#both got the good old crazy eyes...

[24601orwhatever]

NICK REHBERGER & STEVE CZARNECKI AS JAVERT

two of my favorite american javerts side by side :) 📷: @medium-observation

[inbabylontheywept]

bad dating stories time: the shoe incident

so in highschool, my best friend wasnt allowed to go on dates unless there was another couple there to keep an eye on him. part of this was his parents being insane, but also, part of it was him being insane. in a problem with no reasonable parties, there are no reasonable solutions.

at some point in my junior year, my sorta-gf broke up with me, and i just wasnt feeling dating, which was bad for my friend, because he had a good thing going with a girl he met in court.

he kind of hounded me about it. kept pushing me to just put me feet back in the dating pool and i wasnt real thrilled about it, because i knew he was pushing me for his own benefit, not mine, so i kept telling him to fuck off, and after a few weeks of being told that i would date when i was damn well ready, he eventually said: okay. what if i paid for the date AND found you a blind date AND all you had to do was show up?

and i shouldve said no, i know, but i let him wear me down, and i will own my fault in that. a date starting on such a stupid premise could never have gone well.

but he still managed to find a way to make it worse.

i dont know how long he tried to set a blind date up. it couldve been multiple attempts. he couldve stooped to this immediately. but what happened in the end was that he called a girl from the ward he attended - a girl that he knew had a giant, mushy crush on him - and he said: hey! how would you feel about going on a date this weekend?

(you know, implying it was with him, but never actually saying it.)

and she said YES WOW I WOULD LOVE TO and he said great! and then he called me up and said he found me a date.

i did not learn about his crimes until several weeks later. i will die swearing before god almighty that i would never have allowed this travesty to happen if i had known.

that was on a monday. the date of the date rolled around that friday evening, and im sorry to confess, i really phoned the whole thing in. i showed up in my favorite comfy outfit, which was also a fashion crime: basketball shorts and flipflops and a baja hoodie. it was super comfy but it made me look kind of crazy. i picked him up first, and then i picked up his date next, and then we went to pick up my date, and thats where you're gonna get the play by play.

i arrived, walked across the yard, and knocked on the front door. she opened it almost immediately, like shed been waiting right by it, and i could see her expression go from OMG IM SO EXCITED to super disappointed, then disgusted and finally pissed. and because i didn't know about my friends sins, i thought it was from my outfit. which seemed... harsh. like, hey, im allowed to be quirky, fuck you. also its a blind date, i thought the deal was that we were both going to be sad broken sacks of mortality.

anyway, we looked at each other for several seconds before she slammed the door in my face.

i looked back at my friend. he was sweating bullets. i dont know what he expected from this, but there was this big long pause where we both tried to figure out what to do, and then the door opened up, and her dad invited me in, and he said she was gonna need a few minutes to finish getting ready, and that in the meantime we could sit and talk.

we did not talk. we did sit. i sat down on the couch, and he sat down in a chair across the couch, and then instead of talking he cleaned his pistol on the coffee table. i wasnt actually sure if it was a threat, or if it was just a fidget thing for 40+ year old republican men, but when i tried to help he got snappy so i just watched him put a pistol back together.

he was okay at it.

eventually my date came downstairs, still mad as hell for reasons beyond my ken, and i felt pretty guilty for being such a mess because i thought that was why she was so angry. i tried to make up for by walking her to the car and getting the door for her, just generally trying to be extra polite, but before i could make it back to the drivers side, her dad called me back to the door. so i flipped around, went to the door, and immediately regreted my decision.

soon as i was within range, her dad got waaaay too close to me, leaned in, and said "whatever you do to her, i will do to you," and my brain went into overdrive making three consecutive realizations.

realization one was, damn, the pistol thing was a threat. that sucks. what an asshole. realization two was, wait, im autistic and even i know theres a 0% chance me and my date even hold hands, least of all boink. does this guy actually think there's even a 1% chance of anyone in that car getting laid tonight? is he an idiot? and then realization three went through, which was wait, is this guy threatening to fuck me? and unfortunately, with my brain doing so much processing, my mouth was left to run amok, so somewhere between realization 2 and 3, i said:

"i can't get pregnant"

which, i swear, wasn't actually me trying to be a smartass, it was just me pointing out that he couldn't actually follow up on that threat. it just wasn't possible. we do not live in the omegaverse and im not scared of you.

still, it was an insanely catastrophic thing to say, and the moment we both heard it, we bluescreened. that single sentence obliterated both of our momentary streams of consciousness like a saltine in front of a sand blaster. problem was, he'd probably gone his whole life not even realizing someone could say something that stupid, and making that realization was going to cost him a lot of thinking time. me though? i had been saying shit like that for 17 years, i didnt have to rewrite my expectations of human nature, i just had to plan an exit and start striding. so i was already halfway back to the car before i heard "hey. hey come back. Hey. Hey. HEY. HEY WAIT. HEY GET BACK HERE. HEY-"

and then i was in my car, and i drove away.

if this happened today, he'd have called her, and the whole thing wouldve imploded then and there, but back then, there were still a decent number of teenagers without cell phones. especially the teenagers of insane, gun toting parents. so she just said: whoa what was that all about? and i said: dont worry about it, he'll tell you about it when you get home.

and she said: ok and went back to staring daggers at me and my friend.

WHICH SURPRISINGLY isnt even how the story ends.

we went to an improv comedy show, and it was a disaster. it shouldve been like, 7/10 tops, but between my date being mad, and my friend having a good time, and me having the existential terror of knowing that a guy with a pistol was probably waiting outside his house for me to come back, it was easily 11/10. i laughed way too hard at everything. especially the jokes that flopped. id sit there in this mostly silent room and laugh until i dry heaved a little, and my date was absolutely disgusted, and even my friend was a little embarrassed, which would just make me laugh harder. i laughed so hard that night i could barely talk the next day. and then the show ended, and my friend said, you know, that was a good time, but i think we should maybe do something a little chiller? who wants to walk around the park? and his date said yeah, and my date said no, and i finally had mercy on the poor woman so i said, look, im gonna drop you off. and i am so, so sorry about this, but im dropping you off like a block away. super duper sorry.

do talk to your dad about the pistols thing if you dont want this happening more in the future tho.

and she said: okay. so i dropped her off, and she walked a block down, and that was that.

then i drove my friend and his date to a park that was good for wandering. i figured they wanted something more private, so instead of following them around point blank, i chose a park with this 30 foot rope tower, and i climbed to the top and i said: hey i can see you anywhere from up here, you are officially chaperoned from a distance. get panopticoned idiot. except my friend really is an idiot, and he didnt really get the whole 'now i dont have to third wheel so insanely hard with you guys' thing so he climbed up the tower too, and then his date followed behind him, so there are three people basically sitting together on top of a telephone pole.

