#and frankly i think that's pretty fucking cool

[escapingrealtiylovinginsanity]

Jay Halstead: To Be Continued 

This was the requested part 2 of Sensatory Overload 

You hear the door open, but the automatic lights are turned off, so the room stays relatively dark. You are sitting on the floor, arms resting on your knees, back pressed against the cool wall. You know who it is before he even says your name. There is only one person who would think to look for you here. And it was only because you had dragged him to help calm him down a month prior.  

 You didn’t hear him walk into the room after the door closed but you did feel the heat from his body as he came to stand in front of you. “That was a rough one.” His voice was soft as he knelt in front of you. He sounded as emotionally drained as you felt. You could just make out his shape in the darkness and see his hand only a moment before it touched your skin. His hand was warm as it cupped your jaw. His thumb stroked your cheekbone, his fingertips curving gently around your head and into the hair at the nape of your neck. 

You hum your agreement as you try not to lean into his touch. You hadn’t spoken much since the kiss. All of it had been work-related. You found yourself wondering if you had made the whole encounter up. But you could still feel the heat of it on your lips. The slight brush of his stubble as he kisses you. You couldn’t make up the sensations that had lingered long after the kiss had ended. Maybe he regretted kissing you. And that was why he had been so distant. “You don’t have to do that.” You whisper back. 

“Do what?” His thumb catches a stray lock of hair as it continues brushing your cheek and uses his finger to tuck it behind your ear. “Check on you? I just want to make sure you are okay.” The silence is just a second or two too long and you can tell he catches the change in the air even as you answer. 

“I’m okay. Just needed a minute.” You lean your head back against the wall and away from his palm. You immediately miss the warmth and feel your thoughts start to spiral. His hand drops and he sits next to you.  

“Is this about that kiss?” His words are blunt and to the point in a very Jay fashion. The abruptness makes the air get stuck in your chest. Did he really have to bring it up? For what purpose? You both could have just ignored the fact that it had ever happened. You start talking to try to defuse the situation. 

“It’s completely normal to do rash things when you're coming down from adrenaline like that. Things you wouldn’t normally think of doing. No harm, no foul. What happens behind closed doors and all that right?” You wished that you hadn’t said anything. You felt pathetic and hoped that you hadn’t made the situation worse by offending him by implying that kissing him wouldn’t be out of the realm of normal. After all, you couldn’t think of a single person who wouldn’t jump at the chance to kiss Jay Halstead. But the two of you kissing? That wasn’t something that should ever be considered normal.  

“Is that your way of telling me to back off?” You turn to look at him, or the best you can in the dark. It was a strange way to phrase that. 

“I’m just saying... In high-tension situations... You should be held to the actions you take.” You wince and continue blabbering on, “I mean you punched Adam. That is pretty-” 

“Are you comparing our kiss to me punching Ruzek?” There is disbelief and maybe a touch of frustration in his tone. 

“Well not exactly-” 

“Because those situations were different. I was in a completely different headspace, thanks to you, during that kiss. And quite frankly I think Ruzek deserved that. He gets too cocky and needs to be knocked down a few pegs here and there.” You can hear the change in his tone. “So, if you are regretting that kiss-.” 

“That’s not what I’m saying.” It is the only thing that you can get out of your mouth. Then there is another pause that is just a little too long. You hear Jay mutter something that sounds like fuck it before a hand is on your cheek pulling you into a rough open-mouthed kiss. Your gasp turns into a moan. His hand grips your hip and yanks you to straddle his lap. You feel the gun on his hip dig into your left thigh. You shift sitting more firmly in his lap. You pull back from the kiss to catch your breath. Your lips barely graze each other with each breath.  

“Sometimes you make no sense to me.” He whispered against your lips. You breathed out a laugh, leaning in to steal another kiss. You feel bold by his touch. His hands moved from your hips down to the back of your thighs before trailing back up to your ass and squeezing firmly. You hadn’t touched Jay during your first kiss. Not really. 

You don’t waste this opportunity. You let your hands wander as you kiss him, touching all the places you had only ever dreamed about. You stroke up his biceps, shoulders, and down his back. You feel the lean muscles ripple under your fingertips.  

A loud ringing makes you jump back. You sigh and pull your phone out of your jacket pocket. A text from your boss demands your return. You look at Jay, his face illuminated by your phone. “To be continued.” You lean forward to peck one more kiss on his lips before you regretfully get back to your feet.    

 @sdddoobydoobydoo you said you wanted to be tagged.

#chicago pd #jay halstead #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead x reader #jay halstead x you

[uncanny-tranny]

I know the posts that are, essentially, the Carl Sagan "you are made of starstuff" quotes can be cheesy or almost... I guess too fantastical, but I've looked at human cells, and do you ever notice they almost look like Van Gogh's paintings (at least some of them!). Each of your (conservative estimate) ~30 trillion cells in your body contribute to building you, and they're all just... really beautiful. Even the most "simple" of your cells reminds me of a very calming painting, lily-pads on a lake, a reminder that you're here. That feels like art that's only captured once in a lifetime, quite literally, too. I hope you remember that, whenever you feel incomplete, uncomplex, listless, whatever it may be. If you're made of starstuff, you're made also of trillions of paintings.

#positivity #encouragment #described images #image description in alt #of corse your cells won't look blue under a microscope but it holds the potential to be dyed in these beautiful ways #and frankly i think that's pretty fucking cool #the body is not holy but neither is it wicked #to find the ugly in the body and soul you also have to find the beauty #there are so many other examples i could put here but if you can fuck around with even a simple microscope do it #and then realize that those cells belonged to somebody. realize that you have the same type of cells in you now #anyway 👍 hope somebody is also not normal about this #it's really easy to lose that sense of scale or awe but sometimes it hits you when you least expect for it to be there #i know many might find that carl sagan stuff cheesy but it's still something that really stuck out to me as a kid

[pebblezone]

Feeling like a Yuma morii Pokémon card

#talkingcore #got my little book prize and tell me why books are heavy I was surprised with the hellsing manga and now this why are books heavy #don’t get me wrong it’s cool but this thing barely fit into my backpack twas intimidating #oh yeah so excited for next week when everything goes to shit! yay strikes! not good that they have to be striking #but no discussion sections means more brain silly time. we love brain silly time :) #also every day I get more pissed about March madness I am not emotionally invested in basketball but they’re letting the wrong teams win #like last night I’m sorry but you let Michigan state get fucked so another willie the wildcat could win??? fuck Kansas state #msu has like one of the only bearable mascots in the big10 and you let them lose? in overtime too??? #Xavier’s still in though I’m holding out for Xavier I love the blue blob I love stupid looking mascots #Western Kentucky? W. Syracuse? W. Pepperdine? W. Mizzou? W. Ohio State? MASSIVE W. #okay like Akron? they got zippy!! he looks a lil stupid but where else do you have a kangaroo!!! #either you’re intimidating ugly cute or silly like I think Arizona state is intimidating silly because it has a sleek sharp design #but also the dude looks a lil dumb #or like penn state is just ugly but berkeley is ugly cute (actually I really don’t like oski but other people do so I shall be less hostile) #and like all those blobs? Xavier western Kentucky Syracuse? cute silly!! #I need to do my little charts again because I got distracted at like Arkansas and frankly a lot of my knowledge is limited geographically #like my state and where I’m at school I’m pretty good with as well as places I know people have gone #but like not many people where I’m at are going to say Tennessee so I’m not as familiar with a bunch of schools there #which I need to fix because there must be so many epic mascots there that I’m clueless about!!! #okay some states like Wyoming I know have like Two Colleges so it’s easier to know things there but like Mississippi? no clue what’s there!!

[cutelilbow]

hm how do you decide if a mobility aid would be helpful for you

#i have a nebulously fucked up hip and im thinking a cane might help for balance #but i also don’t know if I’m like ~an abled person trying to stea resources~ or if I’m being influenced by the cool looking canes I’ve seen #or frankly if it would even benefit my issue #(the issue is subluxing I’m pretty sure) #(it knocks me off balance)

[unpretty]

a fact about me is that i was an early bloomer who hit puberty in elementary school and was immediately, obnoxiously horny in ways that were uncomfortable for everyone because no one is prepared for an elementary schooler with b cups and a deep fascination with movies where people get tied up. another fact is that because i was considered smart for my age in the ways that mattered, i just accepted all this as a single package, the many ways that i was not really a child the way other children were children but was instead a miniature adult. i was technically a child, but not really, as far as i was concerned. it also did not occur to me until around high school that i was fat, because i instead considered myself to be sturdy, to be buff, to be built like a tank.

so somewhere around middle school i am noticing the ways in which i am Not Like Other Girls, the ways in which i am not what society says a girl is and the ways that things marketed to girls do not appeal to me. i don't know how other girls dealt with this, but i very rationally decided that i was only technically a girl, in the way that i was only technically a child. so i looked at the things that did appeal to me, and that i did enjoy, and reverse engineered my demographic to decide that on a practical and functional level i was a middle-aged man. i had also gotten really hornily into wolverine because of the first x-men movie, and ended up reading a lot of comics, so as you can imagine the comic book version of wolverine who is short and built like a tank and older than he looks despite being for all intents and purposes a middle aged man really had some appeal to me.

there are idiots who say shit about how tomboys would be considered trans these days or whatever, but i can assure you that was not what was happening here. by middle school i already had to special order bras and i was fine with that because of the many weird fetishes i was developing, none of which can be blamed on the internet because i hadn't found that shit yet and also to this day you would have a hard time finding anything similar to the things i wrote in my secret notebook and immediately destroyed. the fact that i was technically a girl was vital to all this. media where there was a big reveal that some cool dude had been a hot chick the whole time was my shit. weird feral beast people who turned out to be hot women once they took a bath? fuck yes. i would never have cut my hair because that would have ruined my chances to take off a helmet and reveal that i had girl hair. at no point did i think i was anything but a girl, it was just that i was functionally a middle-aged man, who was a girl.

what this means is that i still liked all the things i already liked, such as leather jackets and comic books and anime and old stand-up comedy, but i also did extensive research on the other things i felt i should like according to the demographic i had assigned myself. i watched vh1's 'i love the 70s' with the air of someone trying to hide their amnesia, even though my parents were children in the 70s. i got into the beatles. i tried to get into cars for a while before accepting that i only liked the vintage car aesthetic and couldn't be fucked to know actual car facts. i wore nothing but cargo shorts and aloha shirts for a while, which didn't really stand out that much because it was middle school. i bought a fedora and became a libertarian atheist. i made plans to buy a motorcycle (i could not ride a bike).

i gave up on it after a while because quite frankly my titty situation meant there was never really going to be a big reveal that i'd been a girl the whole time. it was pretty obvious even with the cargo shorts. also the older of a teen i was, the more likely it felt that i could maybe get laid, except i could tell that was never going to happen as long as i kept wearing cargo shorts. it took longer to give up the fedora because it was leather and i wore it with my leather jacket and fingerless gloves, which i convinced myself worked a lot better after i'd gone full high school goth. i lived in the desert so you can imagine how well that worked out for me, smell-wise.

anyway that's how my female socialization went, i don't think it was particularly successful tbqh

#original #the funniest part to me is the vh1 thing #i watched so much vh1 while inexplicably behaving as if i was already familiar with everything i was seeing

[gaogaigoatgrrl]

i hope that in the wake of predstrogen/predesterone's back-to-back deletion we don't forget about the ongoing building wave of seemingly organic transmisogyny from the userbase leading up to it, some of which may or may not have been the result of terf psyops but all of which certainly wouldn't have been possible without the eager participation of a significant proportion of users, including but probably not limited to:

the entire concept of transandrophobia (if this offends you, think long and hard about why you want so badly for it to be real)

the ongoing backlash against the terms tme and tma (if they offend you, think long and hard about why they might have practical value to trans women and people with similar social positionality)

the ongoing trend of trans women's blogs getting flagged on the flimsiest of pretenses and generally receiving far more scrutiny for "adult content" than anyone else's

the seeming unironic revival of "baeddel" as a slur for outspoken trans women, on the basis of a long-dead clique that, ironically enough, self-applied the long-dead (and tbf, etymologically questionable) slur from the middle ages to reclaim it

the entire "trans women should be fucking trans men instead of complaining about transmisogyny" genre of post

the backlash when tgirls finally started calling out the aforementioned bullshit

the copypasted anons sent to several trans women (many of whom were lesbians) sexually harassing them and threatening corrective rape for calling out the aforementioned bullshit

the backlash when tgirls called the aforementioned bullshit sexual harassment

the expansion of flexible queer label use (which to be clear, i am generally all for) to include "afab trans women", muddying the waters and making transmisogyny harder to articulate

the backlash when tgirls started calling out the aforementioned bullshit

the aita incident in which a trans woman described a cis woman claiming to be a trans woman in a group chat and giving other trans women terrible medical advice based on no actual qualifications or experience, and got a huge backlash for warning them about the aforementioned bullshit despite the stakes of, you know, following terrible medical advice

everything from the sixth point onward happened within the past... week? two weeks? my sense of time is a bit fuzzy. who knows what the rest of this week has in store?

people on this website are so incredibly hostile to trans women even being able to name our own oppression, let alone resist it in any concrete way. and i know it's not just this website. don't you get tired of the crab bucket bullshit? holy fucking shit.

like, i've been lucky, i've overwhelmingly managed to dodge it (probably on account of frankly being a pretty boring and inconsistent poster). this time last year, i was actually bored that i didn't have anons in my inbox to argue with. but i've seen it happen to so many other women now, it's absurd. even if it never hits you personally, you can never shake the awareness that it's happening to so many of the cool girls on here, people you like and whose posts you laugh at and who you look up to. they just kinda seem to drop like flies over time. don't you get tired?

[timeisacephalopod]

As much as I love my longer hair (not as long as I want it but it's getting there) I do miss being read as visibly queer because I feel like the moment my hair got to a certian length people stopped reading the way I dress and shit as queer and started reading it as "quirky woman" which is annoying when the only difference is hair length. Also started getting hit on a lot more, which still ain't much but it's more than the zero attention I got with a green faux hawk. Sometimes even other queer people miss the signs and I'm like HELLO I don't think it's that hard to see I don't make a secret of it even if I tend to keep the specifics to myself.

Just odd that despite always dressing in a fem punk way and being clocked even as a teen suddenly no one seems to notice anymore? Very weird and I don't care for it, it used to be kind of nice that my presentation did half the talking and now I have to reassure people I'm not straight 🙄🙄😒

#winters ramblings #i dont get it how is having ONE gender role thing ''''right'''' erasing pretty obvious queerness?? #like i didnt change the way i dress amd frankly i think i look like a punk lesbian which isnt what i am but is cool ofme nonetheless #because punk lesbians are awesome as fuck even if im only masquerading as one lol #but like deadass HAIR LENGTH changes to long and suddenly that changes the perception of mr completely?? #me* like ???? literally nothing else about me changed except i got glasses and those are the gayest things about me #i look like what dumb Christians would think a satanic librarian looks like how is THAT straight??

[vvampirelust]

just thinking about college!ellie w nip piercings...

warnings: smut, dom!ellie, sub!reader, nipple play/sucking/ect (e!receiving), thigh riding

Maybe she went and got them done on a drunken whim, claiming it was just a bit of fun. 

Or maybe, Ellie's finally come to the realisation that she’s a smokeshow. her “business” offering her more and more opportunities to come out of her shell around the pretty girls at parties. Ellie's naturally ruggish appearance works wonders as it is. a newfound confidence boost and swelling ego sat on her shoulders, she can’t wait to see how her partners react to the shiny bars decorating her perky tits. 

And it was… the best. decision. ever. 

They look good. real good. picture santa barbara!ellie. in that white tank top. having ditched the sports bra because boy oh boy…now we all agree ellie has sensitive tits. The piercings have only spun the dial to 100, anything too tight around her chest is overwhelming and frankly inconvenient throughout the day. 

The thinness of her tank top means her new piercings are poking through at all times, revealing just enough to let the imagination run wild. The small indents of the ball on either side of the bar frames her lusty and rosy nipples, glinting anytime the light hits them just right. 

It’s safe to say, the girls worship them. Tonight, you will worship them. and that's all that matters to ellie rn. 

She has you sitting snug atop her firm thigh, the flat of her foot laid on the bed, waiting patiently for the right moment to apply pressure. Your pupils haven’t been able to leave Ellie's bare chest.  Not since she shamelessly tugged off the tank and tossed it god knows where. 

Smug smirk gracing her chapped lips, Ellie's thumps press into the skin of your hips. Grabbing your attention back. “Wanna touch ‘em, babe? Hm?” Ellie bites her lip in a way that makes you squeeze her thigh between your own. She chuckles, “Yeah…s’okay. Go ahead,” her chin dips, gesturing to her chest. 

But to your surprise. she scoffs and smacks away your tentative, wandering fingers.

 “Use your mouth.” 

Now you’re just testing Ellie's patience. After you bent down to let the tip of your tongue gently graze across her nipple. “You’re cute,” is all she says before giving your hair a quick tug, and you gasp, pained yelp passing your frowned lips. 

Ellie almost whines, “come on, babe. don’t go shy on me now,” her back arches, tits pushing closer to your face, “don’t you wanna suck on them? taste them? baby?” Despite how desperate she sounds, you both know she’s holding all the power. She’s just taunting you. Teasing. 

You nod like the submissive thing she’s turned you into, “Mhm. I want to taste them so bad, baby,” you admit, eyes dropping back to her chest. Ellie drags her thumb all the way to your lips, parting them as she arches further, practically feeding her tit into your mouth. “Show me then.” 

Her groan is downright pornographic when you finally latch onto her, “atta girl.” your tongue laps over her nipple, exploring the smooth metal, cool as it rolls within your mouth. You test out a flick, up and down; then side to side. Trying out slow strokes and quick flicks. Both motions pulling a loud, high-pitched gasp from the confident brunette beneath you. 

Ellie’s slender fingers brush your hair back, allowing her to admire your face through fluttering eyes. She’s hypnotised by how your lips look wrapped around her tit, “so fucking sexy,” she mutters between each scratchy huff of pleasure. “Babe,” she grunts, “babe!” 

You hum around her nipple, slurping off her with a pop. your eyes find hers, wide and waiting. “Other side, now “ she pants, pushing your face against her neglected tit, “keep looking at me too, baby, don’t stop.” 

Her grip tightens on your hips, pulling you down as she rubs her thigh up against your heat. You moan in tandem, teeth sinking into the plush flesh of her breast, eyes straining yet never leaving Ellie's. You give yourself time to mark her pretty, freckled skin, working your way around and around to her nipple. 

“Fuckkk,” Ellie moans when your lips enclose around her piercing clad nipple and suck hard. You never  give her puffy and overly sensitive bud a moment's peace. Your motions are turning fluid yet surprising. 

Ellie whimpers so prettily when your tongue darts over her nipple, pace relentless, knocking her new jewellery with each and every stroke. “Mmph- good girl,” she strains, rocking your hips against her faster. 

Even as you switch back and forth between those little, bouncy boobs of hers. She never breaks eye contact. It's intense. It's driving you halfway towards insanity. Ellie has her bottom lip permanently caught between her teeth. Her drooping eyes, loud noises and furrowing brows are what give away the immense pleasure she’s experiencing. 

She mutters out encouragement and orders as she focuses on your every movement. Not allowing the friction from her thigh to distract you from making her feel good. 

“Ha-harder baby, suck ‘em hard. Yeah, yeah. Just like that…” 

She’s definitely coming in her pants from this. 

#lesbian #ellie williams smut #ellie williams #ellie smut #ellie williams x reader smut #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams tlou #ellie tlou #ellie x reader #wlw #lesbian smut #ellie the last of us #ellie x dina #ellie x you #the last of us smut #tlou smut #tlou x reader

[iovetecchou]

What’s Your Motive? ⧸ Wriothesley.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Summary: Wriothesley is fed up with you constantly getting arrested for petty crimes. It's like you're trying to get locked up just to annoy him. Perhaps a different form of punishment for your crimes is in order.

༞ Contains...! smut, hatefucking, use of handcuffs, fucking through the jail cell bars, no prep, degradation, name calling (runt, cumslut), one use of "good girl", reader refers to Wriothesley as 'mister', cumshot, facial, subtle fluff because i am insane

༞ AFAB Reader.

༞ 1.920 words.

kinktober masterlist!

"I told you not to break the law. More than once." 

Wriothesley deadpanned. His grip around your hand was tight as he took your fingerprints. You could tell he was concealing his rage, but the tremors coming from his large palm were a dead giveaway. 

"Aww! Not happy to see me again, mister?" You snickered, purposefully making the process more difficult for Wriothesley. You kept smudging your prints; he had to start over twice already. There was no way in hell he was putting up with your shit tonight. He was stressed, and your constant reappearances here only added to the dogpile of dread. 

"Guards, finish booking this runt. I need to make myself a cup of tea before I lose my mind." That last statement was more of a whisper to himself. But you were amused by it, regardless. 

"Who you callin' a runt, huh?" You gasped in faux disdain, bumping shoulders with him as you feigned offense because of his little nickname for you. Wriothesley's large palm squeezed over yours once more as a warning before he walked off. 

You clicked your tongue as you watched him walk away. You hated to see him go, but you loved to watch him leave. 

Wriothesley wanted to gouge his eyes out as he heard you whistle while he descended the dark hallway. He knew you were directing the catcall at him and him alone. Every time you came to Wriothesley's precinct, you sought him out. He didn't understand your strange requests to be detained by him each time, and quite frankly, he didn't care. 

But you both have been doing this little song and dance for months. You would get arrested for a minor crime, taken into custody for a few days, be released and repeat every few weeks. They were all petty crimes, proof enough to Wriothesley that you were committing them with ulterior motives. 

Wriothesley had the graveyard shift tonight, which meant lots and lots of tea was in order to keep him functioning, especially now that you were back under his watch. 

He was monitoring the security cameras as he sipped his favorite stress relief tea blend, nearly dropping his cup when he noticed you attempting to escape from your cell. Wriothesley sighed deeply, clenching his jaw as he shot up from his desk. Wasting no time, he made quick strides toward your section. 

On his stride there, Wriothesley's anger toward you bubbled up from deep within. Each passing step caused him to become more and more agitated. He recounted all of the encounters you both had over the months. He didn't understand you in the slightest, and that just enraged him even further. What was your motive? 

"Hey, runt. You seriously didn't think this pathetic attempt would work, right?" Your smirk grew tenfold from the sound of his voice. 

"Nope, just needed an excuse to get ya down here!" You giggled, tilting your head up to meet his icy gaze. 

Oh... he looked furious. Good.

He glared at you from beyond the bars, eyebrows ticked up in annoyance as he captured his cuffs. Wriothesley swirled them around his index finger before seizing them tightly. "Turn around and stick your hands out, now." 

"Aww, but you only just got here! I wanted to admire your pretty face for a little lo—"

"Now."

His stern voice sent chills down your spine in the best way possible. You finally got him to break.

You followed his orders. Turning your back toward Wriothesley, leaning your back against the cool metal bars. You extended your arms behind you, letting them slip through the spaces of the metal cell. 

Before you could question him further, Wriothesley cuffed your hands. Trapping you against the metal bars of your enclosure. You tugged against your restraints, tilting your head back and getting a glimpse of Wriothesley. 

"Care to tell me what this is about, mister? Doesn't seem like protocol to me." You quipped, shooting a playful wink at Wriothesley. All of your sass was knocked out of you the moment he slotted himself against the bars. You could faintly feel the warmth radiating from his chest as his hands slipped past the metal poles. 

"Keep fucking quiet, runt. There are other prisoners and guards here, you know. The world does not revolve around you." Wriothesley spat. Wasting no time tugging your flimsy pants and panties down your legs in one harsh tug. 

Heat rushed through your core as the cool air hit your exposed lower half. 

This was really happening? Fucking finally. 

"Oh, I really got your panties in a twist this time huh, mister?" You pressed your ass further into the cell, trying your hardest to feel him closer. Your smirk only grew when you heard Wriothesley fumbling with his belt. 

"I said, be quiet," Wriothesley whispered. You could feel his breath fanning over the tip of your ear as his hand crawled back through to grasp your hip. He hastily pulled his cock out of his confinements, slipping it through the cell bars. You choked on a whine as you felt the blunt head of his cock run through your folds. 

"Oh? Now you got nothing to say? Who knew all you needed was some dick to put you in line." Wriothesley spat, cursing under his breath as he gathered your slick. "You're so fucking wet, too. What, don't tell me this was your plan all along? Such a filthy fucking runt."

A choked moan slipped past your lips as his cock pushed past the tight ring of your pussy. Wriothesley quickly slipped his other hand through the cell bars, slotting his large palm over your mouth. "Shut the fuck up." He mumbled against the shell of your ear, slamming his cock inside you to the hilt. 

Your eyes rolled back in ecstasy as he filled you to the brim with his length. You could feel his thick cock pulsing inside you, his balls twitching from where they kissed the underside of your pussy. You had dreamt of this moment only a thousand times over, but the real thing exceeded your expectations. 

Wriothesley wasted no time pounding into you relentlessly, barely giving you a moment to adjust. You drooled all over his fingers and gloves as your shameless whimpers and whines slipped out. However, the more you cried out in pleasure, the harder he fucked you. 

"This pussy is so greedy, fuck." Wriothesley cursed, clenching his jaw tightly as he pulled your hips harshly to meet his thrusts. Your arms strained from the uncomfortable position they were in. But you couldn't care less. The feeling of Wriothesley's cock prodding your sweet spot overpowered that dull ache in your cuffed wrists. 

You desperately longed to see the look of pleasure twisted on Wriothesley's face as he fucked you. But his deep grunts and groans of pleasure against your ear were mind-numbing enough. 

You hardly tried to conceal your mewls of pleasure, too cock drunk to care if someone were to overhear. "If you don't shut that dirty fucking mouth of yours, you'll regret it." Wriothesley huffed, clamping his hand even tighter around your mouth. His thrusts were brutal. The sound of skin slapping against skin and the rattling of the steel rods echoed through the dark halls. 

Quite ironic. Considering Wriothesley was the one telling you to be quiet. 

If he wanted you to be quiet, then so be it. Your teeth sunk into the back of his fingertips, pulling a loud hiss from Wriothesley's lips. He chuckled deeply. Breath tickling the side of your face as his pace only quickened. The tip of his cock was nudging your cervix with each deep thrust. 

"Good," He paused, grounding his hips into your ass as deep as he could through the bars. 

"Fucking," Wriothesley pulled his hips back, tip nearly slipping out of your hot wet heat if it wasn't for the tight grip your gummy walls had on him. 

"Girl." He slammed himself all the way back in with a loud, wet squelch. Wriothesley calling you a good girl, paired with the feeling of his cock rubbing against your g-spot was too much to bear. 

You gushed around his cock as the coil within you snapped. Your teeth sunk into the rough material of his gloves as you came. Your pussy clenched and pulsed around his length as you struggled to stay up on your shaky legs. 

Wriothesley cursed under his breath. Quickly, he pulled himself out of your tight, wet heat. He swiftly undid the lock on your cuffs. You collapsed to your knees, instinctively pulling your hands back through the bars. You nursed your wrists, cradling them to your chest as your legs trembled.

"Look at me," Wriothesley demanded breathlessly. You slowly turned on your knees, eyes widening as you faced him. He was fisting his cock furiously, a wild blush coating his cheeks as his icy orbs locked onto you. You felt your pussy throb once more from the sight alone, bringing your hands up through the bars— desperately trying to replace his hand with yours. 

Wriothesley swatted your hand away before ordering, "Stick your tongue out for me, runt." 

Without hesitancy, your jaw fell slack. Your tongue darted out almost instantly as you drank in his blissed-out expression. Without warning, Wriothesley brought his dick only centimeters away from your lips. A deep groan slipped past his mouth as his first ropes of cum shot past his slit. 

You admired his pretty face as Wriothesley came all over yours. You swallowed every last drop of his cum that landed on your tongue, allowing the ropes that missed your mouth to roll down your cheeks. 

Wriothesley grunted as he shot the last of his load onto your face. He admired your filthy state for a few beats more. A smirk cascaded across his face before he let out a whistle of his own, mimicking your actions from earlier. 

"Wow... guess it shouldn't come as a surprise that you're a filthy cumslut on top of all your other crimes." Wriothesley deadpanned, leisurely tucking his now softening cock back into his pants.

"Oh, so now it's a crime to want to fuck you?" You chuckled, swiping some of his cum off your cheek before placing the pad of your thumb in your mouth. Licking it entirely clean. 

Wriothesley flushed, averting his gaze from your lewd display. He stifled a cough before muttering, "No, but I'm sure you and I just committed about a dozen crimes. Indecent exposure, public indecency, disorderly conduct— shall I continue?" 

"You do realize you just said we right, mister? Meaning you should be in this cell right alongside me. Come on, handsome, why don't you keep me warm tonight? You can come inside me this ti—"

"In your dreams, runt. Consider this your punishment for causing me hell for months. I won't give you what you want just because you're cute."  

Your cheeks flushed as you stood on shaky legs, coming face to face with him. "You think I'm cute?" You asked earnestly, a genuine smile pulling at your lips. 

Wriothesley turned on his heel, trying to conceal his embarrassment from slipping up and calling you cute. He stifled a cough, making slow strides down the hallway. You assumed he was going to keep walking without another word, and just as you began pulling your pants back up your trembling legs, you heard him shout, 

"Yeah, I do, so stop breaking the law. Then maybe I can take you on a proper date."

#genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #wriothesley #wriothesley smut #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x you #wriothesley genshin #genshin wriothesley

[bleedingoptimism]

You Are Mine part 1

When Eddie decided to come out he thought it’d be funny to do so with a music video, so he wrote a song and presented it to the band. The boys loved it and the song was declared the first one of their next album, the third one.

And then it was time to shoot the video.

They hire their personal friend and favorite director, Argyle. Just Argyle, like Cher.

Between him and Argyle they come up with a cool script. The band is going to act in it, they just need two extras, so they hold auditions for a couple in their twenties.

On the day of the auditions, Argyle tells them the interviews are mostly for show, the band can pick whoever they feel the most comfortable with, and the boys tell Eddie he should pick since it’s his song.

The five of them sit at a long table like it’s fucking American Idol or something and just stare at the couples waiting in line through a one-side glass mirror whispering among themselves and watching amused as the couples start getting progressively nervous.

There’s a couple that immediately grabs Eddie's attention when he does a pass-over, a pretty tall dirty blonde and a brunette with big soft-looking hair. 

The guy is absolutely gorgeous, with big kind eyes, a straight cute nose, a square jaw, big shoulders, a small waist, and tan skin that seems to be covered in beauty marks.

He just strikes Eddie as someone that would make Michelangelo cry with his inability to capture his perfection.

‘Oh, that’s good. I should write that.’ He thinks.

He and the girl are talking in hush tones and Eddie watches as she fixes his hair while he jabbers nervously and then, evidently says something that makes her angry because she pokes him in the ribs. The guy giggles cutely and loudly enough to carry over to their room and then blushes furiously when heads turn toward them, hiding behind his friend. The woman in question snorts and chuckles as he chastises her.

Eddie stands up, crouches behind Argyle’s chair, and tells him, “I want that one.”

“What?” he answers, so Eddie points at the couple, “I want him.”

Argyle looks at them considering and clicks his tongue and Eddie insists, “Please Argy, please, I love him, I want him, I want that one, pleaseee”

“Eddie, we need to at least consider the rest of them. This is my job we are talking about here. Please, take it seriously” Argyle says in a calm voice and Eddie deflates,

“Dude...I’m sorry I-”

“Nah man, I’m kidding!” Argyle cuts him off, “Couple number four! Please step forward!” he yells into a mike.

The blonde and the brunette look at each other and walk in nervously as Eddie goes back to his seat at the end of the table and Argyle does a small flourishing move with his hand inviting them to introduce themselves.

“Hi! My name is Robin, and this is Steve, pleased to meet you!” The girl says smiling kindly at them. She nudges Steve on the side and he does a little finger wave at them.

Eddie has to bite his lip not to smile too much because they are really fucking cute. 

Argyle returns the wave enthusiastically, because nothing ever faces him, and looks at the list he has in his hands, “Any experience acting Robin and Steve?”

Robin says yes, something about drama club in high school and Steve just shrugs which amused Eddie to no end, and frankly makes him really curious, for all intent and purposes, Steve doesn’t seem to be interested in the job.

“How did you find out about this job?” Jeff asks them, and Gareth nods like he was just about to ask the same thing.

“A friend of ours told us about it?” Robin answers “He’s a photographer but I don't want to drop names, especially in case we embarrass ourselves,” she says jokingly and looks relieved when she gets a couple of chuckles from Argyle and the band.

“And you were interested because…?” Frank inquires.

Robin starts saying some carefully prepared speech about learning experiences but is interrupted by Steve saying, “We needed the money”

“Oh my god! Shut up!” Robin suddenly turns to him completely red in the face.

“What? You told me to be myself!” Steve tells her frowning. 

“This is exactly why I always talk in interviews”

“What does that mean?” 

“You suck at this Steve! Just as much as you suck at-”

Gareth clears his throat loudly making them stop and look at him sheepishly, “So tell us, do you know the band? Are you fans?”

Eddie takes a moment to look at his bandmates and to his relief they all look as amused as he feels, especially Argyle. The couple of newbies is clearly a mess but in an endearing kind of way.

“Well…” Robin starts but doesn’t seem to know what to say.

“Never heard of it,” Steve says looking apologetic. 

“Wait, Really?” Robin asks him, once more ignoring the director and the band, “They are like, Mike’s favorite band, man! You never heard of Corroded Coffin?”

“Oh well,” Steve shrugs, “I mostly tune out when Mike is talking so…”

Robin snorts and is about to reply but Argyle raises his hand and they both look at him, flinching a little when they realize they had started talking among themselves again.

“Ok.” Argyle tells them clapping once, “Unfortunately for me, I love your energy my dudes, but I’m going to get serious for a second here: I need you two to be professional ok? We have a budget and a schedule and only three days to shoot and I can’t hire you and find out in the middle of the shoot that you are not okay with making out with someone-”

Robin visibly takes a step back and Steve snorts, “Yeah no, I’m not making out with my sister.”

Eddie, who was wondering what kind of relationship they had, does a little happy dance in his head at that.

“No, I meant one of the members of the band” Argyle answers amused.

Robin takes another step back and actually looks a little disgusted and Eddie tries not to find it offensive, “Me?” she asks unsure.

“No,” Frank answers and points at Steve, “Him.”

Surprisingly, they both relax at that, “Oh!” They exclaim in unison and it’s kind of creepy but again, in an endearing kind of way.

And then Steve looks at them one by one, he’s unmistakably and unashamedly checking them all out and Eddie swears his eyes linger on him the most before he smirks and says, “I’m okay with that”

Eddie immediately pushes the contract laying on the table toward Frank, who pushes it to Gareth, who pushes it to Jeff, who pushes it to Argyle and gives him a pen.

Argyle laughs loudly and shakes the sheet of paper, “Well shit, I guess you are hired.”

“We are?!”

He stands up and shakes their hands, hands them the contract and another paper, “This is the script, not that it has any dialogue but just in case you have any questions.” 

They push their heads together and read the script at the same time.

The story is about the band being on tour. Robin and Steve would play as their roadies and the video is supposed to show them in concert, traveling, working, and hanging out. The whole video hints that Eddie is sneaking out with one of them and it ends with the band plus Robin opening a curtain on the tour bus to find Eddie and Steve making out.

The song is called You Are Mine.

When they are done reading, Steve smiles and says “Cute”

And Robin asks, “So which one of you is Eddie?”

Eddie lifts his hand lazily and winks at them.

And Steve, still holding the script, lifts it enough to cover his face but Eddie can still see the tip of his ears as they turn bright red.

‘Oh, he’s gonna eat him alive.’

to be continued

part 1: is this

part 2: ♫ 

part 3: ♫

part 4: ♫

☕ cafecito?

#steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #i wrote something #corroded coffin #omg another rockstar eddie au? mimimimi

[loveinhawkins]

The RV careens out of the trailer park and hits the open road with what pretty much amounts to ‘all speed, no grace.’ The turn Steve makes is, quite frankly, abysmal; he’s sure that if his driving instructor could see him now, the poor man would be weeping in distress.

Yet his passengers erupt into cheers as they pass the Leaving Hawkins sign, like he’s pulled some kind of James Bond move.

And, for all his insistence on being the absolute antithesis to so-called ‘jock culture’, Eddie rushes over to the driver’s seat, starts squeezing Steve’s shoulder with decidedly jock-like exuberance.

“Holy shit, holy shit, that was so fucking cool, Harrington.”

Oh, he’s definitely broken through the depression stage of the ‘finding out there’s an alternate dimension in Hawkins’ journey—landing firmly in the fuck it, might as well have some fun stage.

Steve could tell they’d reached that point even before the goddamn ‘big boy’ comment, when Eddie had taken one look at the Michael Myers mask, looked Max dead in the eye and said, “This is gonna be. So fuckin’ stupid. Let’s do it.”

Steve goes through a few seconds more of having his shoulder pummelled before saying, “Dude, you’re doing a shitty job at being undercover, stay down.”

“Like, do you have any idea,” Eddie says breathily, as if Steve hasn’t spoken, “just how perfect that was? That was, God, a childhood dream fully—”

“You dreamed of stealing an RV?” Steve says dubiously.

“Not in such crude literal terms, no. C’mon, Harrington, you must’ve had an imagination once—”

“Hey!”

“—didn’t you ever dream of, like, daring escapes, pulling the sword outta the stone, all that shit?”

Steve thinks about it. “I mean,” he says, “when I was a kid, I just kinda… climbed trees and stuff.”

Eddie sighs as if he can’t decide whether Steve’s done something especially annoying or endearing. “Of course you did.”

They reach a stop sign and Eddie finally flops into the passenger seat, facing Steve like he’s sitting side saddle on a horse.

“So,” Steve says, “I take a right after this, yeah?”

“Mm-hmm, well remembered, Mr Getaway Driver.”

Steve scoffs, glances over—finds Eddie framing him with his index finger and thumb, like a director trying to capture the perfect shot.

“James Dean,” Eddie says authoritatively, dropping his hands.

“What?”

“Was tryin’ to figure it out, your whole look, you know? Very Rebel Without a Cause.”

“Okay,” Steve says, “but I have a cause, we all do.”

Eddie just blinks at him, and Steve chuckles.

“You, idiot.”

“Oh.”

Steve has a moment to appreciate the way Eddie’s eyes go all soft and maybe just a little shiny, before he has to set off again. He takes the right turning.

“We should watch it,” Eddie says eventually. “Hell, I’ll take any movie. Just gimme, like, two hours of not having to think.”

��Tell me about it.”

Steve’s sure he’ll never complain about double VHS tapes ever again. Then a thought occurs to him.

“Shit.” He calls to the back. “Rob?”

“Yeah?”

“Y’know when we left Family Video, did we even lock up?”

“Yes,” Robin says followed immediately by, “No?”

Steve snorts. “God, we’re so fired.”

He hears Robin making her way up to the front, then Eddie saying, “Oof, Buckley, that was right in the ribs.”

“Why the sudden concern about our jobs, dingus?”

“I’m not concerned, I just got reminded of—Eddie was mentioning—”

“—Rebel Without a Cause,” Eddie finishes.

“Oh, Steve, I know you’ve seen it, I put it on last week!”

“Uh, maybe I was preoccupied doing, I dunno, my job.”

“It’s the one with—”

“James Dean,” Eddie cuts in.

“Yeah, I gathered, thanks,” Steve says sarcastically, but he can’t help smiling as he does so.

“—and it’s, you know,” Robin goes on, “troubled kid moves to a new town, and—”

“Aw,” Steve says, “you think I’m troubled, Munson?”

“It’s all in the eyes, Harrington. Such depths.”

“Right?” Robin says, and she’s laughing, tongue-in-cheek, “I’ve always said so.”

“You ever considered wearing a leather jacket?”

Steve laughs, too. “Tell ya what, Eddie, why don’t I just wear all your clothes?”

“Well, we know denim suits you.”

“If only you saw his last car-stealing outfit, Eddie.”

Steve sighs. “Robin, shut it.”

“Excuse me,” Eddie says, “d’you have form, Harrington? Grand theft auto form?”

“Literally once. Crazy circumstances.” Rest in peace, Todfather. “It was a Cadillac.”

“A Cadillac.” Eddie sighs dreamily. “Do you have any photos?”

“Uh, no, I was kinda busy.”

“I shall mourn the loss.”

“Take the next left here,” Nancy calls, which Steve is grateful for—the directions had gone completely out of his head.

“Wheeler, come up to the front,” Eddie says, “it’s a party.”

She must do, because her voice sounds much closer when she says, “Shit, I think I forgot to lock up, too.”

“Don’t worry,” Steve says, “no-one’s gonna ransack The Weekly Streak.”

Another stop sign—Steve looks over, smirks at how Eddie has ended up squished between Nancy and Robin, all of them sharing the one seat.

“They better not.” To Eddie, Nancy adds, “I think I gave your uncle the impression that I’m doing a big piece on you. Like, testimonials for an innocent man, stuff like that.”

For a flicker of a second, Eddie looks nauseated at the thought—Steve spots the shift, the decision to make a joke about it.

“Well, Wheeler, you better make me sound good.”

“Oh, I was going more for journalistic integrity.”

“Hey.”

Steve hears a couple of thumps behind him; without even glancing in the mirror, he says, “Sit your asses down, shitheads, don’t make me turn this thing around.”

“Don’t make me turn this thing around!” Lucas parrots.

Max scoffs playfully: “Nineteen going on forty.”

“Eddie was standing before!” Erica points out.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well, Eddie’s a law unto himself. Look, just sit down and, like, make a list or something, I’ll stop off for food after we’ve—”

Dustin laughs. “You really are forty.”

“Uh-huh, one more wisecrack and you’re not getting any chocolate pudding.”

Steve’s hamming it up, he knows he is—smiles to himself as he hears a quartet of giggles.

“Can you believe they used to think I was cool?” he says.

“I dunno, Harrington,” Eddie says warmly, “at least one of them doth protest too much.”

Nancy stands in search of a pen, Robin following, insisting to Dustin that, “We’re getting one of those camp stoves, if I don’t eat something hot soon, I’m gonna die.”

“Yeah,” Steve says. Maybe it’s because they’ll soon be arriving at The War Zone; his levity slips just a little when he says, “It’s probably, like, a proximity thing. Henderson’ll have a scientific term for it.”

Eddie chuckles. “What, the Steve Harrington effect?”

Steve shrugs. “You get too close, the shine wears off eventually.”

He doesn’t realise until he’s said it that the joking, perhaps, has stopped somewhere along the way.

“Huh,” Eddie says. “I’m no scientist, but that doesn’t sound like the Steve Harrington effect to me.”

“No?” Steve says.

He can see the parking lot in the distance, and he gestures for Eddie to duck.

“Nope,” Eddie says. Steve can hear him moving, crouching to hide behind the driver’s seat.

He parks and everyone’s abruptly all business, deciding who’s staying in the RV, who’s going into The War Zone.

Steve hates it, has a sudden intense longing to keep talking about movies, to just be stupid.

And maybe Eddie can tell, because just before Steve heads out, he catches his eye, smiles.

“Hey, don’t worry, Harrington,” he says with a tiny, fleeting wink. “You’re still my leading man.”

#Eddie staring at Steve dreamily: you have the range darling #conversations in the RV are becoming another fave #pre steddie #steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fic #steve and robin #steve and the party #eddie and nancy #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve x eddie

[quasi-normalcy]

Which Star Trek series should you start with?

The Original Series: Advantages: + The one that started it all + Has some sophisticated and socially conscious science fiction that has held up exceptionally well + The lead characters all have really good chemistry and fun to see play off of one another + It's what most people probably think of when you say Star Trek (together with TNG) Disadvantages: - It can feel very dated and kind of sexist, particularly in its treatment of women - The sci-fi and social commentary may have held up, but damn it, the special effects really haven't - When TOS is bad, it's really, really bad.

The Animated Series: Advantages: + Basically just more TOS. Disadvantages: - Basically just more TOS, but substituting extremely cheap animation for bad special effects

The Next Generation: Advantages: + Probably the most popular one at this point + The crew is full of interesting characters and they're fun to spend time with + Just really smart people solving Space Mysteries + Socialist space utopia + Geordi-And-Data! + Lots of cool sci-fi concepts and social commentary + It's what most people probably think of when you say Star Trek (together with TOS) Disadvantages: - Although not in the same way as TOS, it can feel dated at times, particularly in terms of its treatment of women and it's near complete refusal to acknowledge queerness - Without wanting to bias viewer opinion, the first season is widely considered to be pretty bad - The series makes no bones about the fact that the socialist space utopia is better than every other society that has ever existed and will reiterate this point over and over again

Deep Space Nine: Advantages: + The most popular Trek series on Tumblr + Has a complete story arc, as well as arcs for all of its characters, including the extremely minor ones + Plain, simple, Garak. The humble tailor. + Garashir, if you're into that + Seriously has a really sophisticated treatment of things like post-colonial politics, anthropology, worldbuilding, and the horrors of warfare + Just the characters in general + Is the only Star Trek prior to the 2010s to even look meaningfully at queer representation Disadvantages: - Has an absolutely massive inferiority complex with respect to TNG and this drives a few poor writing decisions that seemingly exist just to poke the Socialist Space Utopia in its eye - Introduces a space religion and then just slowly turns it into Christianity with the numbers filed off - Seems to think that sexual harassment is just a quirky eccentricity - There's no women in its writers' room, and frankly it shows

Voyager: Advantages: + Probably the clearest instance of found family in space + Lots of really good episodes + Lots of fun new characters + Strong female role models + "Set a course...for home." Disadvantages: - Continuity? I never knew her! - Probably about 90% of Trek's reputation for technobabble comes from this one series - Even less queerness than TNG. - Only like...3 characters actually get arcs. - The first few seasons lean very hard into bullshit fake "Native American" spiritualism with one of the characters - How do these guys have warp drive but can't find any water?

Enterprise: Advantages: + Chronologically the first series + 90% less technobabble + The only series to plausibly frame our heroes as astronauts...on some kind of...star trek. + Still has probably the best production values of any series + Makes alien cultures of the week feel somehow richer and deeper than other series + Faith of the Heart is good, fuck you. Disadvantages: - Oh my god, the decon scenes - Seriously, if you've ever wondered what a "sexy" series written by a 14 year old boy who's only ever seen a bit of scrambled softcore porn on late-night cable would be like, this is the show for you - Somehow feels more sexist and racist than the show from the '60s - Seriously, the POC characters mostly exist to fill seats on the bridge; the women constantly have to undress themselves - Hellooooo, Bush II-era political analogies - Scott Bakula is a good actor but you wouldn't know it from this series - In season 3, they add a tambourine beat to Faith of the Heart and ruin it

Discovery: Advantages: + Noticed the lack of queer characters in the first 50 years of Star Trek canon and decided to make up for lost time + Seriously, the "Bury Your Gays" tally for this series is like...negative two + Just incredible representation in general + Some really good science fiction plots, particularly in later series + Some really fun, memorable characters + It's still running, so it has an active fandom on Tumblr Disadvantages: - Makes Elon Musk out to be one of the great visionary geniuses of history - Not really representative of Star Trek as a whole - The series swerves wildly in tone because of constant, behind-the-scenes churn in the writers' room - Offputtingly grimdark first season - Let's be honest, none of the season-long arcs have actually had satisfying conclusions - Half the cast feels like it's just there for exposition and to be killed for cheap drama

Picard: Advantages: + Has the best dramatic acting of any Star Trek series by a fair margin + Has the best musical score of any Star Trek series + Introduces a whole crew of fascinating new characters + Introduces all kinds of fascinating transhumanist concepts + AGNES. JURATI. Disadvantages: - You know all of those fascinating new characters that I mentioned? Yeah, it unceremoniously gets rid of all of them to bring back the old TNG gang. - You know that all of those fascinating transhumanist concepts that I mentioned? Yeah, it gets rid of those too so that to give us some generic action - Oh my god, someone teach the set designers to operate a fucking light switch - Grimdark - Nossssstalgia - Each season is basically unrelated to every other season - Depends so heavily on TNG that its final season is basically unwatchable if you haven't already seen a 30-year-old TV series

Lower Decks: Advantages: + It has probably the most efficient storytelling that I've ever seen; seriously, it's incredible how much it can fit into a half hour episode + It has a bunch of delightful, archetypical characters you get to know and love + You like hanging out with these people + The ship is kind of crap and you will learn to love it that way. + Basically a sitcom version of TNG. + Has a big fandom on Tumblr Disadvantages: - The art style is pretty Rick & Morty-ish - It takes most of its first season to really strike a good balance between being a sitcom and being a Star Trek series - The main character, Mariner, is kind of unlikable for the first season or so (she gets better) - Lots of callbacks to other series (though always either incidental or clearly explained) - Given that it's the first Star Trek sitcom, the comedy is honestly kinda the weakest part? Subjective I know.

Prodigy: Advantages: + Absolutely gorgeous to look at; the most visually stunning Star Trek by quite a ways + Lots of fun new characters on a cool ship + Gives you clear on-boarding notes to the Star Trek franchise if you're watching it for the first time + Can be watched on its own, but also works as a direct sequel to Voyager and a prequel to Picard (making both of them retoractively better, in fact) + Kind of like the Clone Wars or Rebels of the Star Trek universe, I guess? + Found family in space! The next generation! + Soon to be running on Netflix, so if you already have a Netflix subscription, you don't need to pay for another service + Written for a younger audience. Not necessarily an advantage, but nice if you happen to like family friendly animation or YA. Disadvantages: - *sigh* You basically need to pirate it. Thanks, Paramount. - Has a second season that we may or may not ever actually get to see even through piracy. Thanks, Paramount. - Isn't airing on the same streaming service as all of the other ones. Thanks, Paramount

Strange New Worlds: Advantages: + Basically what the original series would be if it were released today, rather than 57 years ago; all of the cool, socially consciousness sci-fi adventure, none of the weird 60s sexism + Fun, awesome characters you get to like spending time with right away + Incredible visuals + Nifty sci-fi concepts, mostly without the 90s-style technobabble Disadvantages: - A huge cast with only ten episodes a season, so many of them feel underdeveloped - Unfortunately, a bunch of its characters are younger versions of the characters from The Original Series, and they hog most of the spotlight; and the characters whose futures aren't locked in stone are kind of treated as disposable - In general, it needs to spend less time being a prequel, and more time being its own thing - "What if Starfleet ran into the Xenomorphs from Alien?" "Well, they'd probably kill them." "Okay, let's spend several episodes on this."

#star trek #tos #tng #ds9 #voy #ent #tas #dsc #pic #lwd #pro #snw

[worldsover]

link in bio top 0.1% creator ft. Jiheon

length ✦ 7.6k

genres ✧ sex toys; lazy sex; cockwarming; camgirl!Jiheon

(sequel to [PPV] BG SEX...mp4; for @co-reborn)

✦✧✦✧✦✧

“So, how do you think it came out?” Jiheon asks. She’s in your lap as you sit on the couch.

You take a second to process the words, with Jiheon interrupting the review of the footage. All that’s in your brain is the delightful sight of her deep in pleasure while you fucked her from behind, as well as the delightful feel of her thighs squishing under your fingers right now—you love the way your touch can make her giggle.

“I think it’s a good start,” you say. “Once you get a better set up, I think it’ll be even better.”

In your mind, it’ll only be better when your cock is buried in her again, not just nested between her ass cheeks as they are now. 

Things unfortunately don’t get better as Jiheon leaves the warmth of your embrace. Turns out your judgment was flawed, however, when she ties her hair into a messy ponytail and gets on her knees between your spread legs.

She looks up and smiles. “Now for your payment, Daddy.”

You grab the phone.

This one will be on camera.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

"Holy shit. Fifty thousand dollars." Jiheon is scanning the financial dashboard; her channel, creamandheonni, has blown up, and it's only been three weeks, having only posted the sex scene, a quick blowjob, and a few flirtatious pictures. Your understanding of this new porn paradigm is tangential at best, through surface-level conversations with fellow actors who had this much more lucrative side hustle; you're aware regardless that Jiheon's frankly absurd growth can be attributed to her filling a niche, a rare intersection of natural prettiness and genuine enthusiasm.

"That's great news." From behind, you pull Jiheon into your arms. You were content with your life, or maybe just unwilling to diverge from the routine of mediocrity. You kiss the top of her head and bury your nose in her sweet-smelling hair, only tinged with pink as it'll soon fade back to black—more and more now, you want to entirely eschew routine. "You're going to be so successful," you say.

She's still scrolling through the dashboard, checking out her comments and likes, though she makes herself comfortable by leaning into your neck and humming. "Should I move out now?" Jiheon asks. "I mean, this place is a little cramped, and you have a nice house, right?"

Your fingers rake the ends of her hair. Deep breaths, your nose catches coconut, honey, a bit of jasmine. As Jiheon settles into your torso, her silky hair makes your neck feel fuzzy. You consider your next words carefully.

"If you want… you can move in with me while you look for a better apartment. No hurry, okay?"

There are people whose eyes you look into, deeply, yet feel nothing—for one, everybody you work with in a porn studio. However, Jiheon is not one of these people. She tilts her head back to look at you, and your heart trips on a bump on the floor and it bumps. Her fake blue lenses make her wide eyes shimmer like calm waves in a summer sea, or a cool drink on that same balmy day. 

"You'd really let me stay with you? Are you sure?"

Hold her tighter; she coos. "Yes," you say, more confident now. "And if you need a partner for any more videos..."

"I was just gonna ask that," she says with a sly grin. She turns around, straddles your lap, and puts her arms around your neck. "So you don't mind me moving in?"

"Not at all."

Jiheon kisses you, her lips soft and plump against yours. She starts to grind into your lap, your cock hardening under her ass.

"And you really, really don't mind helping me film?"

You laugh. "Whatever you need, baby."

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Whatever she needs. Apparently, it's much, and you're unsure how she fit her life in that shoebox.

As if she's always lived here, Jiheon has taken up half your house. Your fridge isn't a textbook example of a single male's diet anymore, gaining a whole variety of side dishes inside and its door now plastered with notes—mostly advertisements for new restaurants to try, though occasionally something more sentimental. Your bathroom has turned into a storage closet, filled with all kinds of self-care items, nail polishes, and beauty masks. You even come home one evening to find a pink coffee machine sitting pretty on your countertop. She's managed to snatch up your master bedroom, relegating you into your guest bedroom, a quaint empty room now home to a vanity with lights. But that did not bother you, because you sleep together most days, and now you sleep a lot better, and wake up much earlier, with Jiheon wrapped around you every day.

The title of the film is Jiheon Fucks Her Landlord For Rent, and you don't need the script. Read it thirty times already. It's true that you're being exploited for money, but consider this: Whatever. This is top-shelf content you're having the pleasure of starring in, even if it's something like unpaid overtime. You come home from shoots to Jiheon sprawled naked on the bed, and your job cannot compare. With her petite ass out and her laptop open in front of her, she picks out songs to listen to while she edits clips to put up for sale. Then she would pounce on you, pushing you onto the mattress and riding you until you're both spent, and you would only hope she remembered to put a camera somewhere.

There is one fundamental problem for you, though—she is a fucking monster when it comes to fucking, and that's why, no matter how many times you fuck her, no matter how much cum you deposit inside her, no matter how tired you are, she always wants more.

Tonight is no exception. She saunters up to you while you're watching television, plops herself down right into your lap, and wiggles her ass over your crotch, a position that's become domestic.

"Hey," she murmurs, her arms around your neck, "whatcha watching?"

Not even a token effort to lean to the side so that you can keep watching. You shrug as your hands land on her back. "Not sure. Some sport. Volleyball. Tennis?"

Jiheon leans forward to nibble your ear. "Doesn't sound exciting. How about we do something more exciting?"

Your hands end up moving down to cup her ass—inevitable. "Mm, yeah? What'd you have in mind, baby girl?"

She grinds into your dick, hardening in haste. Jiheon pulls back to smirk at you, her eyes dark. "I was thinking… hmm, maybe Daddy could film me getting railed?"

"You just want enough money to buy a new toy," you say, laughing. Jiheon has accumulated quite the collection ever since setting up her OnlyFans, and you're still working out how to handle taxes and expenses with all that.

"Guilty," she chirps, pecking your lips. "But c'mon. I'll make it worth your while."

"Jiheon, today I had sex with three girls. Three." Your voice is as blank as your expression. "They were all just like you, new to porn. What more do you think I'd want?"

You're trying to tease her, and indeed, she sticks her bottom lip out. But there's genuine exhaustion there because as stated, three girls. Unstated is the hours standing around, waiting for them to get ready, ultimately ending in a sickeningly faux excitement

Jiheon stares into you. "Maybe you'd like spitroasting me? I've been talking to one of your porn dude friends about it."

You perk up. The image of Jiheon's face distorted, tears flowing down her cheeks, with two, maybe three dicks in her, is an enticing one.

Then you scratch your head. "Sorry, wait, 'porn dude friends'?"

"Yeah, your coworkers, you said you only like a few of them. And I talked to one of them and we've been coming up with a video idea."

As usual, you can never guess where she would be headed next. "Well, now you have me curious as to who."

She crosses her arms. "Mmm. Maybe I'll tell you after you fuck me."

You slouch. "Jiheon, I'm serious. I'm exhausted."

"You're shooting four scenes today," Jiheon says, sternly, and with her directorial tone, maybe she does have a career behind the camera too. "Trust me. We can do something relaxing. You know, nice and slow, maybe use this new toy I got. You don't have to pound me like rice flour into mochi. Or like some random girl who's gonna wash out of the porn industry after five scenes."

You counter, "You did in one."

Her lips tugging at a smile again, Jiheon slaps your chest. "Shut up, you know what I meant. Anyway, I'm just trying to suggest something new here. You can stay completely still inside me, and film me cumming over and over while I keep the new vibrator on me."

You close your mouth tight. The only thing your penis ever has to say about the topic: the more, the better; it says this in hardness. Jiheon giggles, knowing she's already convinced you.

"Besides, you could get some practice, lasting longer, without the pills," she says. "And then there's the whole thing about 'getting to cum inside the tightest pussy you've ever felt after years of being a porn star, honestly' but maybe you're taking that for granted now. Hmph." You'll never understand how she can look so cute while saying such immodest things, but Jiheon's pouting is undeniable. "I'm seriously excited about the vibrator though," she adds in that same breath.

However, you turn up your nose. A few spanks to Jiheon's ass, and you say, "And here I thought you only needed your Daddy to fuck you."

"Well, apparently Daddy is busy all day fucking three girls, so he's all tired by the time he gets home." She pouts, leans over, bedroom eyes, and whispers, right into your lips, "I have needs too, you know. Can't you take care of me properly?"

"Fine, fine. Let me shower first, you kinky little..." You trail off, searching for the right insult.

"Slut? Whore? Addict for Daddy's cock?" she supplies as she weighs down into your lap. "You're not going anywhere. I want your cock all sweaty and musky and used by some other girls."

"Alright, I get it," you say, peeling Jiheon off your thighs. "You're a kinky little slut whore addict for my cock. Let me at least get the cameras."

Jiheon grins, giving your cheek a kiss as you stand up. "Can't wait."

She runs back to her room to change clothes, finding a few things, a cock ring, an adorable thin black choker, and the newest addition—a blue bullet vibrator. You consider sneaking to the shower anyway, though before you make up your mind, she returns to the living room, setting up her laptop.

You've already prepared the three cameras, including a POV camera as well as the microphones, and you return seated to the couch. She checks all the lighting ("Natural but nice, not too bright," she said, giving her a leg up on most studio directors), the framing of each shot, while skimpy black underwear hugs her tight ass. How did Jiheon become such a detail-oriented person? This certainly doesn't seem like the same girl who was cum drunk in your lap after her debut scene. But you know how these amateur scenes always end—the sort of mess that makes a viewer need to watch the whole way through.

Jiheon starts the scene in earnest as she often does: one clap to mark the scene, then she shows off her outfit, this time a pink crop top and a black thong. She takes off her clothes slowly, then she cups her breasts, her nipples hardening under her touch. Jiheon finds her own delicate touch inadequate, desperate to pinch at the delicate pink buds under her top, and she moans quietly in response—moans grow louder with her other hand between her thighs, digits toying with her slit through the underwear. She's already soaked. The familiar shape of her pussy lips reacquaints itself with the light. It's where the theater would applaud. As she pulls away, licks her fingers clean, Jiheon lets out a little whine. You know it's genuine because you see her lips turn downwards for a split second, pouting at her self-induced lack of touch.

Composing herself, her big smile returns, and she gets down on her knees to crawl: destination—camera A to the side of the couch, pointing toward the center of the living room. Though you're not the target on the tripod, your view is pretty great. Jiheon's back is arched, her chest low, and her pert ass jiggles subtly with each step. Your eyes are glued to that edible little treat, and your hands are itching to grope and squeeze, but you resist. Jiheon is much more of a natural at this than you—when she reaches her destination, she gives the lens a kiss, then turns around, showing off her ass and wiggling her hips.

"Cut." She repositions the camera to face you on the couch, then she claps. Despite the clear marker, and though you know all this 4K 60FPS footage is going to make your new server room in the basement whine, you keep recording. Jiheon has a history of going off-script.

One example: she has two perfectly good feet, yet she's crawling back over to you, and before you can say anything, she's already got her lips against yours. Jiheon kisses you passionately, her tongue running along your lower lip and making you groan. It's the sort of footage you can put in a bonus reel. 

She points out the cock ring and the vibrator on the table."We can start with the POV camera. Show off putting the vibrator on me and the cock ring on you. Then camera B for the penetration, and camera A for the full body." Then she's back to kissing, sitting on your thigh, and did you always have a Pavlovian response to directorial whisper or did she instigate that is a new question.

Jiheon picks up the vibrator, turning it on as you position the camera on your shoulder. Her head is down as she fiddles with the settings, and you take the opportunity to cup her breasts. Jiheon lets out a moan, a low sudden noise, looking up at you with a mischievous glint in her eyes. She turns around, places her legs over yours, and pulls down her thong.

"Daddy, can you help me put this on? I'll suck you off as thanks," she says, her voice sweet as sugar.

You take the toy from her hands and press it against her wet entrance. Wetter now. She shudders and whimpers. Her thighs tense. When you turn it on, the toy buzzes against her clit and she lets out a heavy groan, what a symphonic cacophony. You tease her folds for a moment, circling the toy around before pushing it inside. The small thing disappears completely within Jiheon's cunt. You attach the blue wire coming out of her cunt to a strap around her thigh, then you play with the vibrator's settings on your phone, making Jiheon squirm.

"Oh, Daddy, fuck." Jiheon's legs clamp together, trapping your hand between her thighs, but it's only the second-best trap inside something greedy; your cock's becoming jealous of the vibrator inside her. 

Riding your palm and fingers, she rocks her hips back and forth, her back arches, and her adorable tits sway enough to get your mouth watering. She leans back against you, her hands gripping your arm.

"Fuck, you're so good at this. So good at getting me off." Jiheon turns around, her lips brushing against your ear.

You would attribute most of it to the machine doing work inside of her, but you don't want to ruin her video, so you simply kiss her neck, sucking on her soft skin. You can't ever get your lips off of each other's bodies. Her taste, a little sweat, a little heat, is not just a once-in-a-while dessert anymore—it's rice; it's water; nipping at her flesh is a staple, a daily need.

Jiheon sighs and purrs and grinds harder when your cock hardens against her ass. Your hand speeds up, trying to keep up with her hips, and you hold down a groan. You know the character you're supposed to play, played it plenty of times before. The silent catalyst, the tabula rasa, the self-insert.

It's easy to avoid stealing undue focus from the true star. Jiheon needs no help at center stage: the camera and her are lifelong acquaintances, already friends, lovers, married, divorced. With subtle expressions and not-so-subtle wails, she's an actress at heart.

In the backdrop, on the inside, the vibration toying with Jiheon's pussy stays constant. Even as the scene rapidly evolves—bodies shifting, her back arching like a violin, your hands plucking at her strings—the small toy is still consistent and patient. Its mechanical insistence is punctuated by erratic wet sounds, and you harken back to the trial and error you've gone through with microphones, trying to find a balance of quality and durability. Well, water resistance.

Jiheon wrestles some control of her arms, grabbing the hem of her pink crop top and pulling it over her head. The sight of her perky breasts has your tip leaking precum onto her already-drenched underwear. 

But there is no contesting who's closer to the brink of climax. Her panting increases in frequency, her thighs crush your hand in its soft wet prison, her movements get faster, her breathing becomes heavier, her muscles tense up, and her entire body shudders. It's like it's all happening in slow motion, each second drawn out longer and longer, and you watch intently, unable to tear your eyes away from her orgasm.

You push the toy deeper inside, and she squeals, vibrations reaching the most sensitive spot inside her. Her inner walls begin their spasming, and the increased urgency of Jiheon's grinding makes that more than apparent. Her desire spikes, sharp, hard, to her own breaking point. Between clenched teeth, her words come out stuttered, a fractured melody.

"Fuck, fuck. Please, close, cumming, please... so, fucking, good, fuck."

Jiheon's face twists as she screams out and throws her head back. Her orgasm rushes through her—the first of many to come, you're well aware. She pulls you closer, nails digging into your arm, and shakes into your chest. Her nectar gushes out, ruins her panties, cascades down, overflows, drips onto your wrist and cock and thighs, dribbles down her legs, and you can hear dripping onto the floor and only hope the camera picks up the puddle below.

Eventually, her back crashes down onto you as her eyes flutter, staring off at nothing. You, meanwhile, can only admire your handiwork, naked, her breasts heaving as she struggles to catch her breath, her cheeks flushed, her eyes wide. She lets out tiny mewls, her tongue occasionally darting out to lick her lips.

Anyone else would be done. Jiheon is still hungry and needs more.

She takes a few deep breaths before turning around and looking at you. "I think you deserve your reward now." 

Jiheon grabs the cock ring off the table and slides off your lap. She positions herself between your legs, staring up at you with big eyes, then her tongue flicks across the tip of your dick, and you sigh. She's teasing you; are you happy, or are you frustrated, or are you shifting back and forth? Her hands cup your balls to massage them slowly. Jiheon presses her lips against your shaft, leaving wet kisses all over your cock. It's pleasure and torture, the slow pace that she's going.

A look of realization, she gestures for you to stop the vibrator.

"Wait a minute," she says, frowning, as she pushes the silicone ring on your cockhead, "you're too hard to put this on. Won't fit. Why do you have to be so big, Daddy?"

The two of you laugh. "You know, you saying that won't help."

Jiheon pouts, leaning forward. She gives your cock another kiss, her tongue slipping out and licking at your head. You groan, and she wraps her lips around you, sucking gently. Jiheon's mouth feels so warm and wet, and she's bobbing her head up and down your cock, taking more and more of you each time.

"Alright. After you cum inside me the first time and get soft, we can put it on."

The first time is an inaccurate assessment. That'll be your fourth orgasm of the day. She's going to milk you dry. You watch her take you deeper, her tongue swirling around your cock. You hear her gag as she pushes further, her lips brushing against your pelvis. She's going to milk you dry; send your complaints to her throat—it's the only place Jiheon's going to listen. Your hips buck forward, your hand grabs the back of her head, and you bury your cock completely in her mouth.

She's a mess. Tears streaming down her face, her makeup smeared, and a dazed expression, it's almost like she isn't fully present. Jiheon pulls back, coughing and spluttering, spit and precum dribbling down her chin. She's a mess; why bother cleaning at all, wiping her face, when she knows she'll just be covered again? At most, she licks her lips clean, and you're not sure it has anything to do with being clean. Her hand wrapped around your cock, Jiheon smiles while jerking you off slowly.

"God, your dick is so yummy. Even after you've fucked so many other girls today, you still taste so good. Or maybe it's because you fucked them? Mmm, whose pussy am I eating right now, Daddy?"

Her words are poison, hypnotic, said with the sincerity of a saint. She leans forward again, recapturing your tip. Jiheon sucks, her cheeks hollowing as she looks up at you, eyes watering, yet unbothered by it. Once more, she pulls away, and now the saliva running down her chin drips down onto her tits. You reach down to smear the mess across her chest, then you smear the sticky bead of semen on your slit across her lips; she accepts happily.

You brush your thumb against her cheek. "You're so good at sucking my cock, baby girl."

Jiheon preens under your praise, pressing her face against your hand, and her tongue darts out to lick your palm, her eyes never leaving yours—well, the camera, but close enough. Her tiny fingers continue their work on your cock, rubbing it against her cheeks; they squish like mochi against your tip. 

In her own world, she's playing like a pet, and your cock's her favorite toy, but soon enough, she refocuses. When Jiheon mouths "vibrator," you comply, turning it back on. The buzzing grows louder as you turn the setting up, making her squirm.

"Can't believe you want more," you grunt. Your thumb hooks into her mouth, prying her lips open. "You're so fucking spoiled."

Her tongue swirls around your thumb, her eyes closing, and she lets out a muffled moan.

"I know, mmh, I know, Daddy, thank you."

Jiheon sits back on her heels, moaning as she fingers herself and relishes in the toy's vibrations while leaving your cock between your lips. She repeatedly moans and hums out "thank you" against the tip of your cock, making messy bubbles of spit and precum. You go back to well-established techniques of holding back your orgasm, tensing up muscles, and looking away, while Jiheon has her own second climax swelling forth. However, try as you might, the sound of the vibrator pulls you back in, and you end up focusing on Jiheon's body as it quivers, her face as it contorts, her open mouth as she comes undone once more, her juices soaking her fingers.

Knees shaking, she clambers back up onto the couch, straddling your lap. You can empathize with how she's withering, her limbs jello; your arms are tired too, the POV camera still on your shoulder, and your cock is achingly hard and ready for its release. However, her boundless energy returns soon, and that right there is the problem/perk of working with Jiheon—she doesn't know when to stop.

She presses her body against yours, burying her face against the nape of your neck. "Please, Daddy, I need you inside me. I'm so wet right now," she whines, looking up at you with puppy dog eyes. "Please?"

You chuckle, grabbing her hair and pulling her towards you. Jiheon moans as you slide her across your lap. You rub your dick against her thighs, against her pussy lips—from which a thin blue cord exits—and then she rolls her hips forward, eager as ever. Your tip drags against her clit a couple of times, and Jiheon whimpers, her cunt clenching at the small vibrator inside, desperate to be filled.

"Fuck, please," she says again, gasping. "Please Daddy, inside, in, in... my pussy's so, so needy, please. I promise, it'll be so, so good. You'll be so, so full inside me."

You try your best to restrain your own voice—as always, her pussy feels so warm and tight around your shaft, and her walls clench around you; however, this time, you feel the odd sensation of the vibrator against your cock, her pussy an even more snug fit for you. She lets out many whimpers as she writhes above you, though eventually, she sits still and adjusts to your size and the novel vibrations against her womb. When she opens her eyes, they shine with tears as she sniffles.

"This feels, oh, god, so good, Daddy." Jiheon's voice is barely above a whisper, her breath hot against your skin. "Mnh, just stay like this."

You and Jiheon fight the same battle, the urge not to move at all. Nestled close together, pleasure washes over you at its own accord. Try your hardest, but the reality is that one of you must succumb, and the next will follow suit. 

Every minute or so, she shifts and fidgets, or your cock twitches, its desires well known: to piston Jiheon's tight body up and down your length. Despite the soreness from your previous orgasms, every bit of self-restraint is necessary. The warmth of her cunt, the light panting into your ear, the vibrations resonating along your whole length—it exceeds the effects of any pill. All this effort to exert no effort.

Jiheon lets out an incoherent whine, probably about your throbbing cock's growing hardness, or its leaking precum. No matter how hard she tries, she shivers and squirms in your lap, her needy cunt too impatient. 

This very impatience gets her in trouble. Right now, her face twists, lips twitching to a frown while little pleasured sighs and groans escape. How sensitive and on edge she must be. This very impatience got her a career.

Jiheon closes her eyes tight, as though that'll distract her from the persistent toy or your throbbing cock inside her. Her legs wrap around your waist, her heels digging into your back, and she settles down onto your cock further. Whisper-subtle motions, they're more reflexive than a reaction. It's a miracle that Jiheon isn't bouncing on your shaft. You know your fellow star too well. She would love nothing more than to ride your cock right now, to make a mess of your lap again, to stuff and unstuff her tight cunt full of you, to milk you dry again—but she made a promise. She must wait. With her jaw unhinging, wide, only the whites of her eyes there, this seems the hardest thing she's done in her life.

This is the hardest in yours. Sweat-filled photoshoots, keeping yourself erect during a gangbang, even working through flus are nothing in comparison. The seconds tick by, both seemingly endless and insignificant, and you wait, and wait, and wait.

Jiheon's heart beats against your chest, tits pressed into you, and you keep her steady with a palm on her sweaty back. Her head drops onto your shoulder and her hair tickles your neck and her warm exhalations send shivers down your spine. It's hard to tell where your bodies separate, how much is you and how much is her. You melt into each other, one being, joined together by heat and time and pressure. With this vibrator inside, time withers away Jiheon's endurance. While you're teetering on an unstable edge, you're not surprised that she slips before you.

One small change, one little sigh, her face eases out its tension, lips parting, and before you realize it, she's moving. Lazily, sure, yet unmistakably. Jiheon moves her palms, slides up her thighs, caresses her flat midriff, caresses her pert breasts, pinches her hardened pink nipples.

You're getting dizzy, your vision blurring as Jiheon's walls begin suffocating your numb shaft.

"C-cum, s-soon, Daddy," she stammers, her words coming out in between shaky breaths, and hearing her voice soothes you, somehow; the sound of Jiheon speaking reminds you that you're not just in some dizzying endless vibrating cockwarming dream-fall-flight-story-recording— "Oh, fuh, fuck."

"Go," you murmur into her ear. "Cum. For me."

Despite the delirium, the agonizing climb to the top of the rollercoaster, Jiheon manages to look into the side camera. With the perfect image of her mouth open and her eyes rolling, you realize you're not a professional compared to this woman. Was that all an act? Regardless, you're lucky to be here, to witness her, to be a part of this. She's gorgeous, and she's coming apart at the seams, all around your cock, a mere happy bystander, or maybe instrument is more apt.

The vibe makes Jiheon spasm at first, and then she growls out a groan as her toes curl and her fingers squeeze, thighs completely clenching around you. Her pussy spasms and squirts around your cock. Her ass shifts upward, and she fucks down against your length, grinding your sensitive cock against her vibrator. You make sure the POV camera is trained on her face, blissed out as it is, her lips parting for moans.

Jiheon leaks all over you while her hips roll to and fro aimlessly. After she lets out a long hum of contentment, she dips her head into your shoulder and inhales deeply.

"Did you cum inside me?" she asks quietly.

You shake your head.

She scoffs. "You really are spent. Tsk. I might just have to fuck that out of you." She raises her hips, and immediately, her face contorts. "S-sensitive. Never mind. Oh, fuck, lower, lower it, vibrator."

"Yup," you chuckle, reaching for your phone, and Jiheon collapses into you, her body twitching.

You grab her midriff to pull her off, but she stops you. "No, no, stay. Stay, I'll keep warming your cock, Daddy."

Smiling, you kiss her temple.

"Thank you." Jiheon adjusts her position, moving her feet up onto the couch, trying to get as comfortable as possible—as comfy as can be with the tenderness of yet another climax, with your cock still inside her, with the vibrator still going at its lowest setting. You grab her ankles, spread her legs apart, and massage her thighs; happy, she hums, locks eyes.

You hold her close to you while your eyes wander over her facial features. Jiheon's lips and cheeks are flushed red, sweat drips down her neck, hair a complete mess, and there's a shimmer in her gaze. Hard not to get lost in such vivid blue pools—the lenses suit her well.

It's cinematic. It all happens in slow motion. You should've trusted the directorial vision. She leans forward, her forehead brushing against yours. You connect lips, then your tongues seek each other's mouths, while her fingers rake your back. Maybe Jiheon is finally learning to take things slow, taking her time as she kisses you gingerly, languid movements of her mouth, and soon her lips stay pressed against your throat.

She's panting against your skin, her body warm against yours. "Mm, feels good."

"Yeah?"

Jiheon nods, her tongue circling around your Adam's apple. She nibbles at your neck, making you groan.

"But, Daddy," she says as she sucks hard, bites down on your flesh, and leaves her mark on you, "I need you to breed me. I can cum around your cock again if you need that too. If my pussy with a vibrator isn't good enough."

"It's definitely good, baby. It's not just me. I'm honestly afraid I'll break you if I thrust." Your hands wander to her ass, groping her soft flesh and spreading her cheeks apart. With all these overwhelming sensations, you focus on kneading her soft skin, and she wiggles her ass, looking down at you.

You don't know what set you off. It's the sound Jiheon makes when you firmly sink your digits into her butt, a whimper, then a needy moan; it's the heat surrounding your still erect dick; it's the low rumble from the toy's vibrations, reverberating through your entire cock; it's her lips against your neck, pressing kisses into your pulse point; and it's that glacier-melting smile as Jiheon looks up, delirious and satisfied. You love it, and you love her, and you love the noise Jiheon makes when you turn up the vibrator with a swipe of a finger; you love feeling her tense up as you grab her ankles to place them on your shoulders; and you love her teeth biting down hard when your hips rut up into her cunt on reflex—years of porn experience telling you to fucking piston every woman on camera like machinery. 

She looks up at you, her eyes hooded, and then the damn smile again; how can a woman go from completely disheveled to such an angelic expression within seconds?

"Break you." You're out of breath, but doing it, breaking. Whether it's her or you, something must. You can feel it—at your wit's end.

Whatever energy stored inside Jiheon floods out as she's consumed in her second orgasm. She stops trembling and drops her legs down, yet you don't relent, totally fucking her through her high. Pound away (bring out the wooden mallets). The more Jiheon writhes around you, the more she pushes you over. Her cunt is slick and quivering, her girl cum drips down your shaft, and when she cries out for you, her whimpers quickly give way to screams. Make do with your ending.

With a hard shove and the encouragement of a whirring vibrator against your shaft, you cum how a drunk drives his vehicle: hazardously, sloppily, careening. Slumped forward against Jiheon, you thrust wildly, hips jutting as spurt after spurt spills inside. A mindless haze comes over you as you ride out this climax to the crash against the wall, and you're only vaguely aware of your arms and thighs burning, your heart beating faster and faster and faster. It's a fucking mess inside of Jiheon, and it's quickly a mess outside, warm viscous cum frothing out and bubbling at her lips, coating her thighs, dropping onto the cushions. You continue to move, a dying animal, muscles firing with no signal. Through this, Jiheon is getting rawed so rough she has tears forming, sniffling through every "please, give me everything, Daddy" and "want all your cum". Forget your previous orgasms today; Jiheon's greedy pussy has you pulsing shots of semen over and over like you never made a career of it. The vibrator continues to buzz loudly against her soft walls, your throbbing and aching cock, not giving up just because it's been submerged under a Neptune of cum.

Hazy, and your body a bundle of nerves, overstimulated, overworked, you try to push Jiheon off of you—she takes a handful of spilled seed from under her legs before they latch around your torso.

She looks at the camera to the side and licks her cupped palm. You can tell every single motion for her is agonizing, the toy still going at it—you sympathize as you realize you're still issuing weak bursts, so you take your phone to the side and turn the intensity down.

Jiheon breathes out shakily, closes her eyes momentarily, then focuses on regaining her bearings, on your warm sticky cum shooting into her deepest. When she's gotten enough brainpower back, she holds your face with both her hands, making you look up at her and kiss her pouty lips, where you taste yourself and Jiheon's sweet juices.

"I've got a few more in me," Jiheon says.

You're gasping and wheezing for air. "I guess... I guess I'll just fucking pass out and you can use my cock or whatever."

"Hold on, you forgot something." Keeping your cock inside her ass she turns around, Jiheon reaches for the cock ring on the table. Facing the camera B as she leans back against your chest, she finally addresses the camera that was behind her: "Daddy says he's done, but I know he's got so much more for me."

For once, you feel freedom.  The vibrator falling out, Jiheon slowly unsheathes your soft and spent cock from her cunt, which absolutely drips with your creampie—thick ropey cum clinging and breaking onto your crotch, her legs, the couch, and the floor—and now your flaccid member just lays against her sloppy lips.

"I know my pussy makes a great cock ring but…" She holds the cock ring up to the camera, showing it off, no doubt with a smile.

With an almost clinical detachment, Jiheon swiftly attaches the cock ring onto your slick shaft, an action even more devoid of romance and eroticism than switching one sex toy to another, to be honest. After clasping the cock ring on the base of your cock, she brings the cum-covered vibrator to her lips, licking you off your fluids that stuck to its surface. She hums and moans as she takes in every drop, sucking it clean.

She weighs into your chest, easing you to lay onto your back. Jiheon places your cock in between her thighs, nestling her slit along your shaft, then supports herself half-sitting up by putting two hands on the couch. You hiss as Jiheon rocks her hips back and forth, her pussy lips giving way and sliding against your soft and sensitive dick, her ass rubbing against your thighs. She takes a moment and spreads her legs to reach between them; you can't see, but then you feel the vibrator pressing against your balls, and you let out an embarrassing groan. Jiheon giggles as she looks down at you, amused.

"You sound so good, Daddy. Let's keep filming, alright?" Jiheon kisses your forehead.

"Mhm," you manage, swallowing thickly, throat dry. You're not sure how long your mind will last, but you'll at least keep your eyes open, trying your best not to fade out. Jiheon adjusts her position above you, squatting on the balls of her feet, knees together, her feet planted on the couch, and your cock sandwiched between her thighs. She's putting little pressure on you, yet your breath hitches.

Jiheon begins moving again: her hips sway back and forth, her pussy lips rub against your cock, and her ass bounces. As her pace gradually increases, her movements become more erratic while her gasping grows heavier. You can't do anything other than lay back and watch Jiheon riding your softness. She keeps pressing the vibrator against your balls, waves of pleasure coursing through you.

You thought it was over. That the video would end with a fade to black as you fade to black. However, by some miracle (which is a fair title to give to Jiheon), your erection returns, albeit weakly—yet she notices immediately, turns around to sit on your thighs, facing you again. She smirks, places the vibrator at the bottom of your belly, so you try your best to keep your face straight. Leaning forward and placing a hand against your chest, her nails dig into your skin. 

"Not so tired after all, hmm? You must really like my wet pussy rubbing against your cock, don't you, Daddy?"

A small part of you wants to die and join the rest of you already dead. There's no way you'll get through the night; you've never cummed this much in your life. Not even the fake semen tube dispenses this much. Jiheon is testing you and pushing you—but yet.

She positions her body against you again, her cunt pushing down against your length as it hardens slowly. And you can't help it, you find her body begging, enthralling. Thighs meet your sides. palms press against your chest. As Jiheon rubs up and down, your shaft finds itself either between her slick pussy lips or her asscheeks. She bucks when she feels the firm cock ring against her, squeals whenever the vibe brushes against her. You remember to put the vibrating toy back inside her, and Jiheon cries out.

"Oh my god! Shit!" At this point, she's dripping onto your cock, thick cream trailing down, living up to her username. "Fuck, yes, Daddy, fuck." She pants as you relax with your hands behind your head. "I fucking need you again, please. Cock, inside. Put it inside. Please, please, I don't care, how, how sore. Don't need to walk, or move, tomorrow, put cock, in, in."

She trembles above you, so desperate to stay upright. This view never gets old—it never can. As her orgasm rocks through her, Jiheon nearly loses her balance.

You know one way to keep her in place: your cock, now fully rigid, slips out from her slippery thighs, the perfect stand-in for support. Jiheon grabs your shaft, squeezing tightly, making sure you don't move as your tip presses against her cunt. Folding against your torso, you feel her pussy spasming around your cockhead. "Mmgh! Fuck!"

She slides her hips back and forth, trying to catch your length, and though her motions are stunted by jolts of ecstatic heat, she eventually finds home at the root of your shaft, ass against your crotch. You aren't moving—no need. The vibrator continues its whirring, and you can feel it going wild. But it's different now, as the constant stimulation now makes you painfully aware of your cock's rawness. Jiheon sits upright, arches her back, presses her hips down as she moans.

The position is killing you, your cock buried deep inside her, nestled safely between her slick walls—you don't feel safe. You're a prisoner. These are her walls; these are her rules; your cocks her's to do whatever she wants. Jiheon's hands ball into fists, her nails leaving small red crescents in her palms, as she tries to steady herself. Her eyes are shut tight, her teeth grit as she groans, her legs shaking as she continues to twitch, her entire body electrified. 

At some point, you're not sure when one of Jiheon's orgasms ends and the next one begins. Hell, you're not even sure if you're cumming at all, or if that's all the fluids from earlier sloshing around in her as you stir it up. Whether or not you've creampied Jiheon once or a dozen times, seed seeps out, even as you plug her pussy snug. You could pull out, any moment—no, you can't; stop lying. Your throbbing dick is trapped, trapped, trapped. A feeling of powerlessness, of vulnerability, of ultimate surrender washes over you, followed by a sense of unbridled gratification. Jiheon is overwhelming—and instead of seeking to overpower her, you want nothing more than to let her take all of you.

You're something. You're nothing. You're teetering on the edge between the two.

When Jiheon collapses, falling flat against you, you're certain you've passed out, maybe. Jiheon hums, kissing your shoulder, her chest rising and falling as she catches her breath. The vibrator will probably run out of battery. You should definitely take off this cock ring. Clean up. Clap (though roaring applause would be more fitting). Shut off the cameras before you end up filling up the server and losing your footage somehow.

You feel something, your eyes opening. At some point, Jiheon unhooked the cock ring and pulled the toy out of her pussy, and now she's just laying on top of you, hugging you tightly. She's breathing peacefully, her face buried against your neck.

You raise your arm. Resting your hand on Jiheon's head, you can feel her heartbeat, its quickened pace becoming calmer and calmer. She sighs, and you begin playing with her hair, fingers tangled in her long pink locks, and she seems to enjoy this as you hear a quiet moan escape her lips. Your other arm wraps around her waist, pulling her closer, and Jiheon presses herself against you.

The two of you stay like this, lying together silently. Eventually, Jiheon lifts her head, leaning forward, her face only a few inches away from yours.

"We should really shower and clean all this up," she whispers.

You shake your head. "Five more minutes."

Jiheon smiles before placing her head back on your shoulder.

You're going to need much more than five minutes. It's only fair that you procrastinate—when Jiheon can pay off your mortgage several times over, and she still hasn't looked for a new place. Might have something to do with that satisfied smile.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

AFF, AO3

Also extremely inspired by Jiho's scene in @ggidolsmuts' Part 12: Stud(y)ing - Oh My Girl.

#kpop smut #reader insert #male reader #fromis smut

[anisespice]

“ hate your boyfriend ” || tokyo rev.

two

synopsis: aw, your boyfriend hates when he’s around? good.

pairing: college!toman x gn!reader

warnings: mature language, toxic!toman, possessiveness, reader is sort of an enabler, implied cheating, slight angst for the partner (rip lol), open-ended, maybe a little unrealistic?? i think that’s it.

notes: there's just something about them knowing they're the shit & and can't nobody check them for it <333 i don't condone making your partner jealous/uncomfy in real life...but i be kicking my feet when it's in tokyorev lol hope you enjoy!

tagged: @fantasycantasy ( if you'd also like to be tagged in future works, feel free to join my taglist <333)

"Be nice." Famous last words spoken to your boyfriend before you went to greet MIKEY upon his arrival. You were having a little kickback at your place, and it only made sense that your closest friend got to be there as well, despite how they felt about one another.

It went well…for about five minutes.

Now, you stood between them as tensions arose, hands on your boyfriend’s chest to keep him pushed back while Mikey had no issue with fueling the fire, practically daring the bastard to swing first. It didn’t help that they’d drawn in a crowd, drunk instigators no doubt praying for a bloody brawl to liven up the once chill atmosphere. You don’t even know who started it, but you had a pretty good idea who was gonna finish it if things didn’t get under control.

“Aki, please, you promised you wouldn’t do this…”

“I didn't even do anything, he’s the one with the shitty attitude! Knew you shouldn't have invited him in the first place. And I'm sick of you always defending him, what exactly is this guy to you, [______]?"

Mikey kissed his teeth. “Such a nag. Can’t believe they have to fuck you-”

“Manjiro.” You hissed, sending him a warning glance.

He merely grinned, head tilted as he shamelessly cooed, “Yeah, angel?”

“The fuck you call them?” Aki pressed, taking a step closer. You planted your feet, preventing him from going any further. “Say it again, see what happens.”

Mikey shrugged, “Okay.” Leaning forward off the wall, he gently nudged your chin with his index finger, making you look directly in his eyes. “Yeah, angel?”

“You son of a—” Aki raised his fist, ready to swing; just what Mikey was hoping for. But, you were quick you latch onto the winding arm. No doubt he’d miss, then you’d have to explain why there’s a sandal-print on his face when he wakes up.

“He’s just kidding! Mikey has a, uh, crude sense of humor, always saying what’s on his mind at the wrong times. Never a dull moment.” You chuckled, nervously. “He didn’t mean anything by it…right?”

Sending him a pleading glance, Mikey remained unphased. The dark-haired gang leader eyed your boyfriend for a good, long minute. His dead eyes made the guy feel unsettled, especially since Mikey tended not to blink for periods of time. There were so many things he wanted to say at that moment, so many late night visits Aki knew nothing about—But, there’ll be plenty of opportunities for that later. He’ll play it cool. For now.

Mikey’s stare never wavered as his posture remained relaxed, his aura alone stunning the whole room to silence. The bystanders watched with bated breath. When the pools of obsidian refocused on you, he gave a reassuring wink. Aki didn’t take too kindly to that, stepping backward and taking you with him. The delinquent scoffed, but bit his tongue; he may have won the battle. But there's always the war.

With clenched teeth and a hollow smile, Mikey replied with a simple, “‘Course not. We’re all just friends here.”

Unbothered would be an understatement when describing how DRAKEN felt knowing how negatively your boyfriend felt toward him. Frankly, all he needed was a reason, and he'd happily knock the guy straight out of his shoes. But, for your sake, he remained...cordial.

He also pretended not to hear your little argument in the next room, feet propped up on the coffee table with his arms draped behind the couch, wearing an all too complacent grin knowing he was the subject matter. Again.

"Do you think I'm a fucking idiot!?" Your boyfriend exclaimed, frustrated. Draken couldn't help but snort, wanting so badly to answer the question for you with a fat yes. "I've seen the way he looks at you, we’ve all seen it, so don’t act like I’m the one with the problem!"

“Takeru, just calm down, there’s nothing going on between us-”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” The sound of something shattering, followed by your shriek, made the mechanic perk up in mild alarm; amusement no longer painted his face.

Alright, he thought. Here comes that reason.

It only took him a few strides to get to your bedroom door, nearly splitting the wood in two after he kicked it in. Startling the both of you, Draken’s first priority was to check on your well-being, scanning your person for any visible injury. Luckily, you just appeared to be shaken up a little. Once he was certain, the former blonde directed a hard look toward Takeru, then down at the lamp he just broke. Draken worked his jaw—He gifted you that lamp.

“Kenny…” you said, cautiously. You could sense his impending rage from mere inches away, and you knew your boyfriend would only keep poking the bear. And you’d be correct. “I-It was an accident. Things just got a little out of hand, that’s all-”

“The hell you still doing here, baldy? Thought I told you to-”

Draken chuckled, menacingly. Your partner fell silent, wondering what was so funny, while you just closed your eyes in defeat; you knew that sound meant nothing good. His gunmetal eyes leered down at the pitiful man, cracking his neck before he calmly spoke.

“So we’re just breakin’ shit now, huh. Alright. My fucking turn.”

“I thought you said you'd quit hanging out with him, [_____]! He’s nothing but trouble, have you forgotten he set my roommate’s car on fire?!”

“Tsk. He had it comin’.” Was BAJI’s response, digging through your snack cabinet for a bag of chips. Once he found them, he opened them and began munching away, a bored expression on his face. “Bastard almost ran over Patches, driving around like an asshole. But, he hangs out with you all day, so guess that checks out.”

Referring to one of the building’s stray cats that come around from time to time, you couldn’t help but snort, but you knew he was dead serious—Man doesn’t play about his furry friends.

“Who gives a shit about some stupid-?!” You quickly covered your boyfriend’s mouth before he said anything he’d regret. He wasn’t too pleased, but at least he’d get to keep his teeth.

You exhaled, then directed a frown at the ravenette. “Honestly, I wish you two would try to get along. I think you’d find that you really aren’t so different once you got to know one another.”

“Me? Getting to know that? Fat chance.”

Glaring, your boyfriend ripped away your hand. "Oh, like you're so easy to swallow?"

"Hm, your s/o thinks so."

"Keisuke!"

“The fuck’s that suppose to mean, gutter-trash?” Your boyfriend seethed, turning to you instantly and expecting an explanation. Your eyes were wide, and you waved your hands rapidly to deny the implication. “[_____], what is he talking about?!”

“N-Nothing! God, you always let him get under your skin so easily, Makoto. He’s just being a dick, that’s all…”

Your boyfriend didn’t look convinced in the slightest, brows tight with an upturned lip as he huffed in anger. You shrunk beneath his gaze, stuck without any bandaid words to fix it. Luckily, since Baji was in such a good mood, he decided to relent—It’s no fun when you’re the one suffering the consequences of his crassness. Finishing up the last of the chips, the arsonist crumpled up the bag and tossed it at dude’s face.

“Wha-!”

“Yeah, hot shot, don’t get your panties inna twist. I’m just messin’ with you. We cool?” Baji threw up a fist, fangs on display as he gave an unhinged grin. Makato flinched, but tried to play it off. With hesitancy, your boyfriend eyed the fist with contempt.

“Fuck you. And that ugly-ass cat.”

Probably wasn’t the best thing to say with a fist inches away from his face. Makoto might’ve hesitated; Baji didn’t. So much for getting to keep his teeth.

“You’re a freaking angel, thank you so much for doing this,” MITSUYA gushed, arms snaking around your middle in a warm hug the moment you stepped into the studio. Did he place his hands a little lower than necessary? Maybe.

You chuckled, returning the hug. “Y’know I’d never say no to a free meal."

He had called you for a favor to model a few of his latest designs, needing to make adjustments accordingly before presenting them at the end of the week. His usual canceled on him last minute, putting him in a really tight spot, and you just so happened to be the same size. By offering to buy you dinner for your troubles afterward, it was a win-win for everyone.

Your boyfriend, on the other hand, saw right through Mitsuya. Which was why he so eagerly volunteered to tag along. The lavender-haired designer eyed the guy from over your shoulder, disinterested. "Oh. Didn't know you were bringing him."

"Got a problem with that, Mitsy?"

"Hey now, no bickering you two.” You playfully warned, pulling back from the hug. You fixed Mitsuya an apologetic smile. “I hope it's not too much trouble that he’s here, though. I always tell him how fantastic your designs are, so I guess he wanted to see them for himself. Isn’t that right, Haji?”

Said third-wheel grinned sharply, arms crossed as he sarcastically replied, “Oh, yeah. Can’t wait to watch ya. Very closely.”

Mitsuya deadpanned. But, his brow lessened in weight at the feeling of you tugging on his shirt, pouting at him as your eyes practically dazzled him into compliance. “Please, can he stay?"

It didn't take much for him to cave. Whether you’re aware of it or not, you had the delinquent wrapped around your finger. He sighed, then reluctantly agreed. It’s worth seeing the bright smile on your face, and especially worth the look on Hajime's when you wrapped your arms back around him in gratitude. "Thanks, Taka!"

Mitsuya didn't bother masking the smug grin he shot at your boyfriend, watching him struggle to hold his temper. "Anything for you. But, I’m not paying for his meal."

© 2023-2024 anisespice ッ all rights reserved. likes, comments & reblogs much appreciated!

#🍁vanilla #part 2 mayhaps??? #idk mayhaps :/ #tokyorev #tokyo rev #tokyo revengers #tokyo rev angst #tokyo rev x reader #tokyorev x reader #mikey #draken #mitsuya #baji

[netherfeildren]

At the Restaurant

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: It’s three days til Christmas, and you’ve never known want like this, and his eyes are glossy with emotion and everything he won’t ever let himself tell you or anyone else, and you so badly want to tell him that it’s only that it’s hard to be casual when your favorite bra lives in his dresser, and also that you’re in love with him.

-OR-

the Christmas situationship AU

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Modern AU; Christmas fic; Angst; Fluff; Miscommunication; Emotionally unavailable idiots; But also idiots in love; Toxic relaationships; Situationship; There is nothing well adjusted about any of this pls don’t come into this house if that’s what you’re looking for; Trigger warning for man with an avoidant attachment style; Condolences to all my fellow victims of The Situationship; Size Difference; Unprotected Sex; Creampie; Oral Sex (F!Receiving); Frankly some pretty pathetic behavior; Girl stand UP; Fuckboy Din; Plan B and Delusion as a form of birth control; Pull and pray baby pull and pray; Possessive Behavior; Jealousy; Insecurity; Trigger warning for Right Where You Left Me by Taylor Swift references

A/N: Hello and welcome to my contribution to the holiday fic pool! This is not at all what I was planning as my holiday piece, but I woke up a few mornings ago and was just completely taken hold by this. Much love and thanks and gratitude and all the kisses in the world to my friend @f0rlornmyths for all the help on the idea and brainstorming and for the gorgeous edits she made for this little story. Mai baby, this is all for you, and I know it's not the Christmas gift I promised you, but I swear, one day that too will get written.

I’m wishing you all the happiest and most relaxing of holiday seasons. I think of you all constantly and wish you all the best always, and I hope you’re taking care of yourselves during this time ❣️🎄✨

Word Count: 8.2K

Read on AO3

He gets this sparkle in his eyes when the bar’s extra busy, cheeks flushed and curls damp with sweat and this shine that speaks; that tells of all the things he does that make a woman belong to him whenever he’s giving her his singular attention. Eyes that laugh and crinkle at the edges with happiness. Eyes that tell you how much he does or does not want you at that specific moment. And he’ll laugh and blind the room into seduction under the Christmas lights, and then he’ll turn, suddenly remembering you’re here for him, and look at you all serious-like, while you sip on your tequila soda, with two limes always because he knows that’s how you like it, and it’ll be a serious, cool look for just a second before it blooms into the best smile anyone’s surely ever had in all history, and you love him. 

It’s three days til Christmas, and you’ve never known want like this. You’ve never practiced restraint of this kind either. A restraint that suffocates and kills and could probably be taken as a form of self harm were you in a righter, more clear mind, but it’s the only thing you have left against him. Din. A control over yourself that falsely feeds you the illusion of power. You never call him. Never. Any interaction, any late night fuck, any time he comes over and comes inside you, it’s always, always because he calls you, he looks for you. You never beg, not with words at least, and you never text first and you never ask him if you can see him, and it’s the only way you tell yourself you maintain even a semblance of control. And at night, when you’re alone and it’s dark and you’ve only got the cat for some sad company, or you’re crying in bed because he hasn’t called, and you know he’s not at work and he’s obviously not at home, so he’s somewhere you don’t want him to be, that false sense of control that says you’re never the one reaching out, it’s always him coming around so surely that must mean something… it’s all you have at the end of it. 

He’s not your boyfriend. He never has been. And there’s always been that excuse you use to soothe yourself with of, well, we’ve never really talked about it, and he’s not really my boyfriend, so it doesn’t really matter. Does it? Doesn’t it? You’re sure you don’t know anymore. And you tell yourself, lie to yourself, comfort yourself, whatever it is your tired heart needs in that moment, because it truly is so tired, the push and pull is the most exhausting game in the world, that if he’s coming to you it’s because Din’s choosing you. Even if just for a night, even if just for now, even if tomorrow he’ll be with someone else, he chose you for tonight, and so surely that must mean something. It’s the worst thing you do to yourself, but it feels so good in the moment. You just can’t help yourself. 

“Another one?” He calls over his shoulder with a smile.

 You’d had a little bit of a… well, you don’t really know what to call it. A falling out, perhaps, because the two of you never have fights. You never fight, you never discuss the things the two of you should discuss, like feelings or anger or resentment or boundaries and wants and needs. Nothing. Nothing that indicates anything that might define what it is the two of you’ve been doing for two years with each other now. Fights are something couples do, and you two are not a couple. But up until three days ago, you’d not heard from him for two weeks. Two weeks of nothing, of hearing from your friends that they’d seen him out with his friends and other girls who you know probably mean nothing, even less than you do, but still. It’d made you insane. A little bit irrational, and so when you and your friends had gone out over the weekend, picked up a group of guys at the new bar you’d chosen for the night, since Din’s bar was off limits at the moment, and brought them back to your apartment at your roommate, Bo’s, insistence, well, you’d thought you’d give him a taste of his own medicine. After a slightly tipsy, teary eyed rant, explaining to your new friend for the night, a one Toro Calican, who had a very nice smile and very pretty eyes and not at all bad arms, all about your terrible situation with this man who you were not really in a relationship with, but who you have sex with, and only with him, regularly, unprotected, enthusiastically, but who is still not your boyfriend and not even anything close, he’d arranged himself very nice and cozy-looking in your bed with your twinkly lights sparkling in the background and your pink pig stuffy which Din loved to make fun of you for, and you’d taken a very tasteful, in your opinion, picture of him for your Instagram story. Again, a taste of his own medicine. 

Din had been at your front door forty five minutes later, angry. Angrier than you’d ever seen him before, and not at all trying to hide it. Pushing past you and into your apartment all tall and broad and wearing your favorite dark blue hoodie he knows you love, curls mused as if he’d been pulling his fingers through them in agitation. There’d been a sneaky, smarmy little devil inside of you doing a happy dance at that moment, and his eyes when he’d turned to glare at you after giving poor, Toro – casual, entirely unbothered, Toro with his big smile stretched across his handsome face as he’d looped an arm over Bo’s shoulders where he’d been sitting beside her on the couch – a look that said Din had half a mind to take him outside and wipe the floor with him. But your new friend had laughed him off, taking Din’s terribly cocky onceover, the sort he liked to set people down with, in stride. All arrogance and the sort of self assuredness only a man who knew what he was made of and how to take care of himself could possess. He was too hot for his, or your, own good. 

And when he’d turned and pushed you into your bedroom, a little tipsy, a lot desperate and pleased and wet, because yes, finally you were getting exactly what you wanted, exactly as you’d asked for it, and he’d flipped your skirt up and ripped your panties down and buried his face in your cunt from behind, all: this pussy’s mine, what the fuck was another dude doing in your bedroom? You’d been nothing but pleased giggles and hiccupy little moans as you’d come on his tongue just as he’d demanded of you. 

It was wrong. The two of you were wrong and maybe even bad for each other, but also, and this was only your own personal, fanciful discernment, addicted. A mutual addiction. The way he fucked you, hard and deep and possessive, like you belonged to him. Tugging you up by the hips and pulling you back onto his hard cock, the wet slap of your pussy dripping for him so that it surely echoed through the thin door of your shitty little apartment for the man who’d threatened what Din saw as rightfully his could hear exactly what was happening in here. You should have cared more about this ridiculous display of a pissing contest. You should have been bothered by it. You absolutely were not. And when he’d gone harder than stone, shoved deeper than you could comfortably take him so that you were coming around his cock one last time from the stretch and sting of it, and he’d filled you to leaking without even asking, you’d not even blinked at it, had been nothing but contented sighs.

It was all wrong, wrong, wrong.

Even worse, you’d never been on birth control. It made you sick, tired, moody, and the two of you worked around it… sometimes… kind of. Condoms when you remembered, usually ripped off mid fuck, pulling out… also sometimes. Never very responsible or dedicated to the practice of safe sex and level headedness, more focused on how fucking good it always felt when he was inside of you like this all bare and wet and hot and his. And if he fucked other girls, well, you tried not to think about that. Got tested, told yourself you were the only one he didn’t use protection with because you were special when they were not. And if there was, that last horribly misguided whisper that said, well, if he’s taking this risk with you, then obviously that means something too, right? Then so be it.

Again, like you’d said, bad for each other. 

But he always gave you so many reasons to be stupid, delusional, like the way he’d kissed you before he’d gone the morning after, while you were still sleepy and warm and a little sweaty from where you’d been pressed together so close through the night, wet and sticky between your legs from his come. He’d wrapped his arms around you and pressed you so, so close to his chest, nipples bare and tight against hard muscle and wispy hair. The musky sleep smell of him as he’d started at your shoulder, mouth slow and damp, kissed and nibbled his way up your collarbone, your throat, your jaw, settled at your ear to taste that soft place behind, pressed his tongue there to feel the echo of your pulse moving through your whole body, the flutter of his long lashes against your skin because he’s just that close. Your toes had curled and spasmed, little and cold, bracing against his hairy shins and big feet, hard cock nestled between the warmth of your thighs. And he always makes the best sounds, you know, deep and rumbly and all man. Familiar sounds that you’re able to replay again and again in your mind afterwards when he’s gone, sounds that make it easy for you to pretend he’s yours because you know them so well, and you want to keep him so bad it makes your stomach hurt. Gotta go get the kid, he’d said, by way of explanation for why he wasn’t pushing up into your come soaked cunt and having you one more time again, but he’d stayed and kissed you. And when he’d finally found his way to your mouth, sipping on you, tasting behind your teeth, along the wet of your tongue, that was all that really mattered anyway. 

Sometimes, he kisses you like he loves you, and it makes you hate him. 

He hadn’t called in the three days since then, but he’d been kind enough to DoorDash you a Plan B and a bag of your favorite Dove dark chocolate bites, and you want to hate him and maybe even run him over with you car, you really do, but then tonight, out of nowhere while you’d been at home telling yourself you weren’t going to cry, tired and sweaty from lying under your duvet for too long, fingers slippery between cunt and cotton, too many unsatisfying orgasms and a tear worthy film already chosen as your excuse for later, he’d sent a: come to the bar tonight, baby, I want to see you. And well, he’d come looking for you, right? He’d texted first. So really, this was all him wanting you and choosing you.

You need help, electroshock therapy, a lobotomy, anything. But you’d gotten your butt up and dressed, begged Bo to come out with you, and now here the two of you sit, good friend that she is, waiting for him to finally come over and say more than three stringed together words to you. Shaved, lotioned, perfumed, pathetic little ass sitting at the end of his bar in a too sticky, too uncomfortable stool waiting for him. Always waiting for him.

You shake your head no at him and his proffered next round. No you don’t want another fucking drink. What you want is his attention. 

And the worst part is, probably the worst, for there are so many bad parts to this, is that you don’t truly think he’s a terrible person, Din. He’s just so… he’s just– you don’t know. Sad, busy, exhausted, selfish, overwhelmed, so many things. But not bad, not actually a bad person. You’re sure of it. And it might look so differently from the outside, like you’re nothing, like he uses you, and sure, in ways, he does. You’re not so stupid or naive to not see this for what it is, because if there is one thing that is crystal clear here, it’s that you’ve always known what this is and what it is not. But you also see him. You also know him, as hard as he’s tried to keep you at arms length, to not let you see, to not let you in, you’ve weaseled your way inside anyways, or, better said, and something you don’t let yourself dwell on too much for the things it makes your stupid brain and heart feel, he has never been very good at not letting you see him. Because despite all the truths of how this thing between the two of you is, or is not, there is also something, as small as it may be, that is real here. 

So no, Din is not bad, or not all bad. And it’s easy to call them excuses, but you’re not so sure that’s the only thing they are, the ways in which you justify his behavior or yours. Because there is also context to him, and his life, and the things that drag his attention away from you when you so desperately need and want it, why you know he won’t commit to one single thing because he knows how easily lost a good thing can be. 

You take a pull from your straw, paper, and it’s already coming apart in wet flakes on your tongue because this dumb bar he works at pretends to be swanky, and paper straws are obviously a signifier that it’s not the cheap, shitty dump it actually is. Mean, but you’re in a bad mood tonight. Peli, the owner, had him string up multicolored lights and decorations everywhere for the holiday season, and it sort of looks like Santa threw up in here, but it’s also nice. Cozy or comfortable or welcoming, something happy and cheerful about the crowd surrounded by the sparkle of the holiday and loose from the heavily poured liquor. Or maybe it’s just that you know he put up the decorations. That he’d been good and patient and helpful as the older woman, eccentric and curly haired and a little stern and potty mouthed as she is, but always kind to him, had directed him as she pleased. Giving orders so that the bar could look as lovely and warm and cheerful as it does now. He always looks at her with such care and warmth, and you alway see it, as much as he tries to hide it. 

He’d added a splash of sweet grenadine and a maraschino cherry into your drink tonight, and called it your slutty Shirley Temple, said you looked like you needed something sweet followed by one of those cocky little winks he thinks make him look hot, they do, but you tell him only make him look like an asshole. All of which you know is only his way of telling you, without actually telling you, that he’s going to be shoving his cock down your throat later tonight. Something sweet… yeah, sure. There’s nothing sweet about him. 

He always tells you so many things neither of you want the other to know with his eyes. The stupid things, the silly things, the real things, it doesn’t really matter. He can’t ever help it. 

The first time he’d told you about his parents, you’d thought: this is it, this is something real. The come down had been a singular type of devastating you don't think you’d recovered from to this day. They’d died in a home invasion, a robbery gone terribly, terribly wrong, when he’d been two months shy of eighteen; left him with too much responsibility and too much grief for a boy of seventeen to bear, to ever be able to grow into without growing a little bit skewed in the process. When he’d introduced you to his little brother, the first time, you’d been better prepared, better in control of yourself and your expectations. But still, still you’d let a small, small part of you let it mean something. Grogu, Greg, but they used to watch this cartoon together about this man, a warrior, a space cowboy of sorts, who finds a little green baby, more frog looking than baby looking, called Grogu and takes him in as his own, bringing him along on all his adventures through the big, wide galaxy. They’d always joked that Greg looked like the frog baby, and so, Grogu. 

The first time he’d asked you to come over, you’d forced yourself to not throw up as you’d seen the text come in, had to force away thoughts of this has to mean something, please, please, let this mean something more. And the kid had been asleep already anyways when he’d smuggled you inside, quick and quiet, locking the door to his bedroom behind you, messy and lived in and Din, Din, Din everywhere, pressed you into his rumpled mattress, and fucked you til you’d cried and bit your tongue until you’d tasted blood to keep in all the things you had inside to tell him. And in the morning, when he’d made you a cup of coffee and oh, isn’t he nice for that? The kid had stumbled out of his bedroom, dinosaur pj’s and sleep rumpled curls the same warm mahogany shade as his older brother’s turned pseudo father, and he’d had his waffles while you’d sat there between the two of them as Din’d clucked around making lunches, sipping from your mug trying as best you could to be a good girl and not whip around and scream at the man that this has to mean something more, please. 

The kid had eyed you skeptically, as if you’d had two heads, little fuzzy brow cocked high up towards his curl covered hairline while he chomped loudly on his waffles. More syrup than bread, but who were you to judge? 

“Are you Din’s girlfriend?”

And rather than drop dead on the spot or bear the devastation of hearing the refusal come out of his older brother’s mouth, the second you’d seen Din’s own eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline, mouth falling open to probably tell him no, absolutely not, she’s nothing even close to being my girlfriend, you’d said as easy as you could manage, “No, we’re just friends.” Even added in a fake, tepid smile as you’d said the words. And now, as time’s passed since then, when you think back on the memory, you tell yourself that you’d imagined the frown and scowl that’d pulled Din’s face down into something that looked a little like annoyance or anger or confusion. He’d never done anything to make you think you were anything otherwise, and so what good did it do to dwell on the maybe false memory of his look of disappointment at your words? None at all, surely. 

But you’re pretty sure you’re the only girl that’s ever been let into their space like that.

He’s at the other end of the bar now, engrossed in a conversation with someone who’s too sparkly and too pretty and too blonde to be anything but trouble for you. His tall, deceptively lanky form that you know beneath the dark baggy, long sleeved tee he’s wearing is strong and muscled and warm as a furnace, curved over the lip of the bar to lean further towards her. They’ve been talking for about five minutes now, yes, you’ve been counting, and your heart is doing that horrible thing it does where it hurts so bad it feels like it’s ripping in half all on its own. You want to look away, especially as you watch the long, gorgeous form of his hand, big, strong hands that you know exactly what they feel like wrapped around your throat, clutching your breasts, lift slowly towards the glowing Christmas lights necklace the girl’s got hanging around her neck, the cheery red and green lights nestled deep in her cleavage. He plucks at the necklace, giving it a little tug and says something to her that has her throwing her head back, and she sparkles, she really does, with those sort of laughs that tinkle like bells or something equally fucking ridiculous.

“We should just go, babe,” Bo says from beside you, glaring down at him so intensely you’re shocked he hasn’t keeled over dead at this point. 

“Just a little bit longer, Bo, please.” 

“God, I can’t watch this shit anymore.” She pushes up and out of her stool with a roll of her eyes, but passes a loving hand down the back of your hair as she goes. “I’m gonna go try and pick up that red head sitting in the back. She’s been eyeing me all night,” she smirks at you. 

“You cannot date another ginger. That is too much ginger for one household.”

“Oh, shut up. You’re in love with the devil, I can do whatever I want. And I can’t watch him anymore, I don’t have the stomach for it.”

You try and protest as she walks away from you, tell her that you’re not in love with him, that he’s not the devil, that you don’t have the stomach for it either, but she’s gone before you can muster your lies. When you turn back towards the bar he’s abandoned his Christmas lights blonde and is pouring drinks for a group of frat guys, checking I.D.s and making easy, charming conversation. He’s strange in that way, quiet and reserved by nature, which you know now because you know him, but he puts on a face in here, in Peli’s bar in front of the customers and the pretty girls and the people expecting him to perform for them, making nice and pleasant. It’s just one more thing that feeds your delusion, the fact that you see his smile for what it is, the too handsome, too shiny version you know isn’t the real one. 

You know that despite the fact that Bo loves you, she also thinks you’re a little sad, a lot weak, when it comes to him. Maybe even, and you know she’d never say this because she’s a good and loving friend, but maybe even a little pathetic or desperate. And maybe you are, or definitely, you don’t really care about the details of it at this point, but maybe there’s also something about him that’s slightly desperate too. Desperate for love or attention or companionship. Maybe that’s why he always feels the need to search for it in so many different places. Maybe he wants it so bad he’s scared of it. Or maybe he’s just easy. Maybe he’s just a whore. 

You don’t know if the why’s of it all really matter anymore. 

He serves the group their shots and beers, all of them clinking their glasses together loudly, hooting and wishing each other a Merry Christmas, and you want to snap that it’s not Christmas yet, it’s still the twenty third, it’s a special day that should be remembered, but you turn away. Try to swallow the heat in your face and throat, take deep breaths. Bo’s right, the two of you should go, but when you turn to search for her, she’s deep in conversation with the red head, gorgeous, strong and tall and just her type. Their two heads huddled closely together beneath the red lights that turn their hair both brighter shades of auburn. And you know you can’t interrupt. At least one of you should have a good night tonight. But when you turn back around, ready to join the frat bros in on their shots, he’s there. 

You swivel in your stool, catching yourself on the lip of the bar, digging your nails into the wood grain until it hurts, staring at him in silence. 

“What?” he asks with that slightly provoking smile he forces on you when he knows you’re bothered and refuse to open your stubborn mouth and just speak up. 

“Nothing.” Stubborn, sullen. Terrible.

He hums, laughter dancing in his eyes that pisses you off. He knows you’re bothered, knows you won’t say anything about it either. “Want another?”

“Sure.” You might as well get drunk if you’re going to have to watch him be a jackass all night long. 

He starts to move about, gathering the things for your cocktail. “You like the grenadine I added?”

“Yeah, it’s good.”

He looks at you with a half smile and a cocked brow as he measures the shot. He never makes your drinks as heavy handed as the others, says you’re a bad drunk. Whatever. “Yeah? You like the Christmas decorations?”

“They’re nice.” He hums again at your sullen tone. And you want to be nicer, happier, peppier, whatever it is that would be enough to make this all right and better between the two of you, inside of you, but you just can’t. You can’t force yourself into a shape that’s okay with being without him, and it’s getting harder and harder to pretend it’s something you’re capable of. 

He adds your two limes and tops the drink off with a Santa printed mini umbrella Peli had gotten an order of in bulk, pushing the glass into your hand. He braces his hands against the bar edge, watching you as you bring the drink up to taste, peering over the edge to keep your eyes on him. The lights twinkle over head, washing him in a glow of greens and reds and warmth, and his eyes do that terrible sparkle you hate in return. 

Sometimes you think he likes it when you’re pissy. Turns him on or something which sickly, stupidly, in turn, riles you up, knowing he’s turned on by your anger. 

You take a long pull of the fizzy, mildly sweet drink, licking your lips of the tang and bubbles when you pull it away, and watch as his eyes go a little hazy, glassed over as he watches the wet of your tongue peek out to lick up the drops of sweet liquor. You watch a swallow pass through the strong column of his throat, and his gaze is still on your mouth when he cocks his head at you. “C’mere,” he murmurs, eyes shifting to take in the crowd, the customers and the status of their drinks before he’s tugging at your hand over the bar, drawing you out of your seat and along the length of it from the other side. 

“To where?” You whisper at him, nerves of excitement, of want, fluttering in your belly and throat all fizzy and sweet. He tips his chin at the cracked open door of the stock room, the warm glow from within peering out, and then back again once over at the crowd before you’re at the end of the bar, and he’s tugging you inside after him. You tip your chin over your shoulder just before he kicks the door shut behind you, taking in Peli’s knowing look and the laughing shake of her head, and then it’s just the two of you. Hungry and hurried as he’s pulling you into himself, big hands immediately cupping your ass to tug you up into him with a cracked groan. “Want to fucking kiss you so bad,” he licks into your mouth, tasting like the coffee he drinks too much of and the cinnamon gum you know he’s always chewing. 

“Din–” and you’re about to protest, say that everyone’ll have seen the two of you come in here, Peli, the blonde Christmas light girl, that the whole bar is going to think he brought you in here for a quick fuck, but you and he both know you don’t really care if anyone thinks that. That probably, if you’re really honest, you’d be glad for everyone to think you’re his that way. So you kiss him back. Arms looping around his neck to hang off of him, fingers twining in the thick curls at the nape of his neck, the hair there so silky smooth, cool at the ends but warm and damp at the roots. And this is what you were talking about, when he kisses you like he loves you which makes you hate him. All tongue and teeth and desperation. His mouth sliding against yours, spit slick and heat heavy. Big hands kneading at your ass, clutching at the short skirt of your dress, pulling it up so he can shove his palm between the nylon of your tights and your warm skin and cup you over the wet mound of your cunt. 

“Fucking warm and soft for me, baby.” He kisses his way down your neck, licking at your cleavage, tugging at your ear. “You smell so good,” and he squeezes you against himself, dragging his palm back and forth over your pussy as best as the constricting tights let him. “I can’t wait to fuck you later.”

“Me either, Din,” you say because there’s nothing else to say besides, I love you. Please, love me back. He groans into your mouth, pressing you back into a little arc hooked over his arm, something frenzied and a little sloppy about the way he kisses you like he wants you so much he can’t control himself. And when the two of you stumble out a few minutes later, hair tousled and flushed with heat, the shine of your lipgloss transferred onto his own lips and those sparkly eyes of his cranked up to blinding so that the whole bar can see what it is the two of you have been up to in the stock room, there’s nothing but sweet, fizzy pleasure suffusing your belly. Even if it isn’t real, everyone else thinks it is, maybe for tonight that can be enough. 

-

“The tree’s really cute,” you say as he helps you out of your coat, unwrapping the scarf from around your neck, round and round until he lets it slither from his hand onto the messy floor of his bedroom. 

“Yeah, well, G wanted a real one so… my ass went out and got him a real one.” 

You reach up to card your fingers through the floppy curls falling over his forehead, pushing them back to twist in your fingers and pull his head down towards yours. “Good brother,” you murmur against his mouth. You want to ask him if he remembers what tonight is; wanted to ask him all night but kept your mouth shut for fear of that utterly vacant look in his eyes when he’d have no idea what you were talking about. 

He settles into your kiss, knees bent to come down to your level, sighing deep and long as he licks at you slowly, sucks on your bottom lips, a gentle nip. “Looked so pretty for me tonight,” he says, and he’s such a good kisser, and all you can say is a breathless thank you, trying to swallow the immediate lump in your throat back down because the only other thing to say would be you’re right, it’s all for you, or I hate it when you say these things to me, I hate it when you’re nice to me and then turn around and act like I’m a stranger, like I’ve never meant anything to you at all. You press up higher, insistent, on your tiptoes, trying to get closer, more of him. He runs his hands up the length of your spine, one arm banding around your waist, the other coming up to twist in your hair, tugging your head back sharply and pulling your mouth from his. 

“What do you want, sweet girl?”

And what a cruel, terrible question. You, is what you should say. Ruin the moment or the false magic, glass shattered on the white cloth. And so, “Fuck me,” is all you say instead because that’s all this is anyway. He peers down at you, fathomless look on his face, no more bright sparkle in his eyes, something more like an ember. You think you like this look better, it’s more for you, and there's something satisfying about that. 

“Okay, baby. Whatever you want.”

He pulls your clothes from you slowly, and he can be so tender sometimes, slow and precise in the things he does, the way he moves. Sometimes he fucks you hard and fast and sloppy. But not always. Other times he does it in a way that is much, much worse. Slow and deep and intentional. He lays you out across his messy bed and spreads you open for himself. Starts at your feet, kissing the soles and the creases and marks over the arches and around your ankles from your tights and boots. Up the slope of your calf, teeth dragging sharply, a little too hard over the muscle. He kisses the backs of your knees, a place only he has ever thought to kiss, and you won’t cry, but you’d like to. His tongue along the soft of your thighs, stubble chafing and tickling, and when he finally gets to your cunt, soaking wet, glossy with your slick for him, his tongue drags up your slit slow and teasing one second, deep, fucking inside of you the next. He makes you come on his face twice before he even thinks of being nice and letting up. Sucking on your clit, taking each soft lip gentle, gentle between the edge of his teeth and tugging so soft you almost don’t feel it. He licks and licks and slurps up your wet, and you know he enjoys this because of his own sounds. When he rips his t-shirt over his head because he’s steaming with sweat and want, the zip of his jeans ringing so that he can get his fist around his cock and jack himself while he licks up the splash of your second orgasm. 

He kisses you everywhere when he’s had his fill, twists and turns you this way and that, groping and kneading and taking every inch of you in so that no spot of skin is left uninspected or untasted. Pulls you up and under his arm so he can peer down at you from behind, lemme look at that little asshole now, he says all nasty the way he gets sometimes, and spreads your cheeks apart. You brace yourself against the column of his throat and hold on to the bulge of his bicep and try and breathe through your mouth and pray for control and temperance and the will to not spill all your truths to him. Difficult, when he manhandles you like this, when he pets and licks and kisses you all over and tells you how pretty all your holes are for him. 

His cock is so hard when he finally settles on his knees between your spread thighs, on your back again so that you can see his pulse in the tiny, subtle beat of his erection as it stands up, curving towards his flat belly. No condom, and you want to say thank you for letting you feel him like this. 

He pushes your knees wide and grips his cock, twisting his fist around the sticky glossed head, flushed red almost purple. You love it when he’s this hard, when you know it’s all for you, when you know you’re the only one in this moment that can fix it for him. 

“Get it wet for me,” he nods his head at your slick cunt, parted and bared to him just like he likes. You dip your fingers into the well of wetness, play in it, watch the shiny string of slick stretch between your pussy and fingers, and no one makes you as wet or as desperate as he does, and like he can read your mind he tells you, no one makes me as hard as you do, and you do not tell him that that isn’t something you want to hear, that that isn’t something that makes you feel good. The reminder that there are others. 

You wrap your slippery fingers around his cock, coating him in yourself and when you pull him towards you, notching him at the mouth of your cunt, and finally – finally, I’ve been waiting for this all night, and you can’t even tell who says it – it’s so fucking good that all the rest of it is worth it for this singular feeling right here. 

He pushes in, in, in, heavy balls pressed against the wet curve of your bottom, and you’re so soaked it’s slid down between your ass, marked his sheets with you, swings his hips back all smooth and wet and shoves back inside. His mouth is at your tits, folded over you, caging you in, biting and sucking on bare, tight nipples he tells you belong to him, cunt he fucks hard and deep he tells you also belongs to him.

He pulls an ankle up over his shoulder, changes the angle and drills into you hard and fast, other knee hooked over his elbow so you’re pressed and folded and presented to him just how he likes and needs, and he makes you say his name over and over, tells you exactly how he wants you to come on his cock just for him. His pelvis bumps your clit on every push forward, too thick cock wedged inside your cunt so that you’re stretched around him and no matter how many times you do this, it always hurts just a little. Like everything else the two of you do together. 

“You feel so fucking good,” he groans. “You take it so fucking good. Don’t come yet– don’t come. With me– wait for me. I want it together.” And you do cry at that, when he changes the angle once more and shoves in hard against your g-spot, the fat tip of his cock punching against it over and over so that there’s heat pooling at the base of your spine, stars flashing behind your closed lids, your breasts going hot and heavy and tight, stomach clenching with the effort to stave off your orgasm and do as he asks. He breathes into your mouth, and it’s all hot and damp skin and your sweaty limbs sliding against each other, open mouth to open mouth. 

“Now,” he says, pulls you onto him deeper with a tight grip on your ass, long fingers wrapped over the curve so that he can feel the wet, stretched place where he takes you, makes you his. “Take the whole fucking thing,” he whispers against your lips, and as your cunt goes tight as a knot, painful in that way that only he can make it, that’s so good, that way that always keeps you coming back for more, you finally start to cry real tears. Not just from his cock but from the whole of him, from everything he does to you. Your heart beats fast, fast, fast, and you count the days in the month til your period, the little game you like to play with yourself when the two of you are bad like this, and then decide you don’t really give a fuck as he starts to fill you with the heat of his come.

He stays inside of you for too long after the last throb of his cock. Rubbing his lips all over your neck and shoulders and tits, tasting you and giving you too much time to memorize the pattern and cadence of his breathing. And when he pulls out and pulls back to look at the slick, puffy sight of your cunt full of his come, he bends to lick you clean like he always does. Gives you one more orgasm, the last nail in the coffin or your heart. 

Sated and spent, you glance at the clock, and it’s officially Christmas Eve. You know he goes all out for Grogu, milk and cookies for Santa, stockings and gifts, the works. He is an exceptionally good brother, all a child could need in a father figure, and there had never really been any chance of you doing anything else besides loving him. 

When you pull the gift from your bag, heart in your throat and halfway to regret but more resolve than you’ve ever had in his presence, you tell yourself that if this brings on the end of everything, that you’ll find a way to be okay with it. If you’ve gone too far, done too much, you’ll accept it, count your losses, and what great losses they’ll surely be, but you’ll move on as best you can. 

You’d picked some pretty, baby blue paper with little red robins on it, a soft gold ribbon tied around the package. The sight of it makes you want to cry. You’d tried so hard, you really had. 

He’s quiet when you put it into his hands, staring down at it like it’ll reach out and bite his head off if he blinks even once. Swallowing several times before he says, “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I know. It’s– it’s for the both of you, kind of.” Him and his little brother.

“I didn’t get you anything.”

“No– that’s okay. I know. You didn’t have to.” Your voice comes out all breathless and full of nerves. You should’ve put your clothes on before you did this, made for a quicker, easier get away if necessary. 

He pulls the wrapping apart slowly, gently untying your ribbon, long fingers carefully picking at the little pieces of tape at each end so that he doesn’t tear the paper and disturb the robins. 

“Where did you get this?” He says when he’s finally unwrapped it, his voice telling you instantly that you’ve made a terrible mistake. 

“It– it was in your drawer. I–”

“You went through my stuff?” He says, eyes snapping up to yours, finally looking away from the photograph you’d copied and framed for him. A picture of him and Grogu and his parents. Grogu, a baby, Din, a boy of maybe eight, gap toothed, cheesy grin and messy curls between his smiling parents. They looked, very much, like a deliriously happy family, and you’d thought it such a shame it was stuffed in his sock drawer when you’d found it, left to be forgotten. You’d only wanted to do something nice for him. 

“N–no. I mean… not intentionally. I was looking for my extra clothes – the ones you told me to leave here – and I–” your lashes flutter, overwhelmed. He suddenly looks so angry. “I saw it in your drawer. I didn’t mean– I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry, I–” You don’t know what to say. All of your falsely held control in tatters at your feet and tears in your eyes as you take in the horrible look on his face. Shocked, angry, hurt, but his gaze leaves the photograph again, shifts back to your face at the crack in your voice. 

He presses forward, as if to reach for you, realizing you’re about to cry. “It’s fine.” I’m sorry, Din, you murmur again. “It’s just–” He shakes his head, a frustrated noise in his throat, his voice all graveled and cracked like yours. He seems so much like a boy in this moment. A child confronted by a past he was too young to lose when he did, forced into the shape of a man too soon. “You know that this–we–” He motions between the two of you.

“Yes. I do,” you cut him off quickly. Assuming what he’s going to cut down here between the two of you before he gets the words out. He doesn’t need to say it, not out loud. He doesn’t need to be that cruel. The strength it takes the both of you to bite your tongues in that moment, as you take each other in, swells to a near painful pressure, and there is something so sick here between the two of you. His eyes are glossy with emotion and everything he won’t ever let himself tell you or anyone else, and you so badly want to tell him that it’s only that it’s hard to be casual when your favorite bra lives in his dresser, and also that you’re in love with him. 

“Thank you,” he finally says quietly, and you can’t answer, looking away out at the dark night through his murky paneled window. It looks like it’s about to snow, all the ingredients for a perfect Christmas at play. The room is so warm and his bed is so comfortable, and you feel so full of fragile and soft things inside. “You’re going to see your family tomorrow?” He still has the picture frame in his hands, fingers smoothing methodically over the edges, thumb swiping gently over the happy faces inside. 

You clear your throat, “Yeah, tonight. I’m going to my parents house, spending the night there.” And it’s on the tip of your tongue to invite the both of them to come too. You know your parents would love to have them, you would love to have them there, him, but the words stick in your throat with the fear of his rejection, and the two of you fizzle awkwardly into a heavy silence. 

You look out at the window again, too much of a coward to look into those bright eyes, but you can feel his gaze on you, singing the side of your face, and suddenly you feel him scoot over towards you. Deep sigh, dragging the duvet with him, wrapped around his bare shoulders all messy hair and flushed cheeks still steaming from your sex. No one should look like he does. No one. It’s the most unfair thing that’s ever happened to you in your whole life. He grips you around the bend of your bare knee, pulls you halfway into his lap, and your eyes are still fixated out on the night, the dark much safer than anything that lives inside this room.

“You remember when we met?” He says. The tears are back. “It was tonight.” Two years ago.

You tip your chin at the window. “At the restaurant…”

“...Down on eighty seventh street. Two years ago.”

“Yes.” You finally look at him. “I remember,” you whisper. Your mouth feels so dry, your heart so flinty.  

“The place had all those string lights put up, and we sat at that table outside in the back behind that group having their Christmas work party. You remember?” Of course you do. You only can't believe he remembers. He’d been wearing an olive green half zip sweater, and he’d smelled of laundry detergent and whiskey and cinnamon gum when he’d kissed you for the first time. 

“I had the best old fashioned I’ve ever had at that place. We should go back. And it was so cold, you remember? You never stopped shivering.”

“Yes, Din. I remember.”

“That was a good night.”

“Sure it was,” and it comes out with a bite you can’t help, for so many reasons you can and cannot explain. 

He gives one of those non committal hums he loves to provoke you with, that little glint back in his eyes. “Sure it was? What?”

“Nothing.”

“Is there something you wanna talk about?” The white elephant in the room, come to ruin everything, shatter all the glass, disturb the dust in your hair and break your heart. 

He tips your head back by your chin, two fingers holding you there, never letting you go. You shake your head at him caught up in his grasp like that. “No. I don’t want to talk about anything.”

And he gives you the strangest look, and for one second you wonder suddenly if that look you’ve always taken as provoking is not so much teasing, but more pleading, more knowing. “No…” he says, chews on his thoughts, strong, scruffy jaw with the heart shaped patch moving side to side. “I know you don’t,” and leans forward to press one single soft, chaste kiss to your open mouth. “You know what you are?” He says then, and the look is now entirely unknowable, confusing. 

Your eyes flick back to the window. “What?” Back to him again, breathless. 

“You’re my girl.” And out of the corner of your eye, you can see that there, finally, is the Christmas snow.

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Updates Blog!

#vic fic #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin AU #din djarin modern AU #the mandalorian AU #din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin smut #din djarin imagine #pedro pascal characters #din djarin angst

[ragnvindrgf]

i love nerdy ajax <3

☆ pairings: tutor!childe x bimbo!reader

☆ warnings: unprotected sex (wrap it before u tap it fellas), creampie, reader refers to childe as ajax, not totally proofread

ajax watches as you idly flip the pages in the near 10 pound textbook on marine biology, clearly not even pretending to at least skim the pages. this was going nowhere. 

“so, uh, valentine's day is coming up. any plans?”

you roll your eyes, “valentine's Day is just a commercial scam. i don't waste my time on that lovey-dovey crap.”

“oh, well, i was just curious. anyway, let's focus on these aquatic biomes.” 

you sigh and turn to look at the ginger next to you and pause. ajax’s eyes are shifting between everything in the room, the damn textbook, the wall, the door, everything but you. you weren’t unaware of the effect you had on guys, what with your tiny tube tops, miniskirts and shiny lip glosses.  unfortunately, there was more to life than shiny and revealing clothes and you desperately needed to pass this marine bio midterm. so, you enlisted the help of ajax, the nervous mess next to you, he’s top of the class and surprisingly not at all bad looking. easily over 6 ft, lean build, bright orange hair that was messy but like in a good way, and god those gorgeous blue eyes. 

“y’know, you're cute, ajax. maybe there's more to you than just textbooks.” you rest your chin on your hand and peer at him.

“um. what?” ajax’s brain nearly short circuits at the fact that the very hot girl next to him just called him cute and to make matters worse you’re now staring at him and leaning close and- oh, you smell like flowers. and your lips are plump and pink, pursed in a thoughtful, expressive way. he wonders what they would taste like, would they taste like the strawberry flavored gloss you applied a few moments earlier? 

“i thought nerds were like, all glasses and braces and total virgin looking but you're actually pretty hot.” you smile flirtatiously, watching ajax’s cheeks pinken as he shifts in his seat. 

screw it, you're not getting anywhere with this review and god knows your pretty little head could use a break.

ajax’s eyes widen when he feels your lips crash onto his. one of your hands on his shoulder while the other rests on his knee. he was right, your lips do taste like strawberries and he can feel the sticky residue on his own lips. his own hand comes up to tentatively cup your cheek, accepting that this really was happening and leaning deeper into the kiss. 

eventually, you both need air and briefly break apart. you waste no time in removing your baby tee, shivering at the cool air hitting your bare skin. ajax stares in awe at your plush tits and hardened nipples and quickly follows in removing his own shirt. you gaze appreciatively at his toned stomach and move over to sit on his lap and latch your lips together again. this time you grind down and moan softly at the friction of your clothed cunt and his very hard bulge. ajax’s hands are gripping your waist and his head is reeling. frankly, he can't even think right now, all he knows is that his dick is practically trying to burst out of his jeans from the hot girl’s pussy on him. which you can definitely feel.

“aww, I’m flattered. looks, or should i say feels, like we’re on the same page here,” you giggle reach in between you two to undo his belt. 

“i-um,iI don't have a condom,” the ginger murmurs into your neck.

“no need for that, i’m on the pill,” you reassure him and make work of his zipper. you lean back on the desk just enough to tug his boxers down so that his cock springs out. it slaps against his stomach and your mouth waters at the sight. he’s so fucking big that you briefly wonder if it’ll even fit, you wouldn’t have thought someone like ajax was hiding something like this in his pants if you hadn’t seen it for yourself. and it’s pretty, the prettiest cock you’ve ever seen, thick and flushed red at the tip. there’s a bulging vein running along the side that’s begging for your tongue to run over it. 

ajax squirms anxiously under your eyes, “is it…okay?”

“ ‘okay’? ajax, i can't believe you’ve been hiding this from me,” you press a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips, “i definitely need you in me now,” and with that you're standing up and removing the rest of your clothing. ajax watches with hooded eyes as you pull down your tiny shorts and your panties with them. even from your frontside he can see how plump your ass is. 

and then you’re guiding his cock in between your folds, slowly sinking down and wincing from the stretch. ajax’s hands wander and squeeze your ass, gripping it so hard you’re sure it’ll leave red marks. but it's worth it with the way ajax sounds and looks so good under you. his head is thrown back with a loud groan falling out his lips. with the way you’re bouncing on his cock and squeezing around him so deliciously, he’s not sure he’ll last very long. his tip is hitting up into your cervix repeatedly, making you whimper sweetly. 

“fuck— you feel so good,” Ajax gasps in between his own moans, you laugh breathily, you could say the same thing.

his brows furrowed together as he feels a familiar coil in his stomach beginning to tighten, “i’m gonna- you should get off before i- fuck,” his hot cum spurts deep inside you before you can even tell him that no, there's no way you're going to let this man pull out of you. instead, you moan at the feel of his cock twitching inside of you as your own orgasm washes over you. you sink down on him one last time before your cunt’s squeezing around him and you're crying his name into the air. 

your legs are shaky when you try to stand up, his cock slipping out with ease and a blend of his and your cum starting to leak down your thighs. ajax stuffs his dick back in his pants when you move to grab your shirt, ignoring the uncomfortable gooey mess. 

and he surprises you when he stands and grabs your hand and pulls you back in for a kiss. It’s sweet and gentle and you’re both smiling. “um, thanks, i think,” He grins sheepishly against your lips. 

your eyes widen at such simple words, no guy has ever kissed you after sex, much less thanked you, they just used you as a method to get their dick wet.

taking Ajax’s face in your hands, you lean in to connect your lips one more time, lips moving in sync before breaking the kiss with a smile.

“thank you, you just made learning about fish a whole lot more interesting.” you giggle as realization flashes over ajax’s face when he notices the abandoned study materials on the desk. he chuckles and shakes his head, “not like you were doing much before i guess.”

“that’s true,” you smooth your hands over your clothes when an idea pops in your head, “but, we still have time until my test… maybe we can get together again wednesday night?”

ajax looks over your cute, hopeful face, “wednesday.. like valentines?”

you shrug nonchalantly, trying to suppress the butterflies in your stomach, like i said, just another day.”

#౨ৎ my works #part two maybe…???? #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #genshin x reader #gi smut #childe smut #childe x reader #childe imagines