pressed to his ear, "Um, I was thinking about ordering dinner, if that's alright with you?"

He took a moment, pulling his phone from his ear, poking at the mute button before clearing his throat. "Are y'sure? If I finish soon, I can still take y'out," he told her, voice softer than what she was sure he was sharing on the phone.

"It's almost eight-thirty, H," (Y/N) gently reminded him, resting her head on the doorjamb as she gazed at him, "I'm sure you're hungry, too."

He seemingly suddenly realized there were other things going on than the emails and clients he was dealing with. He deflated after taking in a deep breath. "Right. 'M sorry, (Y/N), really."

"No, it's okay, don't worry. I under—"

"Mr. Styles, Dean has the group scheduled for a conference call in the morning, but is—"

"Michael," Harry said, pulling the phone to his ear with the speaker off and mute unselected, "'M going to have to call you back."

(Y/N) was taken aback at his sudden suggestion, though she continued listening from where she stood at the threshold. She hoped he wasn't ending the call on her account.

"Ten minutes, and I'll call y'back. Can y'handle that, or do I need to keep holding your hand?"

Maybe it was a bit harsh, but (Y/N) had to hold back her laughter with her hand stamped over her mouth. It wasn't like her boyfriend at all to snap at anyone, including his colleagues, but she couldn't Balme him after being corralled in his office for over an hour. The man on the other end—Micheael—must have stood down seeing as Harry hung up the call with nothing else to share.

Plopping the device face down on his desk, Harry pulled in a sigh before fixing his eyes to (Y/N) once more. "C'mere, pretty girl."

His open arms were an offer as she padded across his office. He collected her against his chest once she had rounded his desk, pulling her as close as he could with her folded in his lap.

"'M sorry," he murmured, voice low in her ear as she settled her chin on his shoulder with her arms looped around his middle, "I didn't mean to ruin the night, sweetheart."

"It's not your fault," she reminded him, "And nothing is ruined. Sometimes things like this happen. I'm not mad."

He pulsed his arms around her, tightening his hug with a kiss pressed to the side of her head. "You're too good to me, love. Thank you."

Drawing away, (Y/N) shifted until she had his cheeks cradled in her hands. Thumbing at his cheekbones, she attempted to draw a smile out of his solemn features when she squished his cheeks with his lips forced into a puffy pout. Her responding laughter was enough to have him straining against her hands with his own attempting smile.

"You know I'm never upset to stay home," she told him, leaning forward to peck a kiss to his puckered lips, "It's okay, H."

"Promise?" he mushed out, words muffled against her squish.

"Promise," she resounded, giving him another kiss before releasing his cheeks, "I think I'm going to order Chinese, so just come down whenever you're done and it'll be waiting."

His arms were a cradle around her, one that kept her locked on his lap as he pressed forward and gave her a lingering kiss. "I love you, you know that?"

"I do," she answered, smiling into his kiss, "I love you, too."

Though he opened his mouth, prepping to say more, his phone began to buzz on his desk once more. (Y/N) could feel the way he deflated in response, hesitant to answer the call.

Untangling herself from his lap, she gave him a soft smile. "Finish whatever you need to do, okay? I'll be downstairs whenever you're done."

His apology was clear on his face without a single word having to be shared. "I'll be fast," he vowed.

"I know."

With that, Harry pressed the phone to his ear with a sharp greeting while (Y/N) scurried out of his office. Though she was still tired and hungry, she felt better after getting a chance to talk to him. She doubted he would finish up as fast as he wanted, but she hoped he understood there was no pressure to be felt on her end.

Chinese food kept perfectly well, anyway.

—————

"Goodnight, Micheal. Have a nice weekend."

Harry didn't wait for a send off on the other end, hanging up on his coworker as soon as the words left his mouth. He'd heard enough of Micheal's voice to last a lifetime, especially after finding out that this entire mixup was nothing more than a paperwork error he hadn't properly checked the first time. Nonetheless, Harry was just happy to no longer be glued to his phone with his laptop lid shut for the foreseeable future.

He dreaded to look at the time on his phone, but knew he had no choice.

10:16pm.

Sighing at the sight, he pocketed his phone with his joints cracking as he stood from his chair. (Y/N) had been quiet for a while now, no more padding around coming from the floor below for the better part of the last half hour.

She had been so understanding, letting him disappear and forcing them to cancel their dinner plans only for her to give soft condolences and sweet kisses in response. He hoped she hadn't fallen asleep before he could make it up to her as much as he could.

Making his way downstairs, the streaming service she had pulled up on his television was paused on one of her favorite shows, the program asking if she was still watching. The coffee table was set up with Chinese takeaway containers, everything clean and sectioned away with his own servings still packaged and warm. He knew what he would find when he peered over the back of the couch, but he still felt a bit of guilt when he saw her wrapped up in a too-small throw blanket on her body and a too-stiff decorative pillow under her head.

Her hair was clean of every pin she'd used to style it, her dress replaced with comfortable pajamas, and face clean and shining in the low light. She was asleep, her breath coming in small puffs with each line and plane of her features left relaxed.

He didn't even tell her goodnight.

Petting his hand over her temple to push stray baby hairs out of her face, he allowed his fingertips to linger over her skin. The warmth of her was enough to thaw the strain he hadn't realized he was still carrying in his muscles.

This would never get old, he decided. The evidence of her around his home was enough to get his heart kicking against his ribs, but to find her on his couch after a long night was something he hadn't realized he craved until he met her. Though he would prefer to have had more time with her, the stress of the night seemed worth it when he came downstairs to see this.

If not for the fact he was just as hungry as (Y/N) had guessed by the amount of containers she left out for him, he would have tucked in beside her and slept off the stress. Instead, he settled for kicking off his shoes and heading for the linen closet for a warmer blanket to spread across her form.

With (Y/N) snuggled under the fleece, he settled himself on the floor beside her. Though it wasn't a show he enjoyed watching without her commentary, Harry still pressed play on the episode she had left off on. He kept the volume low, reaching for the chopsticks that had come with the delivery.

Twirling a bite of lo mein on the sticks, Harry hesitated before that first bite despite his gnawing stomach. Maybe it was the fact he couldn't get her soft face out of his head the last time she'd come to his office, or the way she had arranged all of his favorites out for him to pick through by the time he came downstairs, but it didn't feel right to have his dinner without her.

There was no way he was going to wake her up, but that didn't stop him from reaching for the hand she had sticking out from under the blanket. Though it wasn't a particularly comfortable angle, he laced his fingers between hers. His chest warmed when she seemingly recognized his touch, reciprocating his hold as best she could in her sleep before snuggling the back of his hand to her cheek.

Despite the cooling food in front of him, Harry let his eyes linger on the peaceful set of her features and the way she clung to his hand. A small smile thumbed a dimple into his cheek.

He'd still be making it up to her tomorrow, but tonight hadn't turned out too bad.

—————

thank u sm for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and if you have any ideas you want to share please send them in!!! if you want to read more you can check out my patreon:)

#writing #harry #harry styles #harry one shot #harry blurb #harry imagine #harry fluff #older harry #harry x reader #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #older harry styles #harry styles x reader #pleasing #harrys house #as it was #fine line

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