and then they started making out.

i was close enough to hear it.

i didnt really know what to do so i was just kind of sitting there, dissociating, when some college kids came around and started shaking the tower. my friend's date went aaaaaaaaaa im afraid of heights :( and my friend went oh, dont worry, ill hold you tight ;) and i went hey, im gonna climb down and ask them to stop.

so i did climb down, and i did ask them to stop, and they flipped me off, which i wasnt even mad about. at that point i was i was like yeah, it would be weirder if this wasnt a mess. gods plan has been to fly this day like a 747 into my metaphorical twin towers and brother he is close enough for me to see him grinning through the cockpit window. still, eventually the college students got bored, so they climbed up the tower, which gave my friend and his date a window to climb down, and together we walked back to my car.

now, i cant explain why this is, but sitting back in the drivers seat was my carriage-back-into-a-pumpkin moment. i'd been chill about all the chaos, just rolling with the punches, but sitting down made me realize how much of a shitshow the day had been, and while i couldnt go back and fix all of it, i could go back and fix one thing.

so i told my friend and his date, hey, you two, stay here and don't do anything weird. don't. then i walked back to the rope tower, and i started picking up the shoes the college students had left at the base in order to climb.

about halfway through this, i realized that if i took all their shoes, they might think i was in it for the money, and i actually wanted them to know i was in it specifically to spite them. fuck those guys. so i put all the right shoes back, gave myself a 100 foot headstart, yelled "nice shoes, assholes", did a little jig, and started running.

my advice to everyone is that college students are faster than you think. even with the headstart, and the whole climb down the tower thing, i was still only fivish seconds ahead of them by the time i got to my car. i flung the door open, looked in the backseat, didnt see anyone, flung the stolen shoes in the backseat, heard two "ow"s, took that as proof of presence, jumped in and pealed out of the lot.

my friend and his date popped up a few seconds later. they were, uh, doing something weird in the back seat. my one request - obliterated.

they climbed up to ask where the hell all the shoes had come from, and i was like yeah i stole them from the college students, and they were like oh. cool. hope you had fun. and i was like, i did. i did. but speaking of fun, what were you doing back there?

and for the first time in my buddies life, i think he was actually embarassed.

[thbbie]

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami who finally, after countless conversations, quits his soul-sucking job

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami who quickly adjusts to his new life but still keeps some of the habits the have cemented in him over the years

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami finally has the time to read the books he's been collecting over the years, sitting comfortably on your big leather couch with his glasses resting low on the bridge of his nose and his hair natural

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami likes to talk about the books he's read over dinner with you, but really, he loves to talk about anything with you. your day at work, the next bread recipe he wants to try, the couple you saw arguing on the train. nothing could ever bore him if it was coming from you

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami makes sure that he wakes up before you everyday to make you a good breakfast (and make sure you eat it) and to pack your lunch

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami comes back to the bedroom to find you still resting, he glances at the little clock on your bedside and sees that your alarm is set to go off in a few minutes

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami cancels it and lays on his front in between your legs. caressing them softly as he spreads them to slip you pj bottoms off

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami always makes sure your day starts with a good orgasm. his tongue working on you gently coaxing you into waking up

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami starts to feel you stirring awake so he slips two fingers into your drippy pussy and moves to hover over you. pressing sweet messy kisses all over your face. "good morning, my love"

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami doesn't speed up his fingers, he needs you to really feel this. he knows, better than anyone, how fast passed the rest of your day will be until you come back home to him.

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami who sends you out the door with a loving kiss to your lips and a sweet handwritten note in your lunch.

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami spends his time alone taking care of as much as he possibly can so that when you get home he could focus on you completely

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami dresses much more casual now, but still he never looks underdressed or any less put together, somehow making old band t shirts and ugly sweaters look like the most elegant thing

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami who never, never misses any of your work events. always showing up as the best dressed, not in the slightest because he cares for them or their opinion but because he never want you to think he's letting himself go or have you feel embarrassed of him (also because he likes the heart eyes you throw his was when he's all dressed up for you)

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami can feel the veins in his forehead when the both of you arrive and he's approached by some smug looking guy. you're snatched away by some colleagues to talk to some executives or clients or whoever . and the man that approached him extended hand introducing himself as your 'work husband'. now how crazy is that

pathetic as it maybe be ·˚ ༘ househusband nanami is still irked by him as he goes on and on about he good he is to you at work, "listen man, you've got nothing to worry about. when she's here i'm taking such good care of our wife. we make a good team taking care of our girl" he says it so casually; our wife. like it's the truest statement ever. who is our? team?? we?? girl?? what?

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami simply walks away from the conversation as the forgettable man blabs on, not dignifying any of nuisances words with a response or reaction — that would mean they meant something, and they do not. they meant absolutely nothing

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami who knows you've told him about the insufferable coworker but he would've never guessed his sweet wife would have to deal with something this bad

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami finds you wrapping a up what is now doubt an important conversation. he comes behind you one of his hands resting on your lower back, the touch is polite but meaningful. symbolic

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami is seething but remains composed, watching with fond eyes as you excuse him and yourself from the conversation politely. it's no wonder you're doing so well at work . his chest swell with pride that he even gets to know you, to love you.

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami who leads you into the elevator without a word, not saying anything until you reach your destination; the roof. you could tell he wasn't mad (at you at least) simply assuming that maybe he needed some air, overwhelmed by the event.

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami ever the gentlemen, leads you out into the open air, finally in the privacy of the roof, his lips come crashing into your own. reverent and needy, he's marking you, his woman. nanamis hands coming under your butt to carry you

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami who takes you right there, right then, right on the open air rooftop. strangely the night sky, dirty roof, and lights form busy traffic somehow seeming like the most romantic thing but nanami just has that effect

"theree's my girl. always so hard working aren't you darling? so hard working for me and yet you still have to deal with idiots left and right. there you dove let go for me."

"mhmhm that's a good girl, nice and loud for me beautiful, nothing to be embarrassed about. i'm just making my lovely hardworking wife feel good"

"hah~ so hmmm~ so tight for me always. so good for your husband aren't you, allll for me."

"mmhph~ god, you take such good care of sweet thing, such such good care of me. always spoiling like the darling that you are. i take good care of you too don't i? yea? better than anyone else? mmm~ mhmm~ how good baby, i need you to show me."

"that right, my filthy girl. take it, allll for you. just for you. no one could ever make such a clever thing a leaky whiney mess hmm. my genius little dummy.♡"

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami makes a mess of you, your clothing and hair disheveled, mascara smeared beneath your eyes and you're nodding along to everything he says "mhmhm ahhh~ all yours ken 'm hahh~ alll yours baby"

" g-good, so so good to me ken! you take the best ca-aghh~ f'me. the very best ken~ "

"no one else ken, j-just you. only you. alll f'you kenn~ ken im- im close."

"oh~ ken im~ mmmhm~ iloveyouiloveyouiloveyouilov-"

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami fucks you gently through your high and his own, his head no longer tucked in the curve of your neck but holding your gaze now. panting into each others mouths as reassuring words mumbled into your skin. he's slowing down from the rough fast pace that had your insides churning and your toes curling in your heels with every thrust. the speed of the switch giving you whiplash

"i love you too dove. so so much"

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami helps you fix up your disheveled appearance as best he can, kissing you gently as he does and helps you with the walk over to the elevator

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami is the one who politely excuses the two of you this time, your body slipped into his and your faced still flushed. when they ask he casually responds that you must've come down with something

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami who leads you out to the car, one of his arms never leaving your side, holding your body that rests against his firmer one for support

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami catches your so called 'work husband' watching as the two of you are leaving, a stunned expression on the man's face. does he not know that husband and wife have sex?

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami only takes that as confirmation that clearly, he was never qualified to even be considered or think of himself as a possibility of being your 'husband', work or otherwise (no one is)

·˚ ༘ househusband nanami meets his gaze as he leans down to kiss your hair but his stare is unmoving, a sharp glare formed from his pretty brown eyes; one that says, this is my wife. my woman. you could never dream of reaching her level or having the absolute privilege to be calling her your girl.

[gaywineauntsstuff]

How I picture Brucie Wayne’s birth in the battinson universe.

8yr old Dick Grayson: so B I gotta ask

Battinson: hn

8yr old newly Robin Dick Grayson: do you really think that people don’t suspect the crazy Rich secluded billionaire who disappeared for years to be Batman and then takes in a child only for ‘I’m vengeance’ to appear with a child at the same time.

Battinson: hnnn

DG: nonono like no offense but like don’t you think it’s a little …obvious… like marvel movies exist..

Battinson: hnnn what do you propose I do then?

DG: duh you gotta make sure it’s impossible for you to be Batman

Battinson: hmm so I should plan an event where we are both spot-

DG: get drunk and swim in a fountain

Battinson: ???

DG: if Bruce Wayne is dumb he can’t be Batman

Battinson: Bruce Wayne is the head of one the most successful companies in the worl-

DG nodding along: yep all thanks to the amazing help he hired to do the work for him while he search for the cure to polio in the Sahara desert

Battinson: the polio vaccine already exists Dick

DG hand placed on forehead like a fainting damsel: oh it’s so sad about poor Brucie you know, dumb as a rock that one. Didn’t get an ounce of his parents intelligence thank god he got lucky enough that the people he surrounds himself with are loyal to his parents and aren’t stealing money from him.

Battinson: Robin I’m really not followi-

DG rolling his eyes and grabbing B’s face: I’m telling you to play himbo with heart of gold. If people think you’re sweet and pathetic, they’ll (A) underestimate you (B) not question why you disappear for months (C) pathetic good looking idiots get sympathy points.

Battinson: and how would you know this

DG who got adopted by a billionaire who won’t say no to anything he says bc puppy dog eyes: …….

Battinson: …fair point

DG: worlds greatest Detective he says

[bloggerspam]

Cousins, Clones and Conning the Family

Family Reunion AU, where cousins Maddie and Clark try to smuggle their clone children into the family reunion that happens every 5 years and pretend they've been there the whole time.

Spoiler alert, one of them does significantly better than the other. Mainly Kid POV, and also on AO3! Multichapter. ===

The problem with big family reunions, Danny thinks, is how utterly fucking lost Danny is all the gosh dang time.

"Well now, you're Maddie's son now ain'tcha? How old is you now?" The woman standing before him guffaws, ruffling his hair. He lets it, trying desperately to remember the speadsheet Jazz created for the family and (obviously) failing to recall this woman's name.

Agatha? Selene? Riri? No, Aunt Riri is over there—

"Yes ma'am," Danny smiles up at the unnamed aunt, accent going a little twangy like it always does at these functions, "I'll be hittin' 17 in a coupl'a months or so."

"My, my, you youngin's sure grow like weeds!" The aunt coos, gesturing to a height by her hip, "You used to be this tall last time I saw ya, betcha don't r'member me now do ya?"

It's a trap. If he says he doesn't remember, which is expected at reunions such as these that happen every 5 years or longer, she'll start going on and on about the stories she has of the family. Danny would have to stand here and demure and laugh at these cousins he doesn't really remember too well, but know enough to know that she's gotten them all mixed up.

"Pshaw," Danny doesn't react when a whisper breathes the answer into his ear, "I'd never forget a pretty lady like you, Aunt Helena!"

It works like a charm.

The second he's out of her clutches, he feels around for a cold spot. There, trailing just behind him, is Ellie. She's not invisible anymore, so he tucks her under his arm and bee-lines it towards the metaphorical kid's table.

"Thanks, Ellie. Weren't you supposed to stay with Dad?" Danny leads them around, trying to avoid any other mishaps. "Did Jazz send you?"

"She made me flashcards!" Ellie smirks up at him, ignoring his other question and pulling a corner of an index card out from the palm of her hand. She's always been better than him at manipulating the ecto in her body, for obvious reasons. Danny's not bitter about it at all.

"Damn, all I got was a presentation." Danny grumbles. Jazz and Dad somehow know every single one of their family members, which is ludicrous when even Mom doesn't know despite it being her side of the family.

He still can't really believe how big his family actually is, but he supposes that's natural. He only sees them once every couple of years, the only relative they see even on a remotely regular basis is Aunt Alicia, who has no kids and refuses (rightfully so) to remarry.

Danny's fine with that, he gets the best of both worlds after all. Cozy holiday stays with Aunt Alicia and he has places to stay all over the country if he really needs it, no questions asked.

Plus, crazy as they can be, these reunions have always felt like a big country festival for Danny.

"She likes me better." Ellie snickers, tugging him back to avoid Uncle Charlie's drunken stumbling.

"Everyone likes you better," Danny rolls his eyes, pushing Ellie's head down and ducking to avoid a stray kid's toy flying overhead, "I like you better."

As if somehow knowing Danny's being self deprecating again, Jazz shows up to smack him on the head. "I like both of you equally in special ways."

Danny makes a disgruntled noise, grumbling as he rubs his head, "Mooooom, Jazz is therapizing me again!"

Even though he was only half joking, Mom does show up specifically to laugh at him. "Honey, your father and I love all our children equally!"

"It's a secret," Dad says from behind Jazz, kids climbing all over him, "But Ellie's the favorite!"

"Jack!" Mom yells at the same time Jazz screams, "Dad!"

Ellie dissolves into giggles, making everyone but Dad helplessly laugh. It's good to see Ellie laugh, she does it a lot but it still doesn't feel like it's enough. Danny picks her up, giggling mess and all, and tosses her at Dad.

She lands, as expected, straight into the pile of children who scream and accept her easily.

"Nice." Jazz chuckles, this time patting him gently on his head in approval. Danny shrugs, dusting his hands off and heading back towards salvation: the food.

He and Jazz mingle a bit, exchanging greetings and school updates with the Aunts and Uncles they occasionally bump into, making their way slowly through and keeping an eye out for the other cousins.

Eventually, Jazz gets nabbed by Cousin Dermot just as Danny reaches the table, tossing a pig-in-a-blanket into his mouth and chewing with glee. The locals of the family usually something potluck style—and though Dad's genes are strong and the Fentons can't cook, the bulk of the Walker family definitely can.

In fact—Great Aunt Martha said she was going to bring some mini pies right?

Danny spies a pile of them in the middle of the large table and reaches for one, only to bump into the spikes of black fingerless gloves.

The gloves are, of course, attached to someone else.

It's a boy, around Danny's age, in a spiked leather jacket (matching the gloves) and white tee shirt with ripped jeans. He's got the tiniest John Lennon sunglasses and piercings everywhere—it makes Danny squint at him, with how much the sun keeps catching on everything—the spikes, the piercings, the metal arms of the sunglasses, is this dude also wearing lipgloss?

Danny's not judging, a guy can appreciate proper hydration to avoid chapped lips or even just for the aesthetic, but it doesn't help with the glare.

"Sorry, my bad." Right, okay, city slicker then. Not that Danny's much of a country boy or anything. "Did my spikes get you?"

Maybe Cousin Jenny brought a plus one? Danny eyes the guys jeans—they look tight. Was Cousin Mark into guys? Is this dude a guy or possibly a masculine girl? Ack. Stupid sun frying his brain.

"It's okay," Danny says, blinking away and tossing mini pie to the other person. "Aunt Martha's pies are worth the minor injury. You comin' in with one of the cousins?"

"Uh, yeah." Citypunk looks at Danny nervously, "I mean, I am one of the cousins." The guy bites his lips, shrugging, "Uh, one of the Kents, actually. Ma's real proud of the pies."

Danny blinks.

"…You're not Jon." Danny says, very carefully and slowly.

"…No…" Stranger Danger draws his vowels out, "I'm Conner. His, uh, older brother? Can't blame ya for being confused though!"

"…You can't." Danny agrees, because out of the two them, Danny definitely isn't to blame for the confusion.

"Yeah, lots of cousins, and all," Curiouser and Curiouser beams at Danny, shrugging and rubbing the back of his neck, "Plus, I know Jon's more sociable at these things."

"Right, he really is rambunctious, that guy." Danny nods, as if that's the problem, and not the fact that Danny knows every single cousin his age. Big as his family might be, Danny's generation came out the smallest. Cousin Jenny and Cousin Mark are the only two his age.

With Ellie and Jazz each being four years younger and older than Danny, and the other cousins being well beyond those ages in gaps, there is no way this guy is a cousin.

"Don't worry," Punk'd laughs self deprecatingly, "I know he's the favorite. even if Mom won't admit it."

Danny feels a vein throb in his right temple.

He's unsure if he should slowly back away or get up in the guy's face. It's just—now that Danny thinks about it, if wedding crashing is a thing, does that mean family reunion crashing is a thing too?

What's the protocol here? Should he fight this guy for having the audacity to use Great Aunt Martha's name in vein?

Wait, no, that's Jesus.

Is Great Aunt Martha Catholic? ...Is that the one with Jesus, or was that Christianity?

Wait, Danny, you knuckle head, Uncle Clark was adopted. Conner could be adopted too! Even though he looks exactly like that Uncle Clark when he was younger…

"Is this your first time at a reunion?" Danny ventures, "We only have 'em—"

"Every 5 years, yeah." Conner huffs, "Nah, I just used to hide with Ma in the kitchens."

Okay, clearly Great Aunt Martha isn't in on this, because Danny used to hide with Great Aunt Martha in the kitchens. Danny's about to lose his shit on this guy—or maybe sic Ellie on him. Whichever is worse.

"Oh yeah? That's must have been cozy." Danny grits out, taking a deep breath so his eyes don't flash.

"Yeah, it was!" Conner beams shyly. though all Danny sees is a smug smirk. "She's real nice-like, I'm sure you know. Real lucky to have her for a Grandma."

"Real lucky." Danny agrees, because Great Aunt Martha really was one of the better Great Aunts. Though most of the Walker Kin were hardy and tough, in that badass kind of way. Mom really liked Great Aunt Martha's lessons on bull wranglin' back when they were younger. "Speakin' of, she ain't here?"

"Nah," Conner makes a sad little pout. "She hadta stop by Auntie Agatha's for an emergency. She left two days ago, so she's runnin' a little behind. Cl—Dad went to go pick her up."

Danny squints at the possible imposter. That sounded like he was going to call Uncle Clark by his name, which makes things confusing for Danny. Guy will call Aunt Lois Mom but he won't call Uncle Clark Dad easily?  Maybe he's a kid Aunt Lois had before marrying Uncle Clark? But Aunt Lois would never hide a kid, and Great Aunt Martha would never let her treat a kid like that. That's not even taking into account that this kid looks way too much like Uncle Clark for it to be a fucking coincidence. Plus, Danny knew about Aunt Aggie's emergency and how she might not be making it to this year's reunion—this gives Conner's story credibility.

But Danny knows that the best way to lie is with truths, even if the truths are confusing.

So what the hell is going on? Is Clockwork fucking with him? Did an alternate timeline get switched with his?

It wouldn't be the first time, but Clockwork at least had the decency to let him know at least.

"What the—" Danny blinks, as Conner picks up a very familiar, eye-searingly green colored post it note that was stuck to the plate under a mini pie. "Is this yours?"

"Yeah," Danny huffs. taking the note and rolling his eyes as lies roll off his tongue, "Sorry, y'know how it goes with Jazz."

"Oh, yeah." And Danny has to give it Conner, he at least rolls with the punches real quick, "I heard about it but didn't ever uh, see it in action."

"Really?" Danny feigns surprise, head pulsing in irritation at the words all is as it should be written in purple pen. There's no mocking smiley face, but Danny feels it in the ink anyway. "Thought she got all the cousins at the last reunion."

Conner chuckles nervously, "Oh, yeah—Guess I'm just, easy to miss you know?"

"Uh huh…" Danny eyes the guy and his piercings and very distinct style, from the tip of his clearly styled hair and needlessly ostentatious big black studded boots. "…Right."

Conner laughs, wincing. "These're new. High school debut."

"…You're a freshman?" Danny tilts his head, squinting.

"Junior." Conner automatically corrects, before stiffening. "…I just wanted to reinvent myself for Junior Prom."

"Right." Danny repeats, drawing out the vowels and finally giving up. He can tell Conner already knows what Danny is going to ask, and is trying to exit this conversation post-haste.

Fortunately for Conner and unfortunately for Danny, Jazz comes barreling in, almost knocking the former out in the process as she grips the latter's biceps tightly with her eyes wide and nervous.

Unfortunately for Conner and fortunately for Danny, though the look in Jazz's eyes thoroughly distracts the latter and gives the former a window to escape, Jazz's hissed out words end up keeping Conner rooted to the floor.

"Baby Jon has powers!" Jazz hisses as she moves Danny away from the possible imposter a couple feet. Even though she says it low enough for only Danny to hear, Conner's wide eyes as he whips his gaze towards them suggests that Jon's not the only one with powers.

And then words actually register along with that thought.

Danny hisses out the first thing he thinks of. "Since when?? I thought he took after Aunt Lois!"

"Since now," Jazz gruffs, switching her grip to drag Danny away, "and I need you to do something about it!"

"What?" Danny doesn't struggle, going along even as he eyes Conner who seems to be following them at a distance. "Why?"

Jazz pushes him towards the kid's area, rushing out a frantic "He's in the bounce house with Ellie!"

Danny freezes, or tries to even as Jazz keeps tugging him along, before shaking off her hand and booking it towards the bounce house.

Once the bounce house (a castle) comes into view, Danny clocks several things in succession:

One: Ellie and Jon are thankfully the only ones in the bounce house right now.

Two: Ellie and Jon are laughing, and through the mesh Danny can see Ellie watching Jon jump way too high to be considered normal.

And three: The bounce house is about to fucking tip over.

There's a gaggle of Aunts herding the younger cousins towards the food that's dense enough for cover, but sparse enough for Danny to dash through.

Between one blink and the next, he disappears.

[sillyswriting]

: ̗̀➛ ex-friend with benefits simon 'ghost' riley & friend with benefits johnny 'soap' mactavish - 02

cw : sexual theme, public sex, voyeurism

ㅤㅤ     ㅤ  ㅤㅤㅤ collection - prev ⋆ next

it was so easy with johnny. it made you question why you had even been with simon in the first place. you still hadn't defined your relationship, but it didn't matter. mostly because it was just so easy. and also because johnny didn't treat you like a secret. he paraded around base holding your hand, without a hint of shame in his body.

he would kiss you on the tarmac before leaving on a mission and straight up made out with you in the med bay when he got back. all the nurses were betting on when he'd finally ask you to make it official.

johnny's team was the same-well, all except simon. simon still had no idea that johnny knew about your old relationship. though, if anything, it had been more of a situationship. which meant that every time johnny showed you off around the team, both you and simon still thought it was just genuine innocence. you'd meet simon's gaze, your cheeks turning red from slight embarrassment. but then you remembered-he never showed you off like that. you had no reason to feel embarrassed about johnny being proud of being with you.

johnny was also a little shit. he liked you-a lot-but the look he saw on simon's face every time he saw you two together was so satisfying to him. it triggered something primal in him, a possessiveness he hadn't realized was buried inside him. but you didn't seem to mind. you didn't push his hands away, didn't refuse his kisses, didn't lecture him over his excessive pda when he put you on his lap. you basked in his tenderness, and he loved it.

you were so different from what he was used to. usually, his partners would eventually push him away, saying he was too physical. but that was how he expressed his feelings—through touch. seeing how you thrived in his arms, on his lap, made him think you might be the one.

he even had the courage to ask you to go home with him on one of your mutual leaves. and you had accepted. you only had a week together, but johnny made that week matter. he showed you around edinburgh—his favorite places, pubs, cafes, restaurants, museums. he was so happy to share parts of his life with you. and he had fucked you good, in his bed. where you belonged.

one night, as you slept in his arms, he realized this wasn't just a fleeting moment—this was his normality. he wanted you in his life, for good. coming home from deployment to you cooking in his kitchen, swollen with his child. yes, he wanted that.

it had been torture when johnny talked about his little vacation with the cute medic after he got back to base. simon had realized pretty early that he had fucked up with you, but johnny wouldn't stop talking about you. and soap was miserable when you were away. he kept bringing you up, and it drove simon crazy. with how things were going with johnny, he knew he had missed his chance anyway.

when you came back to base, johnny was all over you. it wasn't even about simon anymore—his love for you was genuine. the time you spent together in scotland had made that clear. simon's anger and frustration were just a bonus now.

and right now, you were having a really shitty day. most of the soldiers coming to the med bay were either rude or flirty. it pissed you off—you hated how they always hit on your nurses but never followed through. all they were going to get was bad sex and a broken heart. your nurses were sweet souls; they deserved better. someone like johnny. so, as you finally got your break, you made your way to the training center, where johnny would be at this hour.

you were surprised to see it this empty. johnny was here, along with a couple of soldiers, but it wasn't as packed as you had expected. the moment you set foot in the gym, johnny locked eyes on you, like he had sensed you. happy but confused to see you, he made his way toward you, firing off a million questions. you reassured him that you were okay, that you just wanted to see him—to get away from the med bay.

you had the bad idea of telling him you needed to clear your mind, a distraction.

now you were against a secluded wall, in johnny's arms while he thrusted into you, groaning in your ear while you moaned in his, quietly. you knew you should have told him no, but he had looked so good, a bit sweaty, and you couldn't resist him. and he had been right—this was a good distraction. you had only accepted because he had taken you to a very isolated place, far from the main room.

johnny had a way with your body; he made you feel good without even trying that hard. he listened. he had come to know what triggered your pleasure, all the little things that made you fall over. he loved the noises you made—it was music to his ears. he wished he could record you. maybe if he asked nicely, you'd let him? he was already thinking about the lonely nights on deployments. you were his good girl, of course you were going to let him record you. he couldn't wait.

in your moment of bliss, you didn't know you were not alone. in a corner, simon was watching. he hadn't meant to—after all, you were having public sex in a gym. he had stumbled upon the scene, and weirdly, he couldn't look away. you were mesmerizing, but he already knew that. what was new was the feeling that hit him upon hearing johnny's groans. simon didn't know where it came from, but he couldn't ignore it.

the scene in front of him was filthy and pure at the same time. something in the way your bodies synchronized made him realize he had never had that with you. you had something truly genuine with johnny, something simon wouldn't have been able to give you.

as he was about to finally turn around, his trousers uncomfortably tight, he knew he needed to be alone. but before he could leave, he was met with johnny's knowing gaze. the little bastard was smirking?

"regrettin' whit ye lost, L.T.?" johnny said, keeping his eyes on simon, not stopping. that made you turn your head, meeting simon's gaze. you tried to stop johnny, to get off him, but he wasn't having any of it. if anything, his thrusts became erratic, his grip on your hips bruising. "naethin' he. has nae seen afore, bonnie, dinnae be shy now."

simon and you were frozen. you both had been so sure johnny didn't know about what you used to be. you watched as he tsked, shaking his head, as if reprimanding a little child. the hand that wasn't holding your thigh around his hips made its way to your neck, turning your head back to simon.

"nah, bonnie lass. let him hear whit he tried tae smother all thae times". johnny said gently, pressing a soft kiss to the side of your neck. a kiss that turned into a bite when you didn't listen to him.

johnny had a way with his dirty words that put you in a trance, and you just obeyed, not caring to quiet yourself down anymore. you were rewarded with a "g𝘰𝘰d g𝘪𝘳𝘭" and a sweet kiss on your neck, right where he had bitten you.

at that very moment, you didn't have it in you to care how this would change everything. and as you watched simon's hand disappear into his trousers, you realized maybe this was a good thing. what was the saying again?

he who dares, wins.

[eraserbread]

Sigh, thinking about Husband!Nanami coming home after work to his sweet wife and just being overwhelmed by his love for her. Cuteness aggression turned sexual? Because what reason does his wife need to have such an amazing smile if not for him to kiss her lips, both sets while he's at it!

...need i say more? nanami just loves his old lady.

you tried out a new recipe, today. ken's a cookie guy - of course, he is. so, today decorated prettily on a plate he bought you, was a glazed ginger miso cookie. you spent hours perfecting the recipe, throwing out lots of expensive, unsavory doughs, and pining over flavor combinations before you landed on your jackpot.

then you waited for him at home, wrapped in a pretty lace apron that he bought you. for some reason, you were an especially good mood this morning - you had chatted on the phone with a friend for hours, received a surprise text from your perfect husband, and got to open another of his gifts that was painted on your lips.

a new, glimmering shade of lipgloss he so politely asked you to wear for him.

he comes home right at 6:30, spending time at the lock to allude you to his forthcoming arrival. work today had been especially annoying because there were no missions. he just went on a few training ones as a favor to satoru, but didn't break a sweat on the grade-4's he took care of.

all he thought to keep himself motivated was the feeling of seeing your soft, bright smile again. it was hard to leave your smaller, sleeping figure this morning, but he had to. he had to miss you sometimes to keep him excited.

so, he's so damn happy to see your stupidly beautiful face when he pulls the door open. you're waiting for him like a puppy, crossed hands and smiling so big, it renders him motionless upon impact.

"well, aren't you just the cutest?"

"i made you cookies!" you know to keep your voice soft for him after work, but your excitement is tangible. you don't typically bake for him, so when you do, he loves it. "don't worry, I made you actual food, too."

nanami stares at you for a moment, nose picking up on the delicious mix of scents filling his well-kept home. god, he wants to eat you alive.

he still finds time to pull his tie down when he approaches you, both hands reaching for you. you giggle when he captures your cheeks, squeezing them hard, and pulling you into a single, deliberate kiss.

"i just love you."

you two end up sharing a cookie, leaning over the countertop and feeding small, broken-off pieces between each others lips. ken focuses on the glisten of yours as you chew sweetly, making no sounds but a content hum. it makes him crazy - his stomach coils.

"i know this is so lewd, but I think I need you to sit on my face."

he's right. it's lewd - he's witness to all the chewed-up cookie in your mouth when your jaw drops.

but, you let him. no questions asked.

ken lays on his back in bed, already flushed to his neck and licking over his lips. he watches as you shimmy off your pants, under special request to keep the apron on. he just wants access to what's between your thighs, and he didn't make that vague.

you look at him for a second, suddenly conscious and slightly wary of his ability to breathe. he's given you oral countless times, but never like this. "ken, are you sur-

he fucking sighs and sits up, yanking you forward with a gentle, dominant hold on your ringed hand. "you think I can't handle my wife sitting on me?" you join him on the bed, crawling into a straddle so you two can kiss for a moment. he pets at your cheek, humming as he takes in your taste. green tea and ginger miso - what a palate.

but it maddens him even further. he needs you dripping on his tongue - there was no polite way to say it. he would not be polite when he eats you alive.

so, he sits back again, pulling you with him so you don't have a choice but to follow. with sexed eyes, he begs. "please, nanami baby."

that's what gets you this time. you take a breath and crawl up his body, holding it as you hover over his face. his big hands help you along, squeezing into your thighs and guiding you into the perfect position.

you reach down to tangle his messy golden hair between your fingers, giving him a look that kills him. he can't help that whenever you give him a look so pure and sweet, he has to squeeze you a bit harder.

"just follow my lead. pretend like you're humpin' my thigh, baby."

"mm, okay." still highly suspicious, but kinda turned on now, you nod. then, he guides your thighs down until you're fully seated over his head - all of your weight focused there. upon impact, he fucking groans and it sends a tsunami of vibrations through your eager cunt.

you bite down a moan. "ken-

as soon as you say his name, he's digging his fingers deeper and begins eating you alive, just like he wanted. one of his flexed, scratching hands slide against your back, urging you to ride him -- to actually treat him like a coined pony. so, you do... it's so unfamiliar and you're terrified of hurting him, but his thick tongue felt so good and so right smushed against your sensitive clit, that you needed to chase some friction.

he's vocal like you've never heard him before, obscene slurps and moans spilling out from between your thighs as he devours you. on every back thrust, his nose buries itself into your clit, forcing a cry from your throat. it was so overwhelmingly good - you felt him everywhere like your nerves were standing on end.

you cum for the first time embarrassingly fast, crying his name and unable to move, so he drags you through it. it's only on the break he gives you to even out that you see that crazy look in his eyes.

his entire face is soaked in... everything. you, him, more of him, and more of you. so erotic and messy, you hardly get to see him so spent with a ruby-red face and blown pupils.

so pretty...

"i should stop, but 's so addicting."

"no." you're breathless and halfway to death. "no, keep going I'm fine."

"i know you're sensitive." somewhere behind the mania, you can make out a bit of that husbandly worry. you admit that he has much better stamina, but with him doing most of the work, the only thing you have to control is not cumming everywhere all the time.

"keep going." you demand a bit too harshly, tugging his hair as you grind back down on his tongue. you can feel him chuckle against your messy cunt, but doesn't need to be told twice to swallow you again.

you two go on for hours until kento feels like he's going to pass out. these pants are nothing but trash now that he's came untouched. it's a spectacle you only notice when he flips you over to finally lay it down.

he peels off his pants with a wrecked face, tongue slipping from his lips every so often to catch another taste. his briefs are sticking to his skin, stained darker around his cock and unmistakable. you try so hard not to point it out, because you know he's embarrassed, but you can't not breathe out a chuckle.

"when did yo-

"shut up." he decides before fucking you into the bed for hours. no mercy, he's unrestrained and drunk completely off of your deep, familiar taste.

and when he leans down to kiss and love you after it's all said and done, you can taste the ghost of yourself over his lips, and push him to go wash off.

he does, but you catch him letting his tongue linger over his lips until he finally gives in and runs his face underwater.

[joelsgoldrush]

“lovers once a year” | 9.4k

dbf!joel miller x f!reader

SUMMARY: One always craves what is out of reach. Like the forbidden fruit that lingers just beyond grasp, tempting with its sweetness. Joel became the town’s greatest sinner, and you, his best friend’s daughter, are the tantalizing temptation he knows he should never indulge in. Your very existence marks the path to his ruin. He can't help but follow it. WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ cursing. drinking. dirty talk. joel’s POV. a lot of introspection. mentions of alcohol. miscommunication. no outbreak. dbf!joel. age gap (25 and 56). petnames. religious imagery. car sex. oral sex (f!receiving). fingering. unprotected p in v. riding. missionary. doggy style. orgasm denial. crying. hair pulling. thumb/finger sucking. cum shot. creampie. reader sits on joel’s lap and has hair. moodboard for aesthetic purposes only. A/N: the fact this idea has been sitting on my drafts for over a year is just crazy. i finally found the time to put into words, and i know i’m a little late to the whole dbf!joel trope, but i’m a real sucker for it... hope you like this one! <3

No one could’ve ever said Joel was a great best friend.

For one, he was terrible at remembering important dates. His mind just didn’t catch hold of details like that—never had, really. He wasn’t the sentimental type, either. At best, he’d manage a pat on the back or a firm handshake, maybe even a call on Christmas if he remembered. Emotional displays weren’t in his nature, far too used to keeping things at arm’s length.

Luckily for him, Stephen never seemed to care much about these things. They’d been friends for over forty years—which is, well, a hell of a long time, especially considering each had gone off to carve out his own life. They’d trudged through both primary and secondary school side by side, and Joel felt Stephen’s absence like a hollow ache the day his friend left for university in another state.

Technology eventually offered them more ways to connect, but it didn’t make keeping up any simpler. The years had tested them, and somehow, they’d held on to the quiet strength of their friendship—a bond they’d forged across decades and distance, held steady like the roots of an old tree.

Stephen was the laid-back type, always down for anything as long as a cold beer was part of the deal. It was rare for him to lose his temper, having a way of letting nuisances slide. Joel could bend every rule, yet Stephen’s patience never wavered. He was unflappable, hardly bothered by Joel’s mood swings, which was what made them a match made in heaven. Nothing could throw him off.

Though Joel doubts Stephen would stay so calm if he knew what he’d done to his daughter. As mentioned, Joel’s not exactly what you’d call a good friend—particularly considering he’s slept with his best friend’s daughter. Just once, to be fair. One ephemeral, impulsive encounter. Right here, in this very house, exactly three hundred and sixty-five days ago.

His gaze drifts across the room, settling on you at a smaller table a few meters away, surrounded by your younger cousins, ages five to fifteen. He watches as you scroll absent-mindedly on your phone, your brow furrowed in concentration, only tearing your eyes away from the screen when one of the kids hurls a handful of salty peanuts at you.

You press your palms flat against the tablecloth, eyes narrowing as you scowl playfully at the child, a mischievous glint in your expression. “You’ve got ten seconds to run,” you utter in a tone meant to sound ominous, tickling his sides until he erupts in laughter, his giggles filling the dining room with raw joy.

Joel’s been here for over two hours, but he can’t recall a single detail about the night’s events. All he knows is you—he’s studied your every movement, following the shape of your silhouette through the crowd. He’s accepted a few drinks, engaged in shallow conversation with your relatives, trying his best to play the part of a man with nothing to hide. But despite his efforts, despite every attempt to appear unaffected, he feels a slow burn kindling in the pit of his stomach, an ache that curls through him in a deliciously destructive way.

It’s when you look up, locking eyes with him, that he nearly mutilates the chicken breast on his plate, the knife skittering over porcelain with a screech. He quickly mutters an apology, excusing his clumsiness and blaming it on one too many drinks. Meanwhile, you don’t quit glaring at him, a hint of a challenge dancing in your stare.

This shouldn’t feel the way it does, this hazardous, risky game you’re playing. At one time, he might’ve thought this was something only seen in movies, something imagined and unreal. But here you are, and here he is, and the indisputable hunger in your eyes is as real as anything he’s ever known.

Suddenly, his memories drift back to a year ago, to your grandmother’s 84th birthday—the night it all began.

Stephen had left Austin when he was eighteen to pursue a college degree. That’s how he’d ended up in New York, and from that point on, he never came back. It’d been amazing to see him as an equal when they were teenagers, but as they grew older, the only things they shared were the white hairs scattered all over their beards and the memories of much better days.

Whenever they got in touch—which didn’t happen often—your dad would talk about you. You were just a name without a face, an empty canvas. Close to graduating, with only a few subjects and finals left. Psychology was your major—weren’t you smart? Joel remembers typing back with a string of exclamation marks to show his contentment. His best friend’s daughter was a success; how could he not be happy?

One random day, Joel’s phone buzzed late in the afternoon, flashing with Stephen’s name. It was rare for them to talk outside the usual birthdays and holidays, so seeing his name on the screen sent a small jolt through him. A dozen scenarios raced through his mind as he picked up, each one edging between concern and curiosity.

Just like that, Stephen dropped the news without any preamble. “I’m moving back to Austin,” His voice came in clear, and there was something unusual about it, brisk but almost nostalgic. Joel gripped the phone a little tighter, processing the words. “In fact, I’m filling up the gas tank as we speak. There’s someone at home who wants to see you.”

That someone had been your grandmother. With a twinkle in her eye, she’d insisted on inviting Joel to her 84th birthday. “It’s the perfect chance for you two to reconnect,” she’d declared, her tone laced with warmth and hope. She adored Joel, practically worshipping the ground he walked on, often reminiscing about the vibrant young man he had once been.

Who could deny anything to an elderly person, especially one as cherished as her? He was strong, physically imposing, but not strong enough to resist her wishes.

The reunion was going as well as it could, given the circumstances. After all, it was a strange kind of delight, seeing his best friend for the first time in decades. Joel thought they’d do what friends do—sit back, drink, smoke, and trade stories about the good old days. 

Then you walked into the room, absolutely gorgeous and with a smile that was all teeth, and you reached out to shake Joel’s hand as you introduced yourself. The contrast hit him instantly—your skin was satin-like against his, smooth where his was rough and calloused from years of handling concrete and steel. A subtle heat bloomed where your fingers touched, the chill of the rings on your hand sending a shiver through him, as if his senses had sharpened in that brief instant.

You pulled away, taking a step back, your eyes flicking between him and your dad. Joel’s arm fell back to his side, his hand forming a tight fist, the bite of his nails embedded into his palm to keep him grounded. But he couldn’t stop himself from scrutinizing you—every detail of your face, the curve of your smile, the effortless way you carried yourself. Your beauty was at fault, not him. You were completely out of reach, yet close enough to marvel at. He was no more than a man, bound to notice the charm of a pretty girl like you.

That you happened to be the daughter of his best friend—that was just a cruel stroke of fate. 

“Oh, sweetie. I’m glad you got to meet Joel at last!” Stephen’s voice cut through his thoughts, an arm draping across Joel’s shoulders, pulling him into an affectionate embrace. “He’s that friend from school I’ve been telling you about.”

Stephen looked so at ease, so utterly pleased, that Joel could only swallow back the lump in his throat. What kind of sick joke was this? What could he have possibly done to deserve this twist of the knife?

With a soft laugh, you folded your hands behind your back, tilting your head to the right. “My father wouldn’t shut up about you,” you said, light and melodic, drawing him in like a lure. Joel found himself adrift in the sweet cadence of your voice, entranced by the delicate chain glinting at your throat, resting just above the neckline of your shirt, the v-cut hinting at a world of temptation.

He blinked owlishly, fighting the images clawing behind his eyelids. “Well, he’s a good man, your father,” Joel managed, his smile strained. Not because it wasn’t true, but because there was a blaring alarm in his head, warning him to get a fucking grip. He knew himself well enough to read the signs, the underlying meaning beneath these nerves, the quickened pulse, the quiet, undeniable urge to reach out and feel you.

He was gone already. He fancied you, and his mind raced with thoughts he knew he had no right to entertain. He imagined what you’d taste like, the way you might sound if he were between your legs, encouraging you to gasp his name. Yet, he was aware that these fantasies were as treacherous as they were forbidden, even more with you standing right in front of him. And your father, just inches away.

From the kitchen, someone called out to Stephen, and with a weary sigh, he unhooked himself from Joel’s shoulder. “Coming!” he shouted back, already angling himself toward the door. He glanced back at the two of you, half-smiling while rubbing his temples. “I forgot how exhausting it is to host a family birthday party. I’ll be right back. You two go ahead and chat without me.”

Fuck, no, Joel thought to himself. Don’t leave me here. Where the hell are you going?

Joel resorted to remaining silent, choosing instead to take a long sip of his beer to avoid the occasion of sin. He refused to look in your direction, fixing his gaze on anything that didn’t involve your bare legs—the same legs he’d just been eyeing in those damn denim shorts, which exquisitely hugged your thighs. But, then again, he shouldn’t even be noticing that.

As he peered down at the carpet, he couldn’t ignore the movement of your shoes as you stepped closer. He observed your fingers playing idly with the frayed edges of your shorts, your body inching nearer, and he braced himself in anticipation of whatever you might say next. When his eyes landed on yours, he was met with an aura of expectancy, a cocky smirk pulling at your lips.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in the flesh, Mr. Miller,” you murmured, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed with effort. Letting your hand linger beside your face, you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, glancing at him through your lashes. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Joel felt the flush rise to his cheeks, and there was no mistaking it—you were doing this on purpose. Were you trying to push him off balance, to see how far he’d bend before snapping? Was this just a game for you, a bit of mischief to spice up a family gathering? The idea irritated him, but he couldn’t entirely ignore the thrill woven into the discomfort. A quarter of his mind itched to play along, but the rest of him screamed to find the nearest exit.

“Y’can just call me Joel. No needa be so formal,” he mumbled, lifting the beer bottle to his lips once again, the bitterness spreading across his tongue.

“But I like Mr. Miller better.”

His mind conjured all those images of fire and damnation, of being dragged to some dark, smoldering pit. Rotting in hell, he could already see himself within the flames. Tugging at the collar of his flannel, now too tight and hot, he gave a rough, clearing cough. “M’gonna—go find your dad.”

He was glad you didn’t try to approach him in public again. For a few hours, he felt something close to tranquillity—not fully, though, as he could still hear echoes of your voice in the silences. Every so often, out of the corner of his eye, he’d catch you orbiting near him, lurking in his peripheral vision, even though you sat at a different table.

Later in the night, he wandered upstairs in search of the bathroom, instead stumbling upon your father’s childhood bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, and he took the liberty to enter it, a familiar scent filling the room. He ran his fingers over the walls, still papered with posters he recognized well. It was as if time had paused there—everything remained as it had the last time he’d been in this very room. The framed portraits, the worn bedspread, and Stephen’s desk, scattered with foreign bills under a layer of glass, each one a memento from the different countries he had visited.

It was only a matter of time before you found him, a light knock on the open door drawing his attention. Joel turned on his heels, catching sight of you, acknowledging your presence with a slight bow of his head. You ambled toward him, curiosity alight in your steps, twisting the chain of your necklace, a restless gesture that betrayed the energy simmering beneath your calm exterior.

He scratched the back of his head, offering a half-hearted smile. “This isn’t the bathroom, right?” he joked, attempting a casual tone. The joke was a weak one, admittedly, but you laughed anyway, a nonchalant sound that showed the gleam of your teeth.

“No, I don’t think it is,” you replied, sliding onto the edge of the desk with an effortless ease. “What brought you here?”

“Birthday parties can be a bit overwhelmin', dontcha think?” 

“Totally.”

And then you went back to watching him, your eyes tracing his features with an almost stubborn intensity. 

“You gonna stop doin' that?” he asked, the words coming out sharper than he meant, though they didn't make you flinch.

“Doing what, exactly?”

“Lookin' at me all doe-eyed.” His voice didn’t waver, but he advanced in your direction. His knees nearly brushed against yours, the weathered denim grazing your bare skin, and only then did a flicker of uncertainty soften your confident stance. “Whatever it is you’re after, it’s not gonna happen. So quit tryin’.”

You drew in a slow breath, pushing yourself to your feet. “You sure about that?” Before he had the time to react, you were standing inches from him, your chest pressing against his, just close enough for him to feel the soft weight of your breasts. “Should I pretend, then, that I haven’t noticed you’ve been half-hard all night?”

Joel's jaw tightened, his teeth gritting almost painfully. His fists flexed by his sides, his entire body feeling heavier, muscles pulled taut by some invisible thread. "Watch your mouth.”

“Or what?” You hooked a finger inside his belt loop, tugging him that much closer. Your breath, fresh and minty, mingled with the faint scent of your perfume, and he inhaled both, heady on the mix. “You’re gonna teach me a lesson?”

There was only so much patience a man like him could summon, and you were a thorn in his flesh, determined and unyielding. He leaned in, