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joelscruff · 11 months

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feelings on fire (joel miller x f!reader) 18+ PART FIVE

previous chapters | kofi | i'm honestly amazed that i actually completed this chapter today; as a lot of yall know i've been dealing with a lot of shitty life stuff lately and part of me expected this to not even get posted this month. and yet!! here we are. thank you to everyone who has been so supportive and amazing, this chapter is for you and i hope you like it 💖 chapter summary: you're starting to feel a bit insecure about your relationship with joel. perhaps a late night visit to his house is what you need 👀 rating: 18+ explicit warnings: age difference (reader is in her 20s, joel in his 50s), innocent/inexperienced reader, corruption, praise kink (joel calls reader babygirl, sweetheart, etc), dirty talk, mentions of religion (reader’s family are very catholic), fingering, handjobs, comeplay word count: 9k (woops) ao3

The rest of the week goes by gruelingly slow. Joel is busy every day and has barely any time to talk, so you mainly communicate through texts. The "conversations" are slow and broken, Joel only able to text when he has a free moment, which doesn't seem to be very often. You don't talk on the phone again, as much as you want to hear his voice, and you don't sext again either. It's a bit weird, a bit confusing, but you navigate it as best you can. It's not like he's ignoring you, he always responds, but it's just not the same as that first day.

you still wanna do this, right?

You type it around midnight on Thursday, hands trembling a bit as you hover over the send button. In one way you're afraid to ask him, afraid to seem clingy or young or inexperienced; but you're all of those things. When he's actually talking to you directly there's no fear, no question about what he wants, but going so long without hearing his voice makes you more and more insecure about what exactly he's thinking.

You erase the first message and start to type another one:

i know you're busy but

You shake your head and erase that one too. This is so stupid. Of course he still wants you, you idiot.

He'd said he was okay with the lie you'd told, had even said he would actually teach you guitar now too, but you're an overthinker, always have been. You can't help but feel dread whirling around in the pit of your stomach; he wants to end it, it's too complicated now. You've turned something sexy and fun into something ridiculous and unnecessary.

You lock your phone without sending anything and roll around in bed a bit, trying to sleep. Your thoughts make it impossible though, nagging at the front of your mind worse than your parents. You sit up and slide the tip of your thumb into your mouth, biting down in thought and staring at the blank screen of your phone.

What if you just...

are you home?

He hadn't sent you anything earlier to confirm he'd gotten back; you've discovered over the past few days that contractors really like to drink after their shift. Joel's been at the bar every night since that first day, often 'til late; you have to admit, it makes you a bit jealous to imagine Joel and his contracting crew out having a great time while you're laying in your childhood bed with a curfew. Bar hopping and partying has never appealed to you before, at least not when your college friends did it, but now the thought of it doesn't seem so bad. Not if you were doing it with him...

Your phone buzzes and you feel excitement burst through you at his reply:

Got in about 10 minutes ago, didn't think you'd be up. You okay?

You soften at his concern, cheeks warming. You don't hesitate, knowing if you think too much about it you'll end up changing your mind. You type your your response and hit send before you can talk yourself out of it.

can i come over?

You stare at the screen with bated breath, watching as his typing bubble appears. It takes barely any time at all for him to reply:

Of course you can. Door's unlocked.

Sneaking out of your house is much easier than you thought it'd be. You've never done it before, had almost expected the bottom half of your house to suddenly have some kind of security system with lasers and cameras, but nope. Nothing out of the ordinary.

You're wearing one of your old nightdresses, pink and frilly; you'd opted to start wearing them again the other day, liking the way they made you feel, accentuating your legs and breasts like your old Sunday school dress. You'd changed quickly every morning before going downstairs to save your parents from the heart attacks they'd have seeing you with so little skin coverage. But there's no need to change now, not with where you're going. You yank on a jacket and sneakers and carefully open and close the front door, scurrying out into the cool night air.

Joel's house isn't far, just a street over. You try not to run, as much as you want to; you know you'll end up all sweaty and messy haired - the opposite of how you'd like to portray yourself tonight, but your skin is practically glowing with anticipation. You hold the short hem of your nightdress down as you speed walk through the dark suburban streets of your neighborhood.

Your heart starts pounding when his house comes into view; the living room window is dimly lit. You jog up the front steps and take a deep breath before turning the handle, smiling to yourself when it opens easily; he'd really left the door unlocked for you.

"Mr. Miller?" you call in a hushed tone, shutting the door behind you and turning the lock.

He emerges from the living room and you feel your eyes widen. All he's wearing is a pair of loose fitting plaid pajama pants; nothing else. No shirt, no socks, and probably no underwear. You swallow, eyes trailing up and down the naked solidness of his chest, the greying hair smattered along the skin. He's got a softness to him, a bit of a pudgy belly that makes you want to smile, but his rugged sexiness is even more apparent. His strong pecs, freckled arms, the hair trailing down his stomach and into his pajama pants... it suddenly leaves you unable to breathe or form a coherent thought.

"There's my girl," he says, voice low and husky; he must have talked a lot today, called people's names, ordered them around, "C'mere."

Your brain is still muddled and awestruck as you feel yourself rush forward, arms immediately wrapping around his bare torso. His skin is softer than you'd thought it'd be, warm under your touch as you carefully press your cheek to his chest. You feel the scratch of hair against your skin, reminding you of his age; fifty six. The thought gives you an ache between your legs.

He holds you close and rubs your back, presses a kiss to the top of your head. Your eyes flutter closed at his touch, fingers splaying across the wide span of his back. You find yourself able to breathe again, but all you inhale is his scent, fresh and masculine. It's then that you realize his skin is slightly damp, peppered here and there with little droplets of water.

"I just got out of the shower," he says quietly, answering your unspoken question, "Was about to get in bed when you texted but I figured if you were comin' over I should clean myself up a bit."

You hum against his chest, still not sure exactly what to say. The ache between your legs is growing stronger the more you stand here in his embrace; somehow you hadn't expected to feel this way just from hugging him, although you probably should have guessed.

"I wanna get in your bed," you say softly, opening your eyes again and pulling back to look at him. His expression says it all, eyes going dark as they fall to your lips.

"Then let's get in my bed," he murmurs, just as quiet.

The last time you were in Joel's bedroom there'd been more of a sense of urgency, when he'd sat with you in his lap on the edge of his bed and held you open in front of the mirror. Now things are much slower, more quiet. You slip in behind him and unzip your jacket, taking it off and hanging it carefully on the hook behind his door.

"That's pretty," he says behind you, and you feel him reach out to gently touch the pink material, hand ghosting the bare skin of your chest. Your breath hitches and he smiles, "Tiny little thing, isn't it?"

"I've had it for a long time, I thought you might like it."

"I do," he pulls you toward him, then reaches his hands up to thumb the thin straps of the nightdress. You watch with hooded eyes as he slowly pushes them off your shoulders, "I'm gonna take it off though, that okay?"

Your brow furrows; he notices your reaction and his hands freeze, "Not okay?" he asks, confused slightly.

"N-no, it's okay," you say quickly, "I just... I'm still a little self conscious."

His eyes widen slightly and he shakes his head, "You have nothin' to be self conscious about, sweetheart," he reassures you, "I wanna see you..." he pushes the straps down your shoulders and you stand there trembling slightly as he pulls the dress down, exposing your breasts to him, "There you are."

You shiver a bit under his gaze, but not out of discomfort or fear. You feel safe with him; you know he'd never do anything you didn't consent to. You're just not exactly sure what you want, what exactly you've really come here for. Before you'd left the house you'd been so afraid that he was losing interest, already getting tired of you; now he stares at you like you're some kind of rare gem, making you feel bashful and beautiful under his gaze.

"I wanna touch you," you whisper, the shakiness of your voice betraying your nervousness - or anticipation.

His hands freeze for a few seconds but he regains composure quickly, tugging the dress down further until it's cascading down your legs, putting you completely on display. He swallows audibly, taking you in. You look at his face and feel yourself pulse under his gaze, the way he's staring directly at your bare pussy.

"Let's get in bed," he murmurs, "I think there's a few things we can touch."

His words send a buzzing warmth through your body and you cross your legs unconsciously, an action that makes him smirk. You turn away from him with heat flooding your cheeks as you climb into his bed; it's large and comfortable, but you already know neither of you will be taking advantage of the big space. You sit up against his headboard and pull the duvet up over yourself, hiding your breasts from view - as if he hasn't already seen them.

"I'll keep these on" he says softly, tugging at the band of his pajama pants, "Don't worry."

Your heart leaps to your throat and you nod quickly - probably too quickly. It's not that you're scared to see him naked; you've already seen both halves now and that's taken away a lot of the fear, but the concept of being in bed together, both naked... you're not sure you're ready yet. And you're glad he understands that without you having to say it out loud.

You watch as he climbs into bed and positions himself up against the headboard like you, scooches in next to you so your sides are touching. His skin against yours is unlike anything you've felt with him up until this point; he's so warm, a firm and large presence at your side that immediately has you feeling intimidated. Your nerves are already beginning to set alight just by having him so close. You open your mouth to speak but are unable to say anything when he inches even closer, his bare waist pressing firmly against yours.

"Hey, you're okay," he breathes, reaching up to gently thumb your cheek in a calming motion, brow furrowing slightly, "You don't gotta be nervous, sweetheart, it's only me."

"I'm not nervous," you whisper back, and while you're not exactly being honest there's certainly something else you're feeling, "I'm just..." you cross your legs again under the duvet, "I'm getting really wet."

He makes an odd sound in the back of his throat that makes you smile a little, cheeks burning under his gaze. He reaches over and slowly pushes the blankets down from your loose grip, exposing you to him once again. He moves his hand down, fingertips trailing along your bare chest until carefully bringing one of your breasts into his palm and squeezing gently.

"You don't gotta hide these from me, darlin'," he murmurs, thumb dragging across your nipple, sending tingles throughout your body, "They're too pretty to stay outta sight."

You shiver when he carefully tweaks your nipple between his fingers, his gaze firmly set on his movements. You watch together as he plays with it, toys with it, rolls it between thumb and forefinger. The warm and tight feeling sends an odd tingling sensation from your breast to your pussy, like they're connected somehow.

"I'm gonna put this in my mouth," he says softly, "Suck on it a little bit, that okay?"

You can't help but feel a bit unsure, biting your lip, "Is that... does it feel good to do that?"

He nods up at you, thumbing your nipple again slowly, "Feels really good, I promise. You got a lot of nerves here, just like your pussy. Really sensitive."

Your eyes are hazy as you nod to him slowly, "Th-that sounds nice."

At your words he leans his head down and brings your nipple into his mouth, dropping his fingers and replacing his thumb with the warm suction of his lips. You gasp out in surprise, hand coming up to immediately cup the back of his head.

You've never felt anything like this; the suction of his mouth is so new and strange, that tingling sensation returning as you cross your legs tighter and whimper aloud as he sucks your nipple. His tongue is wet and warm, tracing the shape of you in little circles, while his free hand comes up to squeeze your other breast, tweak it with his fingers. Your breath begins to come out raggedly, brow furrowing and legs tightening together as he suckles.

"Oh my god," you hear yourself whimper, hand tightening in his hair, "Why does that feel so good?"

He pulls off your nipple with a quiet laugh, peering up at you, "Yeah, you like the way that feels, babygirl?"

You nod quickly, swallowing and trying to get your breath back, "Yes," you whisper, "A lot."

He smiles at that, "Then how 'bout you lay back for me?"

It's an offer that's impossible to refuse. You quickly pull yourself down from the headboard and slip beneath the covers, head coming to rest on one of his pillows. He slips under as well, then very slowly positions himself on top of you, a leg on either side of your trembling form. You look up at him with wide eyes, unsure whether you're more nervous or excited.

"You're okay," he reassures you again, inching downward a bit and pressing a few gentle kisses to your neck, "Gotta be on top to do this right, so it feels good."

You nod slowly, "I c-can feel..."

"What?" he whispers, "What do you feel?"

Your arms are loose at your sides and Joel's are pinned above you, but there's an unmistakable feeling of something prodding into your thigh, large and thick.

"Your cock," you manage to whisper, voice trembling, "I think."

"That's right," he murmurs, "It's 'cause I'm gettin' hard from suckin' you like that, touchin' you," he trails his fingers down your sides gently, making you shiver, "You like feelin' it there?"

You feel yourself slowly nodding, eyes going even more hazy and hooded, "I wanna touch it."

"I know you do," he whispers, "I want you to touch it too, sweetheart. But I'm gonna play with you a little longer," he leans his face down and licks a small stripe against your other nipple, making your hips buck, "Then I'll teach you how to touch it, that alright?"

"Yes," you breathe, "Please."

"You like when I play with you, don't you?" he murmurs against your breast, then captures your other nipple in his mouth and starts to suck.

"Y-yes," you repeat, hand coming up again to tangle in his hair, already overwhelmed by the sensation, "I missed it."

He hums, sending another cascade of tingles throughout your body. To think that less than half an hour ago you were laying in bed wondering if he still wanted you; now you're naked and he's on top of you with his mouth on your breast. How is this your life?

"What did'ya miss?" he pulls off for barely a few seconds, scruff scratching perfectly against your sensitive skin, "Tell me, babygirl, wanna know what you've been thinkin' about."

You whimper when he goes back to suckling, your fingers threading through his greying curls. It's hard to get your thoughts straight when he's making you feel like this, every tight suck and wet lick going directly to your aching core.

"J-just missed you touching me," you breathe, voice rough and wanton with pleasure, "Missed your hands on me, your fingers..."

At your words he carefully brings one of his hands downward, caressing your body gently as he goes. Your breath hitches when he swipes his middle and index finger down your wet seam, urging you to open up for him. You uncross your trembling legs, looking down to watch as he continues to suck on your breast while his fingers dip down to your wetness.

"Inside," you whisper, finishing your thought but almost giving him a command at the same time; he doesn't hesitate, immediately pushing both fingers past your entrance and slipping them inside your throbbing hole, "Fuck," you whimper, closing your eyes and throwing your head back, "Like that."

You can feel the head of his cock through his pajama pants, pulsing against your thigh, leaving a sticky spot in the fabric. The fact that he's getting hard just by doing this to you, getting wet in his own way, it just turns you on even more.

He pulls off your breast with a wet pop and tilts his head up to look at you, pressing little kisses around your nipple and then pulling himself up a bit to hover over you. You feel his clothed cock prod your lower belly and you shiver again.

"Wanted to be full again, huh?" he murmurs, eyes dark, "Missed havin' these big fingers inside you?"

You nod and tug at his curls, urging him to lean his face down toward you. He takes the hint immediately, smirking a bit before reaching down to press his lips to yours and kiss you hungrily. You sigh into his mouth, contentment and arousal flooding through you as he slowly pushes his fingers in and out of you. Your hand moves from his hair to cup his jaw, loving the feeling of his beard beneath your fingers.

"Wanna know what I missed?" he asks against your lips, voice deep and breathy, "Missed this tiny little hole, so tight, all for me," at his words he curls the tips of his fingers inside of you, making you emit a loud whimper that makes him grin, "That's right, takin' my fingers so well, angel. Bet you could take three now," you feel another one of his fingers prod you alongside his others, "You want that, babygirl? Want three of those big fingers?"

You swallow nervously but slowly nod, tugging your bottom lip into your mouth, "Yes, Mr. Miller," you whimper, "Wanna be full."

"Good girl," he murmurs, brushing his nose lightly against yours, "You're such a good girl, aren't you?"

You hear the sounds you're making but you're not quite sure where they're coming from or how you're making them; you sound pathetic and breathless as he fucks you with his fingers, teases the third at your hole and leans down to kiss you again. His tongue slips past your lips and you feel the vibration of your own moans in his mouth when his thumb gently teases your clit.

"There you go, angel," he mutters against your lips as his third finger breaches your entrance, slowly pushes past the other two, "Thaaat's it, babygirl."

You tremble underneath him, feeling your body tense up at the new intrusion. You've had three of your own fingers inside yourself, but not three of his, long and thick and so much bigger than your own. You hear your whimpers turn into cries as his fingers fill you up, your own hands coming up to grip his back, nails digging into the skin.

"Shhh," he soothes, trailing more kisses along your face in an attempt to relax you, "You're okay, sweetheart, you're okay." And you are okay, being underneath him like this, being entirely at his mercy as he pushes your limits, helps you discover something new. It burns a bit, stretches and pulls and stings, but he talks you through it, whispers reassuring words in your ear, and you know you're safe.

He stills once all three fingers are deep inside, then pulls himself up a bit to look at you, pushing a stray hair behind your ear and peering down with a soft expression despite the depraved circumstances.

"How's that feel?" he whispers, voice gentle and soothing, "Tell me."

You're still making whimpering noises, shaky and quiet, but you're able to reply with the only word you can bring to the front of your mind: "Full."

He smiles down at you, brushes his nose against yours, "You did so good, angel," he murmurs, eyes not leaving yours, "I'm prouda you."

He knows what he's doing with that phrase; immediately you feel yourself loosen beneath him, hands going slightly limp against his back. He presses a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth and slowly begins to move his fingers again, pumping them in and out at an even pace.

It's amazing. It's so different than just two fingers, so much bigger and fuller - you've never felt anything like it; something so dirty but somehow passionate and warm. He kisses you as he fucks you with them, hovering over you with his hot skin emanating onto yours, wisps of hair from his chest and stomach tickling you everywhere. He thumbs your clit again and you moan loudly against his lips, your orgasm swelling in your belly as your hands tangle in his hair and pull him closer.

"You gonna come, angel?" he asks you softly, sweetly, pulling back a bit to stare deeply into your wide eyes, "Yeah, you're gonna come on those big fingers, huh? Can feel your pussy gettin' all tight around me, she wants it so bad doesn't she?"

You moan even louder as you frantically nod, "Yes, gonna come, gonna come," you cry out, overwhelmed by the thickness of his fingers and the way he's looking at you, the way he's talking to you; everything is just him.

"That's right, give it to me, sweet girl," he urges you, plunging into you faster and faster as his thumb rotates mercilessly against your clit, "Make a mess for me, soak those fingers, there you go."

You keen, high and borderline ridiculous as you stiffen beneath him and begin to shake, pitiful sounds escaping your mouth as you come. He fucks you through it, watching your face every step of the way and not stopping his movements until you've come down completely. You lay beneath him, chest heaving and eyes closing involuntarily as he strokes your thigh tenderly, reassuringly. He keeps his fingers lodged deep inside of you, not moving but simply keeping you full as you come down from your orgasm; you find yourself hoping he doesn't pull them out just yet.

"Can I show you somethin'?" he asks softly, and you open your eyes to find him still peering down at your face. You can't speak, can only nod as you bite down on your lip and try to catch your breath, your entire brain focused solely on the way his fingers feel inside you. As if he can read your mind, he's suddenly pulling them out and bringing them up to hover between the two of you.

Your brow furrows in confusion, suddenly feeling beyond empty as you pout up at him. He just chuckles to himself, still holding his three fingers - wet and glistening - in front of you while his other hand reaches down to the waistband of his pajama pants. Your eyes go wide, lips parting a bit as you look from his face to where his hand is and back again.

Without words from either of you, he slowly reaches inside and pulls out his cock, thick and dripping. You make a weird sound in the back of your throat, sitting up slightly as you peer at it with wonder. He's showed it to you before, it's nothing new, and yet...

"That's about the same width, wouldn't you say?" he asks you quietly, bringing his dripping fingers down to his hard cock and aligning them side by side; he's right - the thickness of all three of his fingers is relatively similar to the thickness of his cock. There's certainly different aspects - the length being the main difference - but the overall width is pretty spot on.

"Y-yeah," you say softly, eyes glued to it, "Pretty close."

You watch as he carefully drags his fingers along the thick length of his cock, still soaked with your release. He spreads your juices along it with his thumb and fingers, fists it gently and very slowly fucks his fist once. Your eyes are hooded and dark, saliva beginning to pool inside your mouth for reasons you can't even begin to understand.

"You just took three fingers," he continues, thumb tracing the base of his wide tip, "So wouldn't you say that answers a question you've been worryin' your pretty little head about?"

Your eyebrows scrunch together, trying to figure out what he means. It's hard to focus on absolutely anything else when his dick is right there in front of you, practically begging to be touched, the fat head pulsing and drooling under your gaze.

"Oh, this is gonna be a problem, isn't it?" he says, amused as he continues to slowly stroke himself, "Can't even think when there's a cock in front of you, huh?"

The words snap you back to reality, but only slightly. You smile sheepishly as you will yourself to look up at his face and away from his dick, "Wh-what question, Mr. Miller?"

He chuckles, "You were afraid it wouldn't fit inside you, babygirl," he reminds you gently, "But it will, we just proved that."

Your brain slowly makes sense of what he's saying and you can't help but feel a wave of relief wash over you; he's right. It had burned a bit, been uncomfortable for a moment or two, but ultimately you'd been able to take all three and enjoy it. You feel a smile spread across your face, and you notice his eyes soften slightly as he looks at you.

"You're right," you say breathlessly, smile still wide, "I did it, didn't I?"

His expression softens even more and he smiles back at you, laughing quietly to himself. He opens his mouth to say something but then seems to think better of it, pulling one of his legs back and moving to sit beside you on the bed instead of over you. Your brow furrows a bit in confusion.

"What is it?"

He just shakes his head, still smiling softly to himself, "Nothin', you're just... you're adorable."

Your cheeks warm at that, unable to help feeling a little self conscious. Now that you've come down from your orgasm you're suddenly hyperaware of your nakedness, of the fact that he can see every inch of your body. You draw the covers up around yourself quickly, hoping he won't mind.

"Such a shy little thing," he murmurs softly, but makes no move to pull the blankets down again like he had before, just watches you with a smile as your gaze slowly falls back to where he's hard and aching.

"Can I...?" you can't bring yourself to say the words, feeling flustered and nervous at the very thought. He just nods and reaches over to touch your hand, strokes your trembling fingers in his grip.

You watch as he carefully maneuvers your hand toward his crotch and slowly places your hand on his cock. Your fingers curl around his girth almost instinctively, imitating what you've seen him do before. Your lips part, breath hitching as your skin touches his most intimate area, a place on a man you never thought you'd ever be able to feel, at least not until you were married.

It's soft. Not in terms of arousal but just in texture, a silky and smooth feeling you hadn't been expecting. You stare down at your own hand in slight awe as your thumb gently strokes along his shaft, brow furrowing at how different it is than what you'd imagined. It's surprisingly just a body part, just an extension of Joel that usually remains hidden and secret; it's not as scary or intimidating when you can touch it like this, play with it like he plays with you.

"Wow," you say softly, barely aware of it as your fist ever so slowly moves along his length, pumps him just once in that hypnotic way he'd showed you; he's still covered in your own release, wet and slippery, but somehow you don't feel grossed out by it.

"You're a natural," he replies just as quietly, and your skin heats again when you look up to see his face, see the desire and pleasure in his expression, "Don't think there's much I need to teach you, to be honest. My parts are a lot simpler than yours."

You smile to yourself and pump him slowly again, this time brushing against the wet and throbbing tip. He makes a faint grunting sound that makes your eyebrows go up.

"This part..." you say quietly, thumbing the head ever so slightly and feeling your heart race when it pulses beneath you, "It feels different?"

"Yeah," he murmurs, biting down on his lip for a moment, "That part's sensitive, kinda like your clit."

You nod slowly, pushing your thumb up a bit and slowly rotating it along the sensitive area. He inhales sharply, grunts again when you prod the spongey head with both your thumb and index finger, teasing it like he'd done with your nipple.

"Fuck," he mutters softly, voice heavy and breathless, "That's it, angel, you got it."

His praise is like a warm blanket, shrouding you in safety and comfort as you slowly pump his cock again, teasing the head intermittently and trying not to smile too much every time he makes another one of those breathy grunting sounds. You feel pride swelling in your chest, the knowledge that you're actually making him feel good pushing you to continue on.

"What about these?" you ask softly, stilling your hand on his cock for a moment to gesture toward his balls, round and heavy beneath the base, "Does it....do they feel good when they get touched, too?"

"Yeah," he murmurs, voice dark and full of arousal, "They do."

"Can I touch them?"

The sound that emits from his throat sounds almost like a growl, low and husky, "Yes," he groans, "Go ahead and touch 'em, sweetheart."

The tone of his voice is slightly desperate, bordering on depraved. Your eyes travel back up to his face and his jaw is slack, eyes hooded as he watches you touch him. You've never seen him like this, almost completely wrecked by something you did.

"Gotta be real gentle," he continues, taking a breath through his nostrils and reaching down to pull his pajama pants down a bit more for easier access, "They're sensitive too."

You resume your slow pumping of his cock with one hand while your other reaches down to lightly trail the tips of your fingers along the shape of his balls, round and tender. You cup them gently, teasing them one by one in your palm. He hisses in pleasure, eyes shutting tightly as he leans back a bit against the headboard.

"Feel good?" you whisper, trying your best to fall into the role Joel usually takes on, the role of the person giving the pleasure.

"Yes, baby," he groans, pressing the backs of his hands against his shut eyes, "Yes, feels so good, sweetheart."

Your pumping gets a bit faster, a bit wetter as precum continues to drool from the tip and down his shaft. It's unbelievable that you're really sitting here in a man's bed, a man about thirty years older than you, pumping his cock and making him come apart like this. You can feel yourself throbbing beneath the blankets, getting wet all over again at the reality of the situation, and when your movements cause the blankets to fall from your chest and expose your breasts again, you don't bother trying to cover up.

Joel groans at the sight, reaching over to tweak one of your nipples between his fingers, making you whimper, "You know what happens when a man comes?" he asks you suddenly, brow furrowing in pleasure, "You learn about that in school?"

You nod quickly, feeling sweat trickle down your face as you continue to stroke him up and down, "Yes," you whisper, "I know what happens."

He groans again, swallowing thickly and taking a deep breath as he begins to palm your breasts, "I'm about to come, darlin'. There's gonna be a lot, need to know where to aim it."

You bite down on your lip, trying to keep all your focus on making him feel good and not on the hands now squeezing your breasts, teasing your nipples. "Wh-where do you want it to go?" But you already know the answer.

"Here," he grunts, thumbing your hard nipples, "These. Wanna come all over these pretty tits, sweetheart, will you let me?"

You nod, "Y-yes, Mr. Miller."

It's everything he needs to suddenly pull himself up from the bed and pull your hands off him, gesturing for you to lie back against his pillows. Your heart races in anticipation, eyes going wide and lips parting again as he leans over you and starts to jack his cock, fast and unrelenting. This is what he'd done the other night, when you'd talked on the phone; you'd tried to imagine what he'd looked like, making his own mess... now you're about to find out.

"Stay just like that, babygirl, just like that," he grunts out, pumping himself over and over as he aims the tip toward your bare breasts, swollen from all the attention he's given them tonight. His expression is tense and so is his body, soft stomach suddenly taut with pressure, chest heaving as he works his hand. He looks almost pained, brows scrunched together as he pulls himself over the edge.

"Come," you find yourself saying quietly, a shaky whimper playing at the edge of your voice, "Come for me."

Within seconds of your words your skin is hit with long ropes of a warm, white liquid, splattering across your breasts in uneven patterns. You watch with hooded eyes as Joel slows his strokes, groans louder than he has all night as his release spurts continuously from the head of his cock, painting you all over. His tense expression eases into one of pure bliss as he tosses his head back again, moaning up at the ceiling.

Wow.

Without asking for permission, without even questioning whether it's proper sex etiquette to do so, you find your hand travelling quickly downward to your wet pussy. You frantically begin to rub your clit, still gazing up at Joel's pleasured form, feeling his come slipping down the sides of your breasts onto the sheets below. You throb and pulse beneath your fingers, whining softly to yourself as your body readies itself for your second orgasm.

Joel looks down at you then, cock still in hand, slowly beginning to soften. He sees what you're doing immediately, and the devilish smirk that crosses his face is enough to send you over the edge.

"Fuuuuck," you moan out as you come, trembling in the sheets and curling your toes in pleasure, "Mmmm," you squirm and writhe beneath his gaze until it's over, then lay still and loose on the bed with barely any thoughts floating through your mind.

The room is filled with the sounds of heavy breathing, both of you coming down from your orgasms and trying to collect yourselves. You can't help but look down at your chest, see the thick patches of come splattered all over your breasts, your nipples. How all of that could come from one person is wild to you; this certainly hadn't been taught in any of your health classes.

The memory of being so naïve, so innocent... it makes you grin. Because you couldn't be further from that person anymore, the one who did everything that was asked of her, never listened to her own heart, stayed on the sidelines and focused on math and extracurriculars and God while other people had these experiences. And now here you are - actually having them.

"I guess I'm not a good little Christian girl anymore," you find yourself saying with a shaky giggle; you suddenly feel reinvigorated, sexually liberated... free.

Joel laughs at that, breathless and genuine. He grins down at you, releases his cock and shuffles downward to lay beside you, "You're my good little Christian girl," he says softly, bringing a hand up to cradle your face, "You did so good."

"Did I?" you ask sincerely, "Be honest, I wanna know."

He just smiles and thumbs your cheek, eyes going crinkly, "You were perfect, babygirl, I swear." He leans forward and kisses you gently, sweetly, like you both didn't just do something completely filthy and depraved - but you're starting to realize that maybe it's normal to do things like this, not as taboo and sinful as you'd always thought.

When you part, you're suddenly painfully aware of the state of the bed, not to mention both of your bodies. You're both covered in a sheen of sweat, you've got come dripping down your skin, and both fluids are already beginning to stain the bedsheets. You make a face.

"Can we...can we change the sheets? And can I maybe take a shower?"

Joel chuckles at that, stroking your cheek one last time before pulling back to extricate himself from the bed, "I'll change 'em, sweetheart. You go get in the shower, it's right across the hall."

You slip out of bed on shaky legs, losing your balance a bit and having to grab on to Joel's bed side table for support. You both laugh, and you find comfort in the casual intimacy of it all - both of you standing there naked without any shame or embarrassment. It's strange and new but so refreshing, that familiar safe feeling warming your skin as you make your way to the bathroom. You pick up your discarded nightdress as you go.

You stare at yourself in Joel's bathroom mirror for a bit longer than necessary, eyes wide as they trail up and down your bare form. Splotches cover different parts of your skin, especially your breasts, nipples swollen and dark, not to mention covered in come. You feel an ache between your legs again at the sight and almost roll your eyes at yourself - when will you stop being this insatiable?

Unable to push down the urge to do so, you carefully drag one of your fingers through the layer of white splattered across your chest, fascinated by its sticky texture. He'd marked you, in more ways than one.

The shower is pleasant and relatively quick; you want to get back in Joel's arms as soon as possible. You try not to think too much about the implication of that desire, the safety you feel when you're with him versus the anxiety you feel when you're not and what exactly that means. You try to remind yourself of your roommates and their experiences, their ability to sleep around without catching feelings or getting attached. How do they do it? How do they do it when being close to another person like this is so intimate and special?

You change back into the nightdress after your shower and slip back into Joel's room, finding him laying in the freshly made bed beneath a new duvet. For a moment you think he might be sleeping, quietly shutting the door behind you and tiptoeing over to the bed. However when you get close enough he opens his eyes and looks at you, a sleepy smile spreading across his face.

"Hey there," he murmurs, reaching down to pull back the blankets on the other side - your side, "Get on in."

Your heart pounds harder than it probably should.

Climbing into bed beside Joel feels surprisingly normal, easy. You wriggle underneath the duvet and cuddle in beside him, immediately wrapping an arm around his solid form and nuzzling your head against his shoulder. He's wearing his pajama pants again but his torso is still bare, the hair on his chest tickling your skin. You feel him press a soft kiss to your hairline and you can't help but smile.

"I'm glad I came over," you whisper with a content sigh, "I was... I was starting to worry you didn't want me."

"Really?" he asks softly, brow furrowing, "Why's that?"

You shake your head and nuzzle in deeper, "Just me being self conscious and insecure, as usual."

His hand comes up to rub your back soothingly, circling it with his palm through your thin nightdress. He pulls you in a bit closer, kisses your forehead again with a bit more firmness.

"It's normal to feel that way," he murmurs against your skin, "But I do want you, babygirl. You're all I think about lately, I mean that." You shiver at his words, closing your eyes and willing yourself to believe that he really does mean them like he says. "Most beautiful little thing I've had in my bed for a long time."

You press a gentle kiss to his collarbone in response, nose trailing along the skin. He didn't shower but you're sort of glad he didn't; he still smells like sex, a deep masculine musk that you can only attribute to him now, a scent that makes you feel safe.

"I just feel bad...making us sneak around and all that," you admit, "I know it's childish and silly, but I'm so scared of disappointing my parents. I shouldn't be but I am."

"You're young," he says softly, tenderly, "That kinda stuff still matters, especially when you're livin' with them. I get it, honey. You don't have to defend yourself."

You grimace against his skin, "I just wish this could be more normal. That you could just be a guy I'm seeing instead of my guitar teacher," you shake your head, "It's not fair."

He pulls you in even closer with a soft chuckle, "Well, if it's any consolation, I'm lookin' forward to teachin' you how to play."

You make a face, "Hymns," you say with a roll of your eyes, "You're teaching me how to play hymns. I don't see anything exciting or sexy about that."

"We'll make it sexy," he murmurs, inching his face downward so it's more level with yours, eyes casting down to your lips, "Thought you were my good little Christian girl."

All thoughts suddenly seem arbitrary when he's looking at you like that, your gaze immediately going hazy as he leans in and kisses you deep, pushes his tongue inside your mouth softly and tastes you. You hum against his mouth as a response, thighs tightening together as if on instinct the second you feel yourself begin to throb again.

"Are you?" he asks huskily when he pulls away, eyes dark but tired, "Are you my good little Christian girl, baby?"

You nod, swallowing down your arousal, "Yes, Mr. Miller."

"You gonna let me touch you while I teach you guitar?"

You nod again, biting back a whimper, "Yes, Mr. Miller."

His eyes dart back down to your lips, hand on your back traveling downward to cup your bare ass beneath the nightdress, "You gonna let me fuck that soft little pussy while you play one of your hymns?"

"Yes, Mr. Miller," you repeat, leaning forward to bury your face in his warm skin and inhale him again, moan softly against the hair on his chest, "Yes."

He squeezes your ass for a moment and then brings his hand back up, pulls you to him and wraps his arms around you tightly, "See, babygirl?" he whispers, "Told you we'll make it sexy."

Joel's alarm wakes you around six, rousing you from one of the best sleeps of your life. You open your eyes groggily, feeling him lean over you in bed to turn it off, warm chest brushing your arm. You roll over in bed and cuddle into him again, humming sleepily to yourself when he pulls you in close.

"I gotta get ready for work," he murmurs gently into your hair, "Go back to sleep, I'll wake you when it's time to go."

You frown sleepily but don't have the energy to protest, eyes closing again as you melt back into his pillow. You feel him release you from his embrace and press a kiss to your forehead, a simple reminder that this isn't some dream you're having, it's somehow reality. You smile and fall asleep again within seconds.

He wakes you up again after about half an hour, seats himself on the edge of his bed and strokes your hair. You peer up at him with a sleepy and satisfied expression, unable to stop the words that fall immediately from your lips:

"Kiss me."

He doesn't need convincing, still thumbing your hair behind your ear as he leans down and kisses you softly, bumps your nose against his and lets your tongue lazily explore his mouth, tasting mouthwash. You sigh contentedly, pulling back to smile at him while he strokes your cheek.

"Sleep good?" he asks you softly.

You nod, remembering the closeness the two of you had shared all night, the soft hugs and tender cuddles, the quiet intimacy you've never experienced with anyone else. "Amazing," you whisper.

He kisses you again before you get out of bed, then takes your hand as he leads you downstairs. You grab your jacket on the way out of his bedroom, still hanging on the back of his door. You look down at yourself as you both reach the top of the stairs, realizing there's no way you'll be able to walk home in an outfit like this without certainly being accosted by a nosy neighbor.

You push down your worry when you reach the kitchen, unable to stop the grin from spreading across your face when you see that the kitchen table is set with breakfast; scrambled eggs and bacon.

"You made me breakfast?" you ask in awe, looking from the food to Joel and back again.

He laughs, walking over to the coffee pot and pouring himself a cup, "I did," he says with a smile, "And as much as I'd love for us to just sit and enjoy it," he looks down at his watch with a grimace as he takes a sip of coffee, "we have about ten minutes before I gotta drive you home and then get to work."

You sit down at the table, picking up your fork and immediately digging into the eggs, "You're gonna drive me home?"

He seats himself across from you, watching you enjoy what he'd cooked with a fond smile, "Can't have you walkin' home in that tiny little thing, can I?" he says teasingly, "Your parents would wring my neck."

You groan, "Oh god, please don't even joke about that. If they knew..."

He just chuckles and starts to eat, looking up every now and then to give you one of those crinkly-eyed crooked smiles that makes you weak. You smile through mouthfuls of food and feel your skin alight every time you feel his gaze on you.

"I don't usually eat this fast, I promise," you say through a mouthful of bacon, covering your mouth, "It's only 'cause we're on a time crunch."

He shakes his head, still smiling, "You're so damn cute."

You try your hardest not to reach across the table and pull him toward you for a kiss.

The drive from his house to yours is extremely short, no less than two minutes. Still, you enjoy the short time you spend in his truck, his big hand spread out on your bare thigh while he hums along to a tune on the radio and gives you soft little sideways glances that makes your heart flutter. You can't help but feel like someone else when you're with him, someone more carefree and outgoing, happier and more experienced. It's only when you slowly near your house that you realize maybe this person is who you really are.

"Stop here," you tell Joel with a grimace, still a few houses away, "My parents are still home."

"How're you gonna get in?" he asks with an edge of concern to his voice, eyeing your house, "Think you can climb the fence?"

You bite your lip, "Probably. I've never done it before but I don't have much choice," you lean your head against the backrest in irritation, "God, why did I choose now to rebel? I coulda learned how to do all this shit when I was a kid if I hadn't been so obsessed with being perfect."

He gives you a sympathetic look, thumb stroking your thigh reassuringly, "I'll stay right here 'til you're inside."

You yearn to lean over the small space between you and kiss him, but you know there's always a risk of a neighbor coming out of their house and seeing you. Instead, you place your hand atop the one on your thigh and squeeze his fingers gently, giving him a small smile.

"I had a really nice night," you say quietly, unsure how exactly this kind of thing is done, "And morning."

"So did I, sweetheart," he replies, voice tender, "We'll do it again, promise."

With one final squeeze of his hand you slip out of his truck, tying your jacket around your waist to cover up your legs a bit. It leaves your upper half more exposed than you'd like, your eyes going wide when you realize how much cleavage this nightdress really shows.

"Here," Joel says, understanding your reaction immediately, "Wear this on top." Without giving you any time to protest he's unbuckling himself to undo his plaid button down, shirking it off his shoulders and handing it to you. It leaves him in a t-shirt and jeans, your eyes trailing to his strong arms without meaning to, the arms that had held you close all night.

"Thank you," you murmur, brow furrowing a bit, "You're sure?"

He smiles crookedly and buckles up again, "I'm sure, angel. You keep that."

Your heart flutters as you wrap his shirt around you, slipping your arms into the much too long sleeves and inhaling the scent of him - your new favorite smell - surrounding you. You're never getting rid of this. Ever.

With a wave you hurry down the sidewalk, feeling slightly ridiculous in your layered and baggy outfit but relieved that you're covered up. You eye the tall white fence of your backyard, trying to formulate a plan in your head as you go. Hop the fence, get a ladder from the tool shed and climb up to your bedroom? But did you even leave your window open? You can't help but feel rage in your chest for your parents rules, the curfew, all the nonsense you've been living with for your entire life. Why the fuck don't you have a fucking key to your own fucking house?

You can feel Joel's eyes on you when you reach the fence, still sitting in his truck a few houses down.

Please, God, you think to yourself as you slip one of your sneakers in between the fence posts and yank yourself up, I know I've sinned. I know I'm a mess. And I'm not even sure I really believe in you anymore. But please, if you're there, don't let me make a fool of myself in front of Joel Miller.

Surprisingly, your prayer seems to work. Climbing up the fence is relatively easy; you keep an eye out for your neighbors as you quickly pull yourself over and flop down on the other side, extremely grateful that neither your jacket nor Joel's shirt gets caught on anything. You hurry to the tool shed, eyeing your bedroom window as you go and feeling beyond relieved when you see that it's wide open; God bless Texan summers.

You decide to wait inside the tool shed until your parents are gone, not wanting to draw any attention to yourself with the ladder. You close the door behind you and sink to the concrete floor, heart pounding in your chest as the reality of what you've just done overwhelms you.

You snuck out to see a man. You slept in his bed. He drove you home so you could sneak back in.

Quiet laughter fills the tool shed, all coming from your own mouth. You grin to yourself and shake your head in the darkness, leaning back against the door and closing your eyes. Who are you? Who is this new person you've become? You don't know, but you love her.

You find yourself pulling your phone out of your jacket pocket and typing out a new message, but this time it's not to Joel - it's to your friends from college:

i think i'm officially a bad girl.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #fic: feelings on fire #*

2K notes · View notes

wipbigbang · 26 days

Text

2024 WIP Big Bang Schedule & FAQ!

Schedule

All times are by 11:59pm PST. Convert time zones.

Sign-ups Begin- April 15th Sign-ups Close- May 21st Check In #1- May 22nd Check In #2- June 15th Snippets Due- July 1st Art Claims Begin- July 17th Check In #3- July 22nd Check In #4- August 6th Rough Drafts Due- August 15th Posting Claims Begin- August 23rd Posting Claims Ends- September 1st Final Drafts/Art Due- September 7th Posting Starts- September 8th

FAQ

What is the WIP Big Bang? Good question! This is a Big Bang with one goal in mind: to clean out your fanfic drafts folder. These are stories that were unfinished for whatever reason, that authors returned to and completed, and the art that goes with them!

Do I need a Livejournal/Dreamwidth/AO3/etc. account to participate? No! You don’t have to have an account on anything to participate, though you will need to have somewhere to post your finished work. Having one or more accounts will help for you to follow what is going on with the bang (we crosspost to Dreamwidth and Tumblr and heavily use our Discord server at the moment), but they are not required to participate. You can always leave comments anonymously or with an opensource ID.

How many fics can we sign up for? We absolutely don’t mind multiple sign-ups. I know one year someone submitted 50 fics to finish, and got at least half of them done. We just ask that when you sign up with more than one fic you give each fic a unique user ID (please do not use the same ID for all your fics...it’s important to have different IDs for the check-ins).

Will I get emails about the bang? We do send out some emails, mostly for snippets and art claims and to ensure communication between authors and artists, but please do NOT rely on getting an email to remind you of due dates. We currently do not keep an updated email list of participants, so we only send individual emails as needed rather than mass emails.

However, email is the fastest way to communicate with the mods. If you have any questions or are having trouble communicating with your artist/author, please do email us! We will do our best to respond quickly.

What do you mean by minimum word count to enter? This is a WIP Big Bang, therefore we ask you to have at least 500 words of your story drafted when you enter.

Can an outline count towards those first 500 words that are needed at sign up? We have admitted work on an outline before so yes, if your outline is fleshed out enough to cover a 7,500 word+ fic, we’ll allow it.

Are multi-chapter fics allowed? Yes, multi-chapter fics are allowed and even more so encouraged if your fic is lengthy.

What about fics that are already posted on ao3 in part? Do those qualify for the bang? It's okay if you have posted a few chapters of your fic already (you never know when the muse deserts you, after all), we just require you to refrain from posting more until posting begins here. All we ask is that you not post any public updates to the fic until September 1st (or August 1st with the mod’s okay). We don’t want you to lose kudos and comments so don’t worry about pulling the fic down, just hold off on updates for now.

Is there a minimum word count? 7,500 words for each finished fic, but the sky's the limit, right?

I see that the fic minimum is 7500 words and that published WIPs are acceptable - but what if the WIP I’m considering is already more than 7500 words? Is the expectation to add an additional 7500 to it? No. You can add as much or as little as you need to finish the story, though we do expect at least 1,000 or so new words if your WIP already meets the word count.

What happens if an author finishes the fic they signed up with but it’s less than 7,500 words? The intent was to go over the minimum but once they got into it the story was shorter than they thought and stretching it out would make it less good. Do they have to drop out at that point? By all means, we want your stories to feel as natural as possible, and if it’s under 7,500 words you may have two options:

1 - Drop the fic for the main BB event, post it now, and wait to post it to our AO3 collection in February when we run our International Fanworks Day celebration of finishing fics that are less than 7,500 words when finished. There’s no art for the fic, but bragging rights are posted to the communities for a week.

2 - If there are enough fics that fit that category, we can do a special day of posting the fics, but you’ll have to forgo art for the fic. I, as a mod, would probably pick November 30th for the posting day, as it’s the last day of posting for the bang and I don’t think anyone will mind more than one fic that day. You can post bragging rights to the community and share the fic with everyone.

Is there anything not allowed? As long as you wrote it and you want to finish it, you're welcome to participate. RPS/RPF is fine. Incest pairings are fine. Things like that I know have been hinted at in questions asked and as long as you tag for them, we’ll allow it. Also, canon settings with mostly OCs is allowed. We just ask that it be tagged properly with any content warnings you would deem fit and be given the appropriate rating for the level of sex/violence there is in the fic. Just bear in mind that while original work is allowed you may not get art for it.

I have a fic I wrote a few years ago, but only the first couple chapters are posted on AO3 because I was never happy with the rest of it and knew it needed major revision. Is that something I could use for WIP Big Bang? The entire fic has been posted, but only on one platform, and it would be rewritten for AO3 and WIPBB. I think revising a fic for posting would work, as long as you have at least 500 words done, will have 7,500 words at a minimum when it’s done, and are planning to add more to the fic. Simply rewriting what you have would be a gray area, but if you’re going to take stuff out and add new scenes, either in the old scenes place or on its own, you should be fine.

What's the etiquette around OC-centric stories? Ones that are set in a well known fandom and use several characters, but still lean a lot on original characters? Are they discouraged, or fine? Based on my own personal experience making art for a story that had a heavy OC presence, it’s not something we discourage at all, but be forewarned when it comes to the art accompanying your fic your artist may not be able to incorporate the OCs into your art. Not everyone makes art of a hand-drawn or digitally drawn nature, so it helps if you have people for face claims ahead of art submissions, and you and your artist communicate regularly. You can also end up with art not featuring the OCs at all, just the canon characters, which is not necessarily a bad thing. Your other options are to bring in an artist you trust with your vision of your OC or to make your own art (we do allow that, we just need to be told during the check-in before art that you’re bringing in your own artist if you go that route, or that you’re doing your own art…there will not be a need to sign up in the artist’s sign up, however), or to opt-out of art entirely. So there’s plenty of options to call on when it comes time for art.

What are 'check-ins’? These are a way for us to see what you've been up to and for you to make sure you're still on track. It will give you a little nudge/reminder if you need it, but they are not compulsory. Basically a form is posted that you fill out with your user ID (unique for each fic) and a checkbox to let us know you’re still participating, plus a section for any notes for the mods.

How are the check in IDs used? They are solely for the mods organizational purposes. Each ID being for a separate story allows us to keep all the information you submit during check-ins and for snippets in one line on our spreadsheet. You don’t have to share your check in IDs with anyone else if you don’t want to.

How much progress should authors be making between each checkpoint? (Percentage-wise from our estimated total wc, I guess?) Ideally, with each check-in, you should be at least 25% closer to finishing. The end word count only really matters in that the fic needs to be at least 7,500 words when done, so it’s more your progress towards finishing that should be measured, not so much the word count.

What are the snippets requirements? In order to allow the artists to make art for the story they claimed, we require you to supply three snippets from your fic, between 500 – 1500 words each. The snippets will be sent to the artist after they have claimed your story. They're to help the artist match your story for artwork the best way he or she possibly can. It’s helpful to choose scenes or parts of scenes that you feel best represent your fic, but don’t feel like they have to be perfect to be submitted. Along with the snippets, we will send your artist the basic fic info and your email, so the two of you can collaborate more if you would both like.

What are the rough drafts requirements? For the rough drafts, stories should be at least 80% complete. You will not have to turn them in to us, just assure us that you are at that point. Anything less is at the discretion of the mods and those authors should speak to one of the mods asap.

What is, and do I need, a beta? A beta is basically a person who goes over your work to make sure that there are no spelling/grammatical errors and they can even be of assistance in helping you with story lines, etc. It is highly recommended that a beta looks over your work before posting. If you are having trouble finding a beta, try this post.

Where can I post my fic/art? Stories and art can be posted to your own personal journal, Tumblr, ff-net, AO3, or wherever you like. For those of you with AO3 accounts, we will set up a collection that will go live on the day of the posting. If you don’t currently have an AO3 account but would like one, you can contact the mods for an invitation code to see if they have any available. You can also add yourself to the AO3 Invites Request queue.

What does posting look like? Do we have to post the whole thing on the day, or can we stretch it out between when posting starts and our date? I’ve had a few longfics get killed by big bangs forcing posting to happen on a given day, and would prefer to avoid that if possible. For most fics, posting to AO3/FF.net/other places will be allowed to start in September and you can stretch it out as many posts as you want as long as the complete fic is up by your posting date (and posting dates go from September 8th to November 15th with two weeks for emergency posting). However, you can send us an ask/e-mail about posting as early as August if you have an extremely long fic/something with a long posting schedule. Mostly what we want is the fic to be completely up on the website of your choice by your posting date, and I know some people don’t want to overwhelm their readers. So we want to work with writers to give them ample time to post the story up to their posting date.

Now, as for posting to the communities, you get to choose which day your link to the story and bragging rights are posted, and as I said, we have a range of dates from September 8th to November 15th with two to three stories posting a day. If for some reason you miss your posting date, you have until November 30th to post to the community, during the two weeks of emergency posting, with a possible extension after that due to the amount of participants needing to post later. So hopefully there should be plenty of time to get a longfic up and posted to the website of your choice and our BB.

Will the three snippets per story we have to send in be the ones we want the artist to make art for? Or can it just be random snippets and then later the artist and I can check together to see which scenes would work best for art? So ideally, you and the artist will be communicating once you’re each sent each other’s contact information, and you’ll give your artist a chance to read all that you’ve written at that point. That’s what happens in most cases. If your fic gets picked by an artist and they don’t work with you, then the snippets you sent will be what the artwork will be based on. It’s a good idea to know that, while most of the time the artists work closely with the authors, there are a few exceptions to that.

How do I know when to post? Posting will be tiered; you'll each get your own posting date that you and your artist will decide on together. There will probably be four fics, plus art, posting per day between September 8th and November 30th. The post with date claims will go up on August 23rd and you'll have to choose your date by September 1st.

Posting of chapters on AO3 or your own blog (or wherever you usually post) generally starts September 1st, but you can post earlier (as early as August 1st) if you let us know you have a long story. However, posting has to be finished by your chosen posting date to the comm. One of the things we're hoping to do with the posted dates is to give everybody on the comm a little bragging time in the spotlight. You know, "this story was incomplete for this long, but I finished this sucker." If you don't have time to post your bragging rights to the communities on your chosen posting date, you can queue up a post ahead of time and we can post it on the date you picked or you can email us your bragging rights and we can post by proxy for you. Either way works for us. Art will be due on the chosen posting date to the comm.

What am I posting to the Livejournal/Dreamwidth/Tumblr community if I’m posting the fic elsewhere? You’ll be posting what we call bragging rights. It’s a small form you fill out and post to the community with a link to your fic (we’ll enable moderated posting to the Tumblr, Livejournal and Dreamwidth communities for members on August 8th). We will post a template for posting artwork and stories to the comm closer to the posting date.

Is there a minimum/maximum requirement for my art? There is no strict minimum, but we do ask artists to remember that the authors are writing a minimum of 7,500 words and your artwork should reflect that. You can do anything you like, including banners, wallpapers, icons, mixes, vids, gif sets, picspams, etc. Suggested guidelines for art are 500x500px (or equivalent of smaller pieces like banner + spacers, cover + icons, etc.) for traditional art, digital art, and manips; 2 minutes for vids; 10 songs + cover art for mixes; and 6 images for gif sets and picspams. We also ask that when you are in contact with the author, you work with them to see if there is anything specific they would like (i.e. a wallpaper, book cover, etc.). The art is your work, but having ideas doesn't hurt!

What are 'art claims'? The claims are when anonymous summaries of the story go up for artists to choose from. Artists sign-ups and art claims are the same thing; we use one form for both things, and that way the authors don’t have to sign up for an event they may not end up participating in. It is based on a 'first come, first served' basis and artists may choose up to three potential stories (in case their first choice is unavailable). If there are more stories than artists, there will be a second round of claims wherein artists may choose a second story to work with. And on until all stories are claimed for art.

If a fic up for claiming is rated explicit (R, NC-17, etc.), please only claim the story if you are over 18 years of age. Some authors may be uncomfortable working with underage artists on explicit works. We do not verify ages in any way for the bang, so this is solely on the honor system.

What do I do if I have problems or concerns about my author/artist? Sometimes authors and artists do not get along and this may cause problems with working together. If this happens to be the case with you, please email the mods and we will try to do what we can so that everyone has a chance to have fun at WIP Big Bang!

If you have not heard from your author/artist in some time after trying to contact them, you can reach out to us via email and we will try to get in touch with them for you.

Can I get an extension? Community extensions may be given in the event that the majority of the authors/artists need one. They may also be given individually under certain circumstances, but this must be discussed with the mods and will only be a short extension for posting. If you are certain that you won’t be able to finish your story in time, please let us know by July 13th.

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I was just wondering if there’s any way to enter the bang anonymously? Like would it be okay to put our work in an anonymous collection on ao3 or something? Unfortunately, I can’t think of a way for that to work. The collection that we use is moderated but it’s not anonymous, and there are the bragging posts that you post on your posting day, which you would have your username on whichever platform you use.

I was just wondering whether I'm sworn to secrecy on which fics I'll be finishing up, or if I can shout it out to the world? No one is sworn to secrecy once they’ve signed up (aside from posting new parts to fic that’s already up somewhere…we ask that you refrain from doing that until at least July 1st)! We will be running Word Wars, where you can add more to a fic in a certain amount of time, and Whine Bars, where you can complain or ask for help or whatever else you feel like talking about when it comes to struggling with a fic, all after sign-ups end on a weekly basis, plus there’s the Discord server for chatting with your fellow authors and artists.

I have a question/concern that’s not mentioned here. If you need help, you can always contact a mod and we will do our best to make sure that you get your story/art finished. The best and fastest method of contact is through our email, [email protected].

#wip big bang #!admin #!2024 #signal boost

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evidence-based-activism · 10 days

Note

you’re still ignoring WHY the rates for men are so high, because women get underreported and don’t get taken seriously at all when they commit crimes. Women abuse children more and initiate 70% of domestic violence, yet men are still portrayed as the villains. You should read the comments or some of the reblogs under that post. Full of people who have been abused by women and have been safer when around only men,and never been taken seriously. You say it’s a strawman fallacy but no it’s not, radfems say this shit all the timesee. and are very gender essentialist themselves. Maybe you’re not saying it but a lot of popular radfems are, to mostly agreement from other radfems,so you can’t really blame people for seeing that and understanding it to be a popular TERF take.

Hi -

So, I'm going to answer this ask and the one that includes the bustle link that I expect was also sent by you? However, I'm not going to continue putting in this degree of effort (i.e., reading and researching the information you send) unless you start matching that effort. It will be difficult for you to do so in an ask (although I suppose you could try), so I suggest you reblog this post to further discuss.

So, on to the response:

---

No, there is not a significant reporting gap (at least, not one caused by sex).

You said "women get underreported and don’t get taken seriously at all when they commit crimes", but there is no evidence that is the case. Let's take the crime data from two sources: the criminal victimization survey by the BJS [1] and the FBI crime data explorer [2]. These two sources are helpful for this discussion because the BJS attempts to determine total offenses including those not reported, while the FBI only looks at reported offenses.

For 2022 (rounding numbers) and looking at violent offenses (excluding homicide as the BJS report is interview based):

Male violent crime: 4,750,000 estimated by the BJS and 1,990,000 reported by the FBI for an overall 42% reporting rate

Female violent crime: 1,220,000 estimated by the BJS and 777,000 reported by the FBI for an overall 64% reporting rate

These numbers would suggest that more female offenders than male offenders are reported (i.e., a greater percent of female offenders, even though in absolute terms there are far fewer female offenders). However, there are some caveats to this data that makes me reluctant to state this conclusion:

The crime definitions between the BJS and FBI differ slightly. For example, I had to search through the "other crimes" for the FBI to find simple assault and several additional sexual assault categories to try and match the overall BJS "violent crime" statistic.

These stats are incident based not offender based. So, for example, if John commits 10 aggravated assaults and 5 of his victims report the assault to the police, 5 incidents are recorded in the system. Therefore, recidivism may or may not play a role in reporting rates.

I calculated the rate using the offender stats for individual offenders and "both male and female offender". Proportionally speaking a greater percent of female offenders are in the "both" category (23% vs 6%). Other statistics suggest more severe crimes are more likely to be reported to the police (e.g., 50% of aggravated assault is reported vs 37% of simple assault). If we make the assumption that violent crimes involving multiple offenders are more likely to be severe, then this could partially explain the disparity.

However, this point is essentially irrelevant, as the statistics previously discussed in the CDC report don't rely on reported crimes, they specifically interview representative samples in order to determine prevalence rates. (The difference between this data (and data in the BJS report) and the number of reported cases is how we know these crimes are under-reported.)

Just to drive the point home: the BJS study, which again, looks at both reported and unreported crime indicates:

Men take part in 84% of violent crimes and the only offender(s) in 79% of violent crimes (the stats for women are 21% and 17% respectively)

The offender-to-population ratio is 1.6 for men and 0.3 for women. That means the share of men in the "offender population" is 60% more than the share of men in the US population. The share of women offenders is 70% less than their share of the US population.

And before you send me another debunked myth: no men are not victimized more: the victim-to-offender population ratio for all violent crimes is 1.0 for both men and women.

I've also talked about how men don't under-report abuse (at least, not anymore than women do) in the past, so see this post for a couple more sources.

There's also no evidence that crimes committed by women get taken less seriously. However, it is true that when women do commit crimes, they tend to be less severe than the crimes committed by men (i.e., women commit more simple assault and aggravated assault). Given this, women's crimes may be taken "less seriously", but that's because the crimes are less serious, going by the accepted definitions of the crime. (And this is not my personal opinion! There is an actual "crime hierarchy" used in the American justice system that ranks crimes by degree of severity.)

In terms of legal consequences, women and men receive similar sentence lengths with one major caveat [3]. Caretakers of children, especially, young children, routinely received shorter sentences. Since women are more likely to be the primary caretaker of children, they'd be more likely to see this sentence reduction. However, this gap has been closing since the introduction of mandatory minimum sentencing. Some research suggests women may receive harsher sentences than men for "traditionally male crimes" [4].

Either way, crimes by women are clearly taken at least as "seriously" as crimes by men.

---

No women do not abuse children more.

You said "Women abuse children more", but this is an oft-repeated statement from terribly misinterpreted data.

The misconception comes from data from the child maltreatment report from the HHS [5]. This report looks at reports of child abuse and neglect. In it they found that 52% of victims had a female perpetrator and 47% had a male perpetrator. At first glance, this looks like women abuse more children (hence the wide-spread misinterpretation), however this neglects to take several things into consideration.

First, since about 51% of the population is female, even if we considered nothing else, these values would suggest parity in maltreatment (abuse + neglect) rates. Of course, even this interpretation is deeply flawed, but I thought it merited pointing out.

Second, and perhaps most important, these stats are not looking at incidence or even prevalence rates. This isn't a rate at all. For example, you may be tempted to interpret these as "52% of children in a women's care are abused" or "52% of women abuse children". These are, and I must stress this, completely incorrect interpretations. These stats say only that of child maltreatment (abuse+neglect) victims identified by CPS, 52% of them were maltreated by a women.

Next, these stats fail to take into account the fact that many more women are the primary caretaker of children. According to the American Time Use Survey (ATUS), mothers spend 80% more time caring for children than fathers. This disparity widens even further when you exclude the "entertainment" categories like playing or reading to children (130% increase, or more than double) [6]. This matters because it provides some insight into how rates of abuse would be different. You need to adjust for time spent with children to get a meaningful rate. Another way to look at this is that despite mothers spending almost twice the amount of time around children as fathers, they account for the same number of perpetrators. This alone should tell you that a child is more likely to be safe in the company of a randomly selected woman than a randomly selected man.

In case you still aren't convinced however, the report also clarifies that the perpetrator sex varied widely by maltreatment type. Women were the perpetrator in 58.5% of neglect cases (vs 41%) and 70.5% of medical neglect cases (vs 29%). But men were the perpetrator in 49.5% of physical abuse cases (vs 49%), 89% of sexual abuse cases (vs 8%), and 59% of emotional abuse cases (vs 41%). While no form of child maltreatment is ever acceptable, I hope I don't need to explain how abuse (which "requires an action") is different from neglect (which "occurs from an inaction") and requires different responses.

Speaking of neglect: there is much discourse on how much of the neglect (and medical neglect) registered by CPS is "true neglect" and how much is a result of poverty. This is particularly relevant considering single mothers are much more likely to live in poverty than married couples or single fathers. Examples of this may include: a mother doesn't have enough money to buy food and pay for rent so she and her child eat very little until her next paycheck, a single mother can't miss work without being fired so she sends her sick child to school, a single mother can't pay for child care so she has to choose between leaving her child home alone or having an unfit adult (her own abusive parent? an unsuitable boyfriend?) watch her child. In all of these situations, something absolutely needs to be done to help the child, but it likely isn't the same something as a child who's being beaten or sexually abused by his father.

Other notes on neglect: even the relatively higher proportion of female perpetrators for neglect and medical neglect in this sample are well below parity when adjusted for time spent with the child. It’s also likely that men’s rates of neglect are likely severely under-reported here. Why? Because a neglect case is rarely (if ever) opened for absentee ("deadbeat") dads; it's also unclear how many men with non-primary custody are listed as perpetrators of neglect. (I ask you: if mothers are considered neglectful for failing to intervene on behalf of their child in abusive/neglectful situations, why aren't fathers?)

Other studies on child abuse perpetration (sadly no national reports) show:

Evaluations of child fatalities in Missouri over a 8-year period showed men inflicted 71% of fatal injuries on young children [8]

Evaluations of fatal and nonfatal abusive head trauma over a 12-year period at the Children's Hospital of Denver found 69% of the perpetrators were male (including 74% of the perpetrators of fatal head traumas) [9]

Data from conviction rates and victimization surveys suggest that 4-5% of adult, child sex offenders (as in child sex offenders who are adults) are female, meaning that 95-96% are male [10]

Altogether, this indicates that men are more likely to abuse a child in their care than women. Unsurprisingly, it’s safer for children to be around women than around men.

---

No, women do not initiate more domestic violence/commit the same amount of abuse.

You said "women ... initiate 70% of domestic violence". It took me a while to find a source for this statistic, but I eventually found out it comes from a poorly done study that unfortunately finds company with a number of other poorly done studies touted by MRAs and anti-feminists.

Before we address that study specifically: a brief history of the nonsense plaguing domestic violence research.

To be clear, this is not a new discussion, we (the general we) have been having this same discussion about whether there's gender parity in domestic violence for, oh, 50 years or so. It is, possibly not entirely, but certainly mostly the result of the "Conflict Tactics Scale" (CTS). Intended for use in family violence research, it has several methodological flaws which make its results ... let's go with unreliable.

I really thought I'd discussed the CTS before now ... but can't find anything on my blog. But there is this post which is a nice pictograph about this next topic, which I will loop into our discussion of the CTS.

So ... why is the CTS so unreliable? Because "domestic violence" is not a homogeneous phenomenon. If I asked someone to picture an abusive relationship they are almost certainly going to imagine an abusive man controlling his partner through intimidation, likely restricting her behavior, and possibly hitting or otherwise physically harming her. This "typical" dynamic is what we think of when we hear "domestic abuse/violence". (I'd argue that it's what we should think of when discussing domestic violence, but I'm open to being convinced otherwise.)

Notably, what this doesn't include is the -- far more common -- case of situational violence. A "typical" example of situational violence is arguments that "gets out of hand" and end with one partner slapping/shoving/etc. the other (switching between perpetrator for different incidents) or two people who routinely get "nasty" (name calling, personal insults) to each other during arguments. There's no intimidation or controlling behavior and it doesn't escalate. It also is generally not associated with significant victim hardship (i.e., no/little increase in depression, anxiety, or PTSD; little fear or feeling unable to escape the relationship; no or few physical injuries; little or no economic hardship; etc.). It's also what's predominately being measured by the CTS.

This isn't to say that situational violence is "okay". It clearly isn't, no more than a bar fight or slapping a co-worker is okay. It is, however, far more comparable to these examples (bar fight, slapping a coworker, etc.) than it is to the standard conception of domestic violence (which itself is more comparable to being a prisoner of war [11]). Some people have tried to resolve this by renaming the standard conception to "intimate partner terrorism" or "domestic abuse with coercive control". I have ... mixed thoughts on this, so I'm going to leave it at this for now.

If you'd like to read more about this, Michael P. Johnson at PSU (who originally proposed this division back in the 1990s!) has written a book and also has numerous articles about the topic.

I have a lot of sources about the CTS/differences in violence perpetration rates, but this post is already very long and I plan to make a whole separate post about this at some point. So, I'm going to briefly summarize the points and give some references that would be particularly helpful.

So, the issues with CTS include:

Failure to include a full range of possible violent behaviors, including many that are almost always perpetrated by men, including: rape, murder, choking, and suffocation.

Failure to examine post-breakup/divorce time periods, despite post-separation being one of the most dangerous time periods for abused women (but, notably, not men).

Failure to examine context. This gets back at the paradigm I mentioned above: studies that do examine context have shown that the vast majority of coercive controlling violence (i.e., traditional abuse) is perpetrated by men and the vast majority of responsive violence (i.e., self-defense) is perpetrated by women.

Failure to examine the severity of the violence and/or violence impacts. Studies have also shown that women routinely receive the more severe injuries than men. That applies to both the injuries received from coercive controlling violence and from situational violence. Notably, men are rarely ever injured from responsive violence. Women also routinely report more severe psychological and social problems as a result of abuse.

Extremely poor phrasing of the questions. The CTS is unique in its false positive rate, as has been established by several other measures of violence. For example, simply adding the stem "Not including horseplay or joking around..." reduced the number of violent incidents reported and also showed higher rates of female victimization than male victimization.

Inconsistency with every other scale/measure used for determining prevalence rates of abuse! Hopefully it is obvious why this is an issue, but as an example: if I created a new measure for "depressive symptoms" and I found that it correlated very poorly with every other accepted measure of depressive symptoms then my new measure would be considered to have very poor "convergent validity". In non-politicized situations, my measure would likely never make it to the publishing stage, and would certainly fall out of use once this poor validity demonstrated by another study. Unfortunately, science is not immune to politics any more than the people conducting it are, as we can see with the survival of the CTS.

I gathered this information from a bunch of sources, but I've selected a few reviews (i.e., papers that "review" or condense many other papers into one) that would be helpful to you [12-16]. I recommend [12] in particular, although [13] touches on much of the same information and is much shorter. Ultimately, the CTS can, at most, be considered a measure of situational violence (and it's not even very good at that!).

---

So, finally, why is the 70% study [17] particularly bad?

All of the above problems with CTS apply, but in addition to all of that, they didn't just use the already flawed measure as it was ... no they, narrowed it down into 6 total questions. In total it asked about the respondent's perpetration of victimization of the following forms of violence: threatening with violence, pushing/shoving, throwing something, slapped, hit, kicked. They then "assessed" severity by asking a single question about injuries ("How often has partner had an injury, such as a sprain, bruise, or cut because of a fight with you?" and the corresponding victimization version.)

So, let's see ... failure to include predominately male forms of violence? Check. Further exclusion of even the existing items on the CTS that do examine this? Check! Failure to examine time past the relationship? Check. Failure to examine context? Check! Failure to examine severity of violence? Check. (Asking about a sprain or a bruise but not hospitalizations? broken bones? concussions?) Inconsistency with all other measures? Definitely!

Other problems with the study: they asked individuals to rate their perpetration and victimization, they did not examine their partners responses to such questions. This is a problem for a study like this, given that men tend to over-estimate their partners violence towards them and under-estimate their own violence towards their partner, and women do the opposite over-estimating their own violence and under-estimating their partners [12]. A note that a related problem has also shown up for the original CTS (i.e., if you asked both partners to complete the scale, their responses may agree on the "explaining a disagreement" item pair, but there was little if any agreement on the severe items like the "beating up" item pair).

To make a bad problem even worse: they condensed their multi-item (8-point) scales into binary (yes/no) categories and 3-item (low/medium/high) categories. This reduction in variance likely created artificially high rates for women and artificially low rates for men.

Hilariously (infuriatingly), they make it all the way through this data and then acknowledge that their study may not actually have examined domestic abuse at all! Instead it describes "common couple violence or situational violence", which, again, goes back to what the paradigm I introduced earlier. Of course, they don't revise their title or abstract to be less misleading ... that wouldn't be sensational enough.

Also, just to point this out: even this poorly designed, misleading study still showed "men were more likely to inflict an injury on a partner than ... women". So ... there you go. Even tipping the scales/design as far in favor of a "gender symmetry" result as they can possibly go, women still end up injured more than men.

---

So, for the rest of your ask:

"yet men are still portrayed as the villains"

well when 1 in 3 men around the world openly admit to abusing women, and they are the perpetrator of 90+% of homicides, and 10-67% of men openly admit to believing non-defensive physical and sexual violence against women is at least sometimes okay it's pretty easy to see why women can see them as the villain/enemy.

"You should read the comments or some of the reblogs under that post. Full of people who have been abused by women and have been safer when around only men,and never been taken seriously."

This is one of those cases where critical thinking skills are pretty important! Let me start you off:

Do I think that a social media post will garner a representative sample from which to draw conclusions? Or is more likely that people who agree with the post will comment on and re-blog it, spreading it more people who are more likely to agree with it?

Can I see the re-blog I'm making comments about (i.e., evidence-based-activism's re-blog?). If not, (hint: it's not in the re-blog viewer :)) is it possible that there are other hidden replies that are disagreeing with this post?

Maybe most importantly: do I need female-on-male or female-on-female violence to be as common as male-on-female and male-on-male violence in order to show compassion to those who do experience it? (Hint: you shouldn't!! Something doesn't need to be common to deserve sympathy and rare =/= excusable.)

In addition, this is touching on a pretty common issue with discourse these days -- the prioritization of "feeling" over "being". Someone (male or female) may feel safer around men, but statistically speaking they are safer around women. It's reasonable to respond to and accommodate people's feelings on an individual basis, it's not reasonable to base an ideology or policy around them.

"You say it’s a strawman fallacy but no it’s not, radfems say this shit all the timesee. ... Maybe you’re not saying it but a lot of popular radfems are, to mostly agreement from other radfems,so you can’t really blame people for seeing that and understanding it to be a popular TERF take."

Similar to the last point ... views on social media are not representative of a population. Views that you, specifically, are seeing are not representative! If they were, then "well, I see more posts preemptively criticizing people for not including men than I see posts excluding men" (which is true, almost every post I read now-a-days includes caveats like "but men are abused too!! and women can be abusers!!") would have been a valid counter-argument to your ask. But see, I know that my experience on social media is not universal, and I should hope you can acknowledge the same of your own!

Also ... to be fair to all these unnamed "radfems", I'm guessing that you would consider my posts (like this response) to be an example of someone "saying this", which is very much not the case. I am acknowledging social trends and making reasonable generalizations to allow for communication about a complex topic (you know, the way people do for any and every topic ever), but I'm not claiming that no women is ever abusive or that no man has ever been abused. I'm guessing that these other posts are pretty similar (if less verbose).

side note, you also said: "radfems ... are very gender essentialist themselves".

Either you don't know what "gender essentialist" means or the people you are talking to/about are not radfems. I acknowledge that there are a number of people going around and saying they're radfems, but the nice thing about a political group like this is they have (at least some) defined beliefs.

So, for example, if someone went around saying they are a communist, but then when asked to describe their desired economic system, describes an economy based around the free market and decentralized production ... then they aren't a communist no matter what they call themselves. A command economy is a central tenant to communism, so much so that a desire to implement one/have one is intrinsic to being a communist.

In the same way, if someone is calling themselves a radfem, but supports the preservation of gender/gender roles or believes that femininity/masculinity is biologically innate ... then they aren't a radfem.

---

TL;DR:

Violent crimes for women and men are reported at similar rates.

Women and men are punished similarly for violent crimes (i.e., people do take crimes by women seriously).

Children are safer in the company of women than men. There is insufficient research to accurately describe perpetrator demographics of "minor" child abuse/neglect, but there is significant research indicating that men are the perpetrator of the the vast majority of severe injuries, fatal injuries, and sexual abuse.

Men commit the vast majority controlling domestic violence (the type of violence people think of when thinking about domestic violence); women's violence is predominately responsive. Women are also the recipients of the vast majority of injuries (minor and severe) and are the victim of almost all fatalities.

Social media posts are not representative studies.

Critical thinking skills are important!

And, everyone -- regardless of sex or any other demographic characteristic -- deserves compassion when harmed. It is still appropriate talk about trends and create policies that assist the majority of those harmed.

A reminder that I will expect a reasonable degree of engagement with this information if you plan to engage in further discussion! I'll answer the bustle link ask, but after that I'll simply delete asks that don't make a genuine attempt to think critically about this information. (Clarifying questions are okay to ask though :)).

---

References below the cut:

Criminal Victimization, 2022 | Bureau of Justice Statistics. https://bjs.ojp.gov/library/publications/criminal-victimization-2022.

“National Incident-Based Reporting System (NIBRS) Details Reported in the United States .” Federal Bureau of Investigation Crime Data Explorer, https://cde.ucr.cjis.gov/LATEST/webapp/#/pages/explorer/crime/crime-trend.

Myrna S. Raeder Gender and Sentencing: Single Moms, Battered Women, and Other Sex-Based Anomalies in the Gender-Free World of the Federal Sentencing Guidelines, 20 Pepp. L. Rev. Iss. 3 (1993) Available at: https://digitalcommons.pepperdine.edu/plr/vol20/iss3/1

https://web.archive.org/web/20240406064949/https://www.theguardian.com/news/datablog/2019/jan/12/intimate-partner-violence-gender-gap-cyntoia-brown

Child Maltreatment 2022. https://www.acf.hhs.gov/cb/report/child-maltreatment-2022.

“Average Hours per Day Parents Spent Caring for and Helping Household Children as Their Main Activity.” Bureau of Labor Statistics, https://www.bls.gov/charts/american-time-use/activity-by-parent.htm.

Shrider, Emily A., Melissa Kollar, Frances Chen, and Jessica Semega, U.S. Census Bureau, Current Population Reports, P60-273, Income and Poverty in the United States: 2020, U.S. Government Publishing Office, Washington, DC, September 2021.

Schnitzer PG, Ewigman BG. Child deaths resulting from inflicted injuries: household risk factors and perpetrator characteristics. Pediatrics. 2005 Nov;116(5):e687-93. doi: 10.1542/peds.2005-0296. PMID: 16263983; PMCID: PMC1360186.

Starling SP, Holden JR, Jenny C. Abusive head trauma: the relationship of perpetrators to their victims. Pediatrics. 1995 Feb;95(2):259-62. PMID: 7838645.

McCartan, K. (Ed.). (2014). Responding to Sexual Offending. Palgrave Macmillan UK. https://doi.org/10.1057/9781137358134

Comparison Between Strategies Used on Prisoners of War and Battered Wives | Office of Justice Programs. https://www.ojp.gov/ncjrs/virtual-library/abstracts/comparison-between-strategies-used-prisoners-war-and-battered-wives.

Michael S. Kimmel. (2001). Male Victims of Domestic Violence: A Substantive and Methodological Research Review. The Equality Committee of the Department of Education and Science. https://vawnet.org/material/male-victims-domestic-violence-substantive-and-methodological-research-review

Flood, M. (1999, July 10). Claims About Husband Battering [Contribution to Newspaper, Magazine or Website]. Domestic Violence and Incest Resource Centre Newsletter; Domestic Violence and Incest Resource Centre. https://eprints.qut.edu.au/215068/

Walter DeKeseredy & Martin Schwartz. (1998). Measuring the Extent of Woman Abuse in Intimate Heterosexual Relationships: A Critique of the Conflict Tactics Scales. VAWnet.Org. https://vawnet.org/material/measuring-extent-woman-abuse-intimate-heterosexual-relationships-critique-conflict-tactics

Shamita Das Dasgupta. (2001). Towards an Understanding of Women’s Use of Non-Lethal Violence in Intimate Heterosexual Relationships. VAWnet.Org. https://vawnet.org/material/towards-understanding-womens-use-non-lethal-violence-intimate-heterosexual-relationships

Whitaker, Daniel J., et al. “Differences in Frequency of Violence and Reported Injury Between Relationships With Reciprocal and Nonreciprocal Intimate Partner Violence.” American Journal of Public Health, vol. 97, no. 5, May 2007, pp. 941–47. PubMed Central, https://doi.org/10.2105/AJPH.2005.079020.

#feminism #male violence

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corruptedcaps · 4 months

Text

Brat App

Ugh why did Mom have to marry the Dad of that bitch Alison?! As if being bullied at school isn’t enough now I have to get it at home too? I guess it’s not all bad though because I was able to hack into Alison’s phone and invite myself onto the exclusive ‘Brat App’ that Alison and her friends are all on. No idea what it is but with any luck I’ll find out some dirt on Alison to get her finally expelled so I can have some peace.

Hmmm this just looks to be some sort of social status game with challenges built on top. Every challenge has a ‘Brat’ value associated with it. So the more challenges a person does the higher up the leaderboard they climb and the higher up the rank. No big shock that Alison is sitting at the top as a level 10! Which gives her the rank of ‘Brat Queen’ which appropriate. By my calculations that would be…. nearly 10,000 points! Wow she must be addicted to this game. Looks like I got 1,000 bonus just for signing up and I can spend it on my little avatar of myself. Let’s see what I can buy. Sure why not, let’s improve her eyesight.…

Holy crap what just happened? My body feels all tingly and different. My glasses are making my eyes blurry. Did… did this app just cure my eyesight? This is unbelievable! What else can it do… more athletic, long nails, thick hair, big boobs, perfect posture. It makes sense now! All these challenges are real life challenges! This is how Alison is the hottest most feared girl in school! Ok new plan, if I raise the ranks of this app, and surpass Alison’s score then she’ll have to listen to me and become nicer. How hard could it be? I’m already at level one after all and these challenges don’t seem that difficult….

Bold makeup. Check. Revealing dress. Check. And that’s net me… let’s see here. 50 points? At this rate I’ll finish college before I have enough points! I need more bigger ticket items. Let me redeem these pathetic points at least. Mmmm nothing changed but it did give me a nice little tingle. Ok for 1000 points I need to… send some nudes?! Absolutely not! Alison hasn’t even done that! For another 1000 I need to suck a married cock? How vile! Ok this is more doable. Spread a vicious rumor about a classmate for 300. I could do that I guess. Hmmm I have to post it directly to the app so it can’t be about Alison or any of her friends. I know, I’ll say something about Lisa the unfortunate overweight girl in our class. She’ll never see it. I’ll say she was banned from Dairy Queen for breaking in and eating their whole stock. And send! Ohhhh somethings happening!

Oh god my tits! They’ve gone up like two sizes! But why? Hmmm looks like I hit some hidden ‘Bitch Bonus’ by doing that challenge. This is amazing and all I had to do was make fun of that whale Lisa. I know it was mean but it feels so fucking good! She’ll be fine it’s not like anyone will believe it anyway. <ding> ohhh that felt nice, what was it? Oh one of Alison’s friends liked my post. <ding> mmmm another one of her friends liked my post! Every like is 10 points and feels so gooood! <ding> oh fuck yesss girls keep liking! It feels so hawt! Maybe I should spread a few more lies…

Mmmm my body feels so much better in these clothes I redeemed! After only a few more rumors I got easily up to level 5, ‘Beta Bitch’, which unlocked my beautiful nails, my gorgeous silky hair, my perfect makeup, and all the knowledge to maintain them. Even my body is better shape, I’m so flexible now! Not to say anything about my lovely big tits! Alison’s friends seemed to really enjoy my wicked little rumours. I can’t deny it wasn’t fun writing them and it was even better getting the likes for them!

But I do feel kind of bad for all those losers I wrote stuff about though, I think the Brat App is effecting not just my body but my mind too. I feel so nasty and mean everytime I use it and even more now in this tight blouse and short skirt. I can’t help if I’m hotter than those dorks now! No that’s the app’s influence talking! I have to stop using the app, but I need to topple Alison! Ugh what do I do? <ding> what’s this? I’ve unlocked a new bonus. ‘Morality Suppression’? Hmmm that would solve my problems I guess and there is an option to turn it off later. Ok I’m going to do it! It’s for the good of the school after all. Here goes…

Ohhhhh fuck yesss that sooo much better. Like hell this is for the good of the school this is for the good of me! I feel so fucking free now. To think I was feeling regret for those pathetic fattys and geeky nerds I was writing about! I only regret not writing more! The only people worth anything are my bratty followers who like my posts and even they need to know their place and they will when I surpass Alison and become the new Queen bee. Oh fuck I feel so horny being this bad! I need some release and quick! Mmmm maybe I can finally tick off some of these challenges old me was too much of a loser to attempt. Mmmm yesss those will raise my rank in no time! Oh I have the perfectly wicked idea that will make me a bratty goddess by the end of the day! Oh step daddy!

Changed? Nonsense step daddy I’ve always looked like this. I’m a spoilt wicked little bitch just like your precious daughter, only you can fuck me. What’s the matter step daddy? Cat got your tongue? I bet you always wanted to fuck your mean little princess didn’t you? But you’re a good man and would never do that would you? But guess what? I’m not your daughter but I’m everything she is and more. Would you like a look under my shirt? Sure you would.

Hehe I see you like it step daddy. The outline of your cock is practically bursting out of your pants. Mmm and it looks so impressive. Let me have a peek <zip> oh step daddy, I can see why mommy married you. You’re so big! It’s making my mouth water. I need to have it step daddy, please say yes! I know you’re still hesitant so maybe it might convince you if I stopped calling you step daddy and instead called you… daddy. Mmm you like that don’t you… daddy? You want to put that big cock in my mouth and have my perfect pink lips suck it don’t you… daddy?

Mmmm thanks daddy for the great fucking, you’ve helped me complete so many nasty challenges. Suck a married cock. Check. Fuck an older man. Check. Call him daddy. Mmmm double check. After everything we got up to I completed over a dozen challenges, more than enough to take you bitch of a daughter’s crown. I just have to redeem the points now and assume the throne…. Mmmm it feels so good but something different is happening… oh fuck something amazing is happening!

Mmmm oh fuck yessss! Look at me, I’m a blonde busty bitch now! Im older and sexier and I feel so fucking nasty and hawt but how is this possible? Oh I see I unlocked a new challenge tree and a new rank. Mmmm ‘Homewrecker’ I love the sound of that! Who needs to be a bratty queen when I could be the wicked bitch that stole her daddy instead. Thats right darling, I’ve levelled up to being your mistress now and if you’re lucky and do as I say soon I’ll unlock ‘Trophy Wife’ and you can spoil me rotten as you should. Don’t worry I’ll still call you daddy, it makes everything feel so much more naughty. My mother? You mean that old crone Emma? She’s not my mother anymore, she not even my rival, she’s just an obstacle to our love, isn’t that right? Mmmm I knew you’d agree…. Daddy.

EPILOGUE

Alison was wondering what her father was doing that was taking so god damn long that he couldn’t have sent a car or something to pick her up from the mall like he promised. She had spent so much on his credit card that she was surrounded by high end boutique bags. Just when she was reaching her finally straw she got a message from him telling her he had sent a friend, some woman by the name of Gabrielle, to pick her up. Alison hadn’t heard of any Gabrielle before, except maybe her new dorky step sister but she went by Gabby anyway.

Following her father’s instructions to Gabrielle, Alison’s mouth was agape when she turned the corner to find a stunning blonde waiting for her. The blonde looked at Alison with distain and made Alison feel insignificant for the first time in her life. She didn’t like it. Gabrielle didn’t let up with her stare down, enjoying the way Alison averted her gaze. Alison meanwhile was grateful that their encounter was going to brief.

“So you’re Ted’s daughter? Hmmm I expected somebody a little more… impressive.” Gabrielle said not willing to hide her distaste. If this was anyone else Alison would have ground them to dust with only a few choice words but she felt so intimidated as she got into the car with the blonde bitch.

So much so that her phone dinged to tell her she lost some Brat points for her weakness. She had never lost points before! Gabrielle smirked to herself as she looked at her own phone and saw her points climb. She couldn’t wait become a wicked step mother.

#f2f #corruption #bitchification #magic #evil bitch #evil couple #power transfer #magic item

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usedpidemo · 7 months

Text

Acquainted (Red Velvet Yeri)

(Thank you for the commission! I hope it's to your liking.)

You’re just about ready to head off to sleep when you check the group chat. This is your nightly tradition. These strangers, now your closest friends despite the anonymity, are active and in good spirits, as usual. Outside of your weekday 9-to-5, these few moments are the most interesting parts of your day, and you just so happen to join during a particularly lively conversation:

> [22:48:01] yerimiese: (posts a link to a red velvet album article)

> [22:48:14] flutter mane: :sanapog:

> [22:48:23] silksong sulker: k-pop is saved

> [22:48:33] wonyoung cockjuicer: ew red velvet

> [22:48:37] wonyoung cockjuicer: wonyoung can peg me tbh

> [22:48:39] irene’s tokki: Bae J:floshedjiggle::floshedjiggle:hyun

> [22:49:06] milf hunter: :floshed:

> [22:49:11] milf hunter: gape sugalo

So of course, you chime in as well.

> [22:50:12] You: lets get it, new rv fancams

You’re in no mood to chat for longer than five minutes, but before you head offline, you receive a private message from your closest friend:

> yerimiese: so when are you in korea again?

> You: Next week, why?

> yerimiese: nice. why don’t we meet up, that would be dope as fuck

> You: You’re in Korea?

> yerimiese: yeaaaah? why wouldn’t i be?

> You: I thought you’d be doing other schedules abroad

> yerimiese: nah sm definitely won’t fly us out to film an mv. cheap ass bastards ㅋㅋㅋ

Yerimiese then sends you a video link. It’s a Yeri fancam, her weapon of choice. Your conversations began with small, intimate talks about your personal life, soon transpiring into open fapping, degrading, and casual lewdness with each other. Despite the usually depraved nature of your messages, you both continued sharing snippets of your day to day lives. That’s how close you’ve grown as friends.

> You: Well i’m very tired, today was a long day at work, had to work overtime. No time to lewd, sorry

> yerimiese: it's alright. you did well today

Yerimiese sends you a pic this time. It’s an event; the internet can’t load any quicker. You’re hungry, impatient, dying. Whether it’s intentional or not, the photos she sends whenever you’re tired or stressed out are hotter than her usual swimsuit or photoshoot reel. You’ve shared enough about your daily routine to her that a camera crew might as well be recording you.

It’s nothing out of the ordinary; a simple candid pic of herself lying in bed, her face perfectly cropped out of the background, showing nothing but her body on full display in front of the huge mirror, dressed in skimpy black panties and a white shirt that accentuates her shapely breasts. As usual, she’s not wearing a bra; you can clearly see her hard nipples demanding all of your attention.

> yerimiese: no need to send a dick pic tonight if you don’t feel like doing it

You can’t help it. Tired as you are, you feel obligated to send her one. Luckily, every pic she sends is more than enough to make you instantly hard. It feels more guilty not to be turned on, rather.

It’s a mostly quick and painless affair, powerful enough to put you out of commission within minutes. Even though you’re mentally checked out, Yerimiese’s sexy body is too hot not to crank one out. Taking a pic of your erect cock as you pump yourself to her is second nature; sending it on sticky fingers after you’ve spurted all over your phone and blankets is a different story. There’s no other way to put it, she was the perfect reprieve from the day’s exhaustions—a perfect high note to go out on.

> yerimiese: fuck you’re THROBBING THROBBING tonight :ningasm: your dick looks so damn nice. i can taste your cum through the screen

> You: Happy now?

> yerimiese: more than, and then some. I wish you were here right now so you could feel how wet I am

> You: Just wait. I can’t wait to fuck you hard. Goodnight

> yerimiese: goodnight

> yerimiese: :tukkwithkiss:

—————

The next time you’re able to communicate with her, you’re one day away from being in Korea. In that period, you’ve been inactive in the group chat because work. What welcomes you back is a barrage of lewd photos and Yeri fancams.

> yerimiese: see you tomorrow :chuupeek:

It’s an open secret that you know she’s Kim Yerim. Yes, that Kim Yerim of Red Velvet fame. It was a giveaway right from the first explicit photo she sent you; those tits in a tight, petite package couldn’t have belonged to anyone other than hers. That, and the fact that her username is the same as her Instagram handle, and that she has a photo of herself in the group as a display pic. How she would end up stumbling into your private K-pop server objectifying her body and her profession is one of life’s biggest mysteries, yet here she is, giving you a very personal look into her shapely figure, better than any fancam and photoshoot could ever provide. To others, she’s merely a casual acquaintance, but to you, she can freely open up herself.

Mainly because you’re one of three people in the group chat that still cares about Red Velvet.

Her latest sent photo is relatively tame; a tight fitting white silk sundress, and the skirt is virtually nonexistent, her panties practically out in the open. Luckily for you, she seems to be sitting down, but not in her usual living room. The notion that this is what welcomes you to Korea, that you’ll be balls deep inside an idol’s pussy right when you land—it ruins you.

Almost.

An airport guard manages to break your deep train of thought. “Sir! No phones please,” he sternly commands, saving you from total disaster; you’re inches away from walking straight through a metal detector with your phone in hand, the belt around your pants, and some spare coins lying deep in your pocket after you bought some traditionally expensive bottled water. Luckily, no one manages to see the photo—and even if they did, she’s still smart enough to cut out her face, leaving nothing else to your imagination.

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about immigration and airport security, it’s that there’s little need for repetition. You go through security four times. At the entrance, after the check-in counter, then within your departure gate, and even before boarding your flight—repetitive. It’s frustrating enough to tell Yerim, to which she responds with more lewd photos of herself.

> yerimiese: yeah ive been there before ㅋㅋㅋ

> yerimiese: how long’s ur flight?

> You: About 13 hours

> yerimiese: cali?

> You: Yes

> yerimiese: kinda random, but seulgi misses los angeles

> You: How come?

> yerimiese: something about an ex-boyfriend that i didn’t know about until the other day ㅋㅋㅋ i bet she’ll be jealous when she hears about you coming over just to clap my cheeks ㅋㅋㅋ she’d wish it was her bf instead of you

> You: does she know about this?

> yerimiese: of course not LOL i bet you’d rather fuck her instead of me, so she’ll never know. smh.

> You: That’s not true ur my RV bias since day one!

> yerimiese: stop lying LMAO i don’t blame you tho seulgi has some really toned legs and a nice slappable ass XD anyway, i’m gonna send you something to pass the time while ur onboard

> You: If it’s a masturbating clip i swear to god

> yerimiese: fuck you got me LOL

> You: Goddamit if anyone finds out on a plane of all places…

> yerimiese: i still can’t get over your clip of you jerking to me. i can taste your dick. you’re depriving me by leaving me out to dry for a week ㅋㅋㅋ

> You: You’ve been touching yourself to that clip for a week??

> yerimiese: can’t help myself, album prep has been tiring and i haven’t really found any opportunity to relax in the meantime

> You: I’ll be there soon, just wait a bit longer

> yerimiese: can’t trust me with that, i’m very close to making a huge mess of my hotel room ㅋㅋㅋ

> You: You’re in a hotel?

> yerimiese: just to meet you! I won’t be able to meet you at the airport (duh, idol dating shit), so this is the next best thing. just message me when you’ve landed here, okay?

> You: Sure

—————

It’s ingrained deep within Yerim’s mind. A core memory. If her phone could present count how many times she’s played the clip, it would be over a thousand.

It’s very straightforward. A 45 second clip of someone masturbating between the sheets, pressing their erect cock against their phone with a brightened image of a scantily clad woman on the screen. But it’s not just any woman, it’s her. She’s pleasuring herself to the idea of a man jerking off to her. She’s following his rhythm, timing the pace her fingers rub her clit to the tempo of the man’s cock pumping to her zoomed-in breasts.

And she’s mere minutes removed from a conversation with that exact same person.

Slumped against the hotel room walls, her bliss spirals out of control rapidly. Her legs are instinctively spread wide, juices already leaking through her panties and spilling to the floor; that’s how used they are to Yerim’s impulses to pleasure herself. In those brief moments, she imagines how the next few days play out, skipping past the formalities and pleasantries and going straight to the fucking. She moans and shouts as if that very man’s cock is penetrating her pussy hard at this very moment. Her other hand bashes the wall, tongue screaming streams of profanities, as if he’s manhandling her, using her to his personal delight.

“Fuck! Suck those fucking tits!” she screams, slipping one strap of her sundress down to pinch her own tit, enhancing the illusion. Her phone rings; in her mind it's functionally a vibrator. He’s come fully prepared, and she’s riding high knowing that this person is doing exactly what he said in their private messages from the very start.

Yerim drags her fingers along her clit violently, desperate to reach climax, the realization that this is her third orgasm of the day way beyond her. The evidence can be found everywhere: on the soiled bed sheets and in the smell of the shower; she envisions herself getting railed in those parts of the room, and then some—essentially turning the entire hotel room into the backdrop for all of the things he’d do to her: fingers around her throat, sunk into her ass, until it’s red and hurting, the way she’d quiver and cream all over his throbbing cock. Her neediness has no limits; it even breaks past her very own personal quarters, the loudness of her own self-induced pleasure drawing concern from occupants nearby.

Only after the blissful haze of orgasm does everything fall back in place. That repetitive knock on the door is a huge wake up call. Yerim’s eyes widen.

“Shit.”

She checks her fingers—they’re coated in copious amounts of slick—and after a little further inspection, she realizes the aftermath.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.”

—————

Being honest about yourself, you couldn’t have asked to feel hornier at a worse time than this. Thirty thousand feet high up in the air, stuck in economy class because you don’t get paid enough to deal with the bullshit back in the office. Using your one of two allowed leaves in the year for a trip to see a girl you’ve mostly known online, and it isn’t even paid. To make things worse, there’s no layovers—just a point-to-point flight from San Francisco to Seoul. 13 hours.

And boy, is the ride absolutely miserable.

By what you might as well call divine intervention, you’re conveniently seated between a nun and a little girl—the two worst kinds of people to be alongside with. No, not because they’re annoying or anything like that; aside from the girl getting up every thirty minutes from her window seat to get something from her parents across the aisle, you’re practically barred access to your glorified archive of lewd Yerim pics. Opening them up with a kid barely in the first grade beside you is openly asking for trouble.

And the few times you get up for a lavatory break, you can’t get yourself going. There’s always someone at the door every five minutes.

Eight hours deep into the flight, you look over your shoulder, catch one of the male flight attendants sneak inside one of the vacant lavatories with a fellow stewardess while everyone’s fast asleep. Fucking sickening. That should be you with Yerim right now.

When you arrive on the other side of the planet, you’ve gotten only a couple hours’ worth of sleep. You almost fumble your passport at immigration, getting them mixed up with a slew of business and membership cards. Then there’s your forgetfulness working against you, remembering you need some kind of pocket Wi-Fi, and now you have to spend a little more to get back online. It’s a mess, and it wasn’t that long since you were in Europe for a seminar, where these things were merely second nature to you.

At least you remembered that VPNs exist. You message Yerim on the taxi ride out of the airport, unsure of where to begin.

> You: Just got out of immigration

> yerimiese: fuckin finally!

> yerimiese: you got a place to stay here?

> You: Not yet

> yerimiese: don’t bother, lemme send you my hotel address, you can stay here

Of course you don’t know Korean, despite the constant back and forth with Yerim for months. Learning’s been on the backend of your itinerary, and has never been your top priority, even now. You show the cab driver the address, who merely looks at you and the phone with a particularly vacant and dumbfounded expression, as if you’re stupid for not planning this out—which, in that regard, he’d be correct.

When you finally arrive at the hotel, only one message stands between you and finally meeting Yerimiese, once and for all.

> yerimiese: I’ll be at the poolside, third floor. can’t wait to meet you :P

And that’s exactly where you end up going. Forget that you’re lugging two whole bags and a traveler’s backpack on your shoulders; you drop them off at the front desk, expecting the staff to have a clue of what’s going on and what’s about to happen.

Stepping out into the poolside, it’s a completely barren sight. It’s three in the afternoon on a Tuesday; most people probably aren’t even booked, let alone in this supposed five-star hotel. You don’t really question whether she’s being serious or not, the evidence was in the previously sent photos; you’re dying to meet her at this point.

And as if perfectly timed for dramatic effect, a woman emerges from beneath the waters, shaking off the wetness from her damp hair.

Yerim casually swims over the deep waters’ edge, without a care in the world, let alone your presence quietly shadowing over the large pool. Even halfway submerged, you can make out the outline of her shapely bust and hourglass figure, tightly hugged by a pink swimsuit. She was sultry and intoxicating to gawk at from candid photos, but seeing Yerimiese herself in the flesh, that’s when the realization hits you: this is happening.

And you can’t move a muscle, let alone react from the actualization that you’re right in front of her. Even as the waves of water splash on your new loafers, you simply observe. It’s creepy, it’s morally dubious, but it’s one in a million. You’re taking in every moment, every second; soak it all in, you’ll never get an experience like this ever again.

You should be friends by now, if your definition of friendship means sharing explicit body photos and exchanging devious intentions about how you’ll fuck each other online or how much cum you’ve given to each other. But when she turns in your direction—catching you casually observing her, your hands tucked away in your coat’s pocket, grinning like a little kid— it’s back to square one.

Like the very first time.

Yerim takes all the time in the world to wade over from the other side of the pool, her smile growing closer as she approaches you. She lifts her eyebrows, expecting you to make a first move, to which you barely open your mouth, and ultimately only a deep breath, a stilted sigh, comes out.

Well, this is awkward.

Yerim giggles. You’ve previously heard her loud moans and cries, but a genuine laugh—this was your first. She never hops on calls in your group chat, most likely because idol shit, as she often refers to her line of work. Her laughter, her energetic expression—it’s as perfect of a translation to real life as it is online, and embodies the idol Yeri you know on screen.

“How long have you been standing there?” she asks, trying—and failing—to suppress more of her laughter.

Your answer is concise, but doesn’t seem quite right. “A while.”

In reality, about five minutes. You probably won’t be there any longer when she props herself out of the water with her strong elbows. Water cascades down her shapely figure, thicker and meatier than it's ever been, more than what the cameras and pictures present. She’s truly the entire package, through and through.

She walks over to her sunlounger, granting you a nice peek of her ass peeking through her skimpy swimsuit before she wraps herself with a towel. Apart from that, your only other notable observation is that she’s soaking wet, even bundled up. That, and also: she’s barefoot. No sign of slippers or any footwear—she willingly walked on what appears to be scorching cobbled floors.

“I would give you a big hug right now, but you know—” she comments, looking down at her drenched self, pool water endlessly dripping down to her feet. Even if she isn’t soaking wet, you’d still be frozen in place, or even worse, some eagle-eyed stranger or Dispatch reporter catch you in secret and you both end up on national news the very next day.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine,” you say, trying to dodge Yerim’s eyes. “I left my stuff at the front desk. I should probably go and grab them.”

“Smart.” Yerim sizes you up, nodding in amazement at how you’ve managed to get yourself past the entrance. “See you upstairs, then? Room 1015.”

—————

The difference between you and Yerim couldn’t be any more obvious.

Granted, you’re fresh off a 13 hour flight, followed by an hour's travel from the airport to a five-star hotel in the heart of Seoul. Yerim had all the time in the world to prepare, and yet when she emerges from the bathroom in nothing but a modest bathrobe and her dark hair bundled up, she’s never looked better.

Facing an idol in such a haggard condition, it gives you an underlying feeling of shame. And if you’re being completely honest, if not for your cock, she’d probably be repulsed and call security on you.

But there's no security in sight. Just you, just yeri, the two of you standing in this room - which is, for the most part, quite nice. Multiple bedrooms, a lovely view of the city beneath you, and all sorts of amenities and features you’ll never get to use—you half expect her members to come in later, but perhaps for your sake, you’re better off with just her and her alone.

When Yerim begins to talk, she rambles. She goes on about the status of the next album, discussions about a possible solo debut, her relationships with her members—conversations about topics that you never really had online. It was mostly dirty talk and lewd captions. At best, you knew each other at a surface level, but here she is, sharing everything from her heart like you’ve been lifelong friends since day one.

You let her. She’s as charismatic as what she portrays on screen, and her sass is no different than the private messages she sends you. There’s not a single dull moment whenever Yerim speaks. Though you know her mostly for her body, her personality is what has you sticking around.

You wonder if she feels the same way about you.

“So, how’d you find out about us?” Yerim asks, after blabbering for a while, and you genuinely believe she’d keep going till nightfall. Close enough. Five minutes away from five in the afternoon, and you’d already spent the last hour and a half listening to a personalized podcast from her. You hope she doesn’t notice the plate of bulgogi on the table now completely empty.

“Well, a friend was a K-pop fan and had an extra ticket when you toured here,” you say, casually, slumped on the sofa. “Forgot how long that was—” you pause, “five years ago?”

“Five years? Five years since we went to America?” Yerim appears flabbergasted, face in utter disbelief at the passage of time. The realization causes her to stand from her chair. You’d be too after listening to her drone on endlessly. “Fuck.”

“SM! Give us a fucking world tour already!” she screams, pretending she’s inside the company building and you’re an executive in the room. Watching her snarkiness come to life never ceases to amuse you. You’ll let her go on for as long as she needs to; she’s entertaining in such a unique and charming way that it disarms you.

“Argh, sorry, you know me.” She suddenly stops, faces you, arms crossed, mocking up a pout. “Look at me suddenly losing my shit for no good reason.”

“Are your members used to this?”

That didn’t come out right.

She bats an eyelid. On her face is a mild, blank look of displeasure. That didn’t come out right.

“Used to what?”

“Well, uh, I—I mean—”

You gulp your throat.

“Stop.”

Then, an air of awkward silence. Her eyes quickly scan you, lazing on the sofa.

“Let’s just get to fucking each other right now.”

—————

It isn’t that you’ve forgotten the one purpose you’re there to begin with, it’s that Yerim is very, very impulsive. One moment, upset at her company for doing the bare minimum for her group and her career, the next she’s using you as an outlet to release her frustrations. It’s a good thing your first impression of her was that she was very busty, because otherwise, the other description you had of her was—simply put—bratty.

You’re on your back, plopped against one of the beds, completely caught off-guard by her show of strength. Eyes rolled to the back of your head, you find Yerim already at the bed’s edge, loosening the belt around her waist, quickly disrobing herself within seconds. It’s nothing new; you’ve seen glimpses of her nude figure in pictures, imagined many scenarios where you’ve got your hands on her, but this—to see her completely bare in the flesh—is new.

This is different.

“Just so you know,” you mutter, frantically panting, your heart jumping, as Yerim undresses in front of you, “I haven’t actually had sex before.”

Just like that, the mood instantly changes. She stops. Abruptly.

“What?”

Her mouth drops—again. Might as well stay agape.

You consider retracting your statement. It was a joke, you’d say, something to get her even more aroused, fired up. The sex would be wilder, hotter than anything your fantasies would conjure. Then again, you wouldn’t be in this exact situation if you weren’t so chronically online, simping over pop idols like a kid about to enter puberty.

“I guess that’s to be expected,” she comments, snarkily, grabbing the edges of your pants, daring to rip them off you. “That’s fucking life, baby!”

If you were in her shoes, obsessively waiting for someone with equally unhinged horniness, expressing precisely how you’d get fucked every single time you’d send a remotely lewd photo, you’d feel just as disappointed. You can tell by her partially scornful expression: she’s been fantasizing this moment as much as you have, too. You can’t blame her, but you kind of expected her to anticipate this; after all, you connected in a private group chat that’s been sexualizing her, of all places.

Surely the signs of virginity were right there.

“At least this is real,” she says, leaning her head forward while cupping your growing bulge poking through your trousers. Your tip, at full mast, mere inches away from her chin, instead of a little phone screen. She’s pushing you around, growing slightly more mischievous and uncontrollable with the prospect of throwing someone like you around instead of the opposite. Something her members may have taught and ingrained in her.

It isn’t quite the picture you expected from all the erotic snapshots and clips she’s been sending you. Every photo and video, designed to rouse the filthiest and wildest of your thoughts, was an act, a ruse to let your guard down, to give you this fixed headcanon that you can toss her around like she’s your personal plaything and object of pleasure. Instead, she’s using you for her own desires and wants.

It’s not that you don’t want her to use you and fuck you like this, it’s how completely in control she is that has you reeling, leaves you in a dizzy spell.

“I was gonna let you use my pussy and fuck me to ruin,” she says, playfully rolling her eyes, teasing and mocking. Her hand grips around the denim of your bulge, and it fucking stings. You’re sucking on loose air. “But since we have a virgin over here, I’m gonna do whatever I want.”

The implied connotation is what terrifies you, and no, it isn’t the revelation that Yerim isn’t a virgin—you assumed that much—but the notion that you were gonna have free reign over her cunt that has you contemplating some deep, long forgotten life decisions that set you back years. Their consequences are now starting to show.

She releases her ironclad grip on your pants, frees you of your obstructive clothing, both trousers and boxers down to the floor. Your hard cock springs free, terribly aching, already red and sore from her suffocating clench, and already leaking bursts of precum. The last day and a half hasn’t been kind to your cock.

To add insult to injury, she makes this licking motion with her tongue, aimed at your tip, but relents at the last minute. It leaves your throbbing cock aching harder, without any point of relief. The teasing sight almost renders you unconscious, and sends Yerim into a laughing frenzy.

“Remember when I said I could taste your cock?” she says, chuckling. It’s not playful in the slightest—quite the opposite, in fact. It’s sinister. “I’ll wait a little longer to taste it. Don’t worry.”

Not the most reassuring of words, especially when you’ve got your hands tied—at least, not yet. Actually, you appreciate that she isn’t going to milk your cock dry just yet; when you finally look past the situation at hand, you come to treasure her chest. Her shapely chest, freely bouncing while she bounces her thick body on your lap—keep doing that, you say inside your mind, letting your wandering gaze soak in the unreal scene.

She notices your intrigued eyes, rising and falling in rhythm with her tits. Subtlety was never your intention, and she probably knows from experience, as she says she does. Fixated attention is how she gets herself off, based on how she seems to respond to the lewd messages you’ve sent her in the past, and it shows when she repeats some choice remarks back to your face:

“I’d kill my boss to fuck those tits right now, you’re so goddamn sexy.”

She grips a hand around your throat, another down to the buttons of your shirt, pulling them apart.

“Let me be your personal titty towel.”

Halfway there.

“I’d suck on your tits first, go down on your delicious pussy, then fuck that wet hole of yours three times straight.”

Just like that, you’re both even. Equal in nakedness.

You’re unsure whether it’s the sight of Yerim asserting her dominance over you, tits all up in your face with a devious smirk as she bares you down to your essentials that’s leaving you short on air, or if it’s the hand cautiously coiled around your neck. Either option seems sensible enough. This is how she lives in your head rent free, just being her sassy, sexy self. Even repeating some of the same particularly questionable lewd things you’ve written to her sounds hot with her brazen tone.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she raises an eyebrow, leaning her head close, as if demanding an answer.

Really, there’s no multiple choice here. Of course you nod.

She rolls her hips upward, inches her body across yours little by little, til her dripping pussy completely shadows your view. Her hand grabs the back of your head, meaty thighs pressing between your face. Now you’re truly suffocating. Even with the rather shameful admission, she rolls her crotch on your lips, expecting you to know what to do. No words, just the expectant grind of her crotch on your face, her wet folds opening up for you to take them.

Then, she begins moaning.

Admittedly, the closest you’ve had to trying out oral is using your phone as an outlet for your tongue whenever she sends a boob photo. Thankfully, your inexperience doesn’t show when you first dip your tongue inside her folds, getting your first taste of pussy. Saltier than you expected, but fuck, you’d be lying if you think it wasn’t completely intoxicating—everything you hoped for, and more.

It incites a few expressive reactions from Yerim—some loud, others quieter—with the end result usually a sharper, deeper grind of her waist on your face, splaying her cunt for you to devour. You’ve got one hand pressed on her ass, holding her plump flesh down while the other is at her mercy, pulled by hers, forced to squeeze her breast. You won’t complain. Not when her cries of pleasure motivate you to push yourself harder.

You repeat this addictive cycle, stretch moments into minutes, minutes into hours. Even when you’ve drained her completely, you’ll still be craving for more of her; that’s how hungry she’s made you. Your tongue meets her clit, and it draws out this especially sharp whine that she’s never hit once. Not on a track. Not anywhere. She swears up a storm, juxtaposed between soft, gentle pleas of “yes, more, and you’re so good.”

In return, you take more of her, soak yourself in the continuous downpour of her slick juices freely flowing all over your mouth and tongue. As her pleasure escalates, her fingers tighten their grasp on your head, grab your tousled hair. You add soft, intimate kisses between streaks of licking her folds, and they send the young idol writhing, shaking atop you. Her words have been reduced to nothing but short, needy bursts of “please.” Even in this uncontrollable state, she gyrates her hips around you, rhythm steady, but more determined than ever to let herself go.

By the way her pussy throbs, you’re certain she’s a few critical points away from climax. It doesn’t change your plans, not one bit. You continue to lap at her sensitive folds, bask in her intoxicating heat, purposefully teasing her clit. She won’t demand that you end her —not this quickly, not when you’ve magically learned the art of giving oral to a woman under short notice.

You slowly work her through it. Your tongue dives into her slick entrance, deeper than it's ever been so far. The overpowering sensations send ripples that reach even the foundations of the bed, unlike anything it’s ever felt. Even in the wild throes of bodily pleasure, Yerim has enough willpower to stay in character, delivering a demand in her usual playful, fast talking tone. “Please do it! I’m going to cum!”

You contemplate the thought, completely drunk in her divine taste yourself, but you oblige.

Your tongue sticks to her bud, and it causes this instantaneous, elaborate chain reaction. Yerim cries a sharp cry, waves of orgasm washing down all over her body. She stops in her tracks, completely rigid, mouth wide open, and this torrential gush of slick and orgasm swamps you, drowning you so deep that it's nearly fatal. Her thighs involuntarily clench tighter, too, and you’re temporarily trapped in your own pocket dimension, impossible to clean with all the cum left behind, especially on the sheets.

The most surprising observation from her orgasm is how suddenly calm it becomes. Only the sound of your tongue licking her clean can be heard, and it’s nothing but a gentle rustle. She hangs her head up, face completely flushed, catching needed oxygen in her lungs, letting the aftermath of her climax pass over.

While her breath normalizes, she lifts herself up, moves to the side of the bed. In her wake, she’s left behind a drenched lake of slick around your face, leaking down to the muddled sheets beneath you.

“Well,” she says, panting and pausing for air. “There goes the other bed.”

It doesn’t take rocket science to figure out what she meant. Even when you’re still mindlessly occupied by the sticky residue around your lips. You let out this muffled exhale, designed to be a laugh, but it backfires in your face. Amused, she giggles on your behalf.

“Not bad.” Yerim smiles at you. Charming and cute, a contrast to what had just transpired. “I thought you said you never had sex?”

It takes you a moment before you answer back, “I haven’t. You just taste really good.”

“You still have some left on the edges of your face,” she comments, her eyes mesmerized by how much she’s cum all over you. “Let me help you clean that up.”

And she helps, but not in a conventional way. She lifts you from the bed by your torso, then submerges you again, this time at the mercy of her bosom. You’ve got your arms wrapped around her waist while you’re kissing and sucking on her Yerim’s tits, not exactly tidying up, but creating a larger mess that no amount of tongue cleaning can resolve.

In the meantime, she whispers in your ear some of your more—questionable—comments:

“They need to give her a solo debut with a very sexy concept and trust me, I’ll be the guy who breaks the world record for jerking off if they do that.”

“It must feel heavy to carry them all the time. Let me lend a hand to you.”

“The only thought I had inside my mind when I saw her is every member would milk her 3x a day so that they don’t have to go outside and buy milk to eat cereal to the point they would just drink it from the source.”

You stop. You give her this strange, confused look. Even you couldn’t believe you said that.

“Did I actually say that?”

“Yes!” she replies, quick and straightforward, unable to hide her enthusiasm, while brushing your hair. “Not gonna lie, that sent me to the floor. I was laughing so hard, Irene ran in to check up on me!”

To make things worse, she flashes this wide, toothy grin that makes you regret your life choices.

“God. I don’t wanna drink anymore.”

“Hey, if there’s any consolation, you wouldn’t be sucking on my tits and eating me out now if you never made that comment,” she says, caressing your chin and giving you a peck on the lips. As if it’s still not one of the most out of pocket comments you’ve ever made about anyone, let alone a celebrity—and you weren’t fully yourself.

“Relax. Don’t think about it too much.” Yerim pushes you back down to the bed, crawls atop you, meeting your lips again for an intimate kiss. Your hard cock, which has been left unattended for quite a while, captures your attention—and especially hers. “Lean back for me, will you?”

You comply. Involuntarily, your legs straighten, but Yerim pushes them apart, places herself at center view, seemingly ready to take you in her mouth. It makes sense; a woman with a mouth that runs like hers probably only stops when there’s cock stuffed inside them. The theory proves to be plausible when she gives your sensitive tip a delicate, yet dangerous lick, her eyes glinting at you with renewed vigor and lust.

“I told you I’d have a taste of that cock,” she says, half smug, half seductive, gloating with her brows. Your tenseness slightly recedes—until you realize your cock’s moving past her lips, in the direction of the space between her cleavage. “I didn’t say I wanted to suck on it.”

And she was right—not once has she ever expressed her desire to choke, gag, deepthroat on it.

You grit your teeth, watching your cock disappear between her shapely tits, with Yerim personally making sure you comfortably fit like a glove. You fold. It’s snug. Hot. Breathtaking.

“Fuck, Yeri,” you mutter, closing your eyes as her inviting warmth leaves you weak in the knees, trembling. You don’t realize you’ve used her stage name over her real name. “God—”

“Does this feel like everything you wanted?” she asks, tone sultry and triumphant. A little slide up sends you into a frenzy.

You nod—even though there’s no other available options. The erotic image in front of you is permanently seared into your head: Kim Yerim, popular idol and to an extend, your ‘friend with benefits,’ grinning like a maniac, slowly fucking your cock between her tits, coated with your saliva, sweat, and copious amounts of precum. To think your little crude messages on a random forum would have such long term and drastic consequences such as this.

Not that you’d want to make sense of it all, especially when she gets into a rhythm. Sliding her breasts up and down, she’s delicate, intentional, and masochistic; you’re on the receiving end of how she felt when you were slowly eating her out. She’s dangerous, teetering between the line where your cock can be safe between her bosom and where she can break you in half. You’re already falling apart—and fast.

“Holy shit, Yerim. Fuck.”

Each word you deliver is long and drawn out, especially the profanities. Heavenly music to her ears. She’s out of reach where you can pull by her hair, so you settle for the sheets instead. Your gaze wanders, travels everywhere but in her direction, because you don’t need to see the tortuous scene happening between your legs. Looking at the descending sun, this is probably the last time you’ll see the sun set in your life.

Her eyes challenge you to look at anywhere from her. Panting frantically, you find yourself at the mercy of Yerim’s whims, your cock fading and swelling into view, sticky and wet, gushing cum all over her tits. The sight drives you further mad, has you making sounds that have never been recorded—ever. She takes you in, delights in your suffering, eager for you to say the magic words.

“Ready to cum? I know you want to cum.”

Even under duress, you’re not ready to fold just yet. There’s a little stubbornness inside you fighting back, pulling all the stops to keep you from surrendering to Yerim’s demands. You close your eyes, grip on the sheets even tighter, control your breathing, but it’s too little too late. You can only do so much with two hands.

“Cum for me.”

You hold onto a particularly deep breath, desperate to cling to whatever dying vestiges of control there is left, but your fate has already been sealed from the moment you’ve allowed your cock to enter her chest.

“Yerim, I—”

The exhale you release is the most relieving and satisfying. With it, comes out a rope of thick, creamy cum splashed all over her neck and chest. The aching, violent sensation doesn’t stop; more seed spills between the warmth of her cleavage. In one fell swoop, you feel all of your energy sapped from you, leaving you completely weak and powerless.

In the gap between your climax and post-orgasm haze, you wonder if she’ll take some of your cum in her mouth, with the way she looks at your cock as it throbs beneath her chin. No. She lets it drip down her perfect naked body with a sticky white sheen that glows under the natural light piercing through the hotel’s window.

“Just like that, hm,” she comments, casually flicking the last of your withering orgasm and cum with her wrist. She lathers the slick on her fingers on her shoulder, then places some into her mouth for a taste.

After you regain a semblance of normalcy—after Yerim’s finished entertaining herself with your cum, staring at her coated body and fingers with curious interest—she rests her elbows on your knees, in the process of relearning how to bend. You sink back against the headrest, watch as the fading sun glimmers on an idol like her, destined to shine for every occasion possible—on the stage and under the afterglow of sex. She smiles, bright and wide, taking you in, as you are.

There’s something brewing, especially in the tender few minutes that follow. Something special, something more than just a spark.

“So—” Yerim runs a sticky finger on your knee, dangerously close to stirring up your cock again. “You wanna try anal with me next?”

You pause. Widening your eyes, staring back with a look of disbelief. Just when you’re about to open your mouth to reply, she adds:

“Kidding. You do know that you’re gonna have to delete those tweets and comments, right? If they find out you’re here, you’re fucked. And I mean, a thousand times worse than now.”

—————

(A/N: This was an absolute joy to write. The nature of the request meant I could go very meta with it. About time we get a proper Red Velvet full album, so perfect timing! If you're able to figure out some of the references and easter eggs, then you, my friend, are too engrossed in the Tumblr K-pop male reader smut lore. Thank you for reading!)

(P.S. If you want to have your own story/idol written, you can ask for a commission :D)

#smut #kpop smut #yeri #red velvet

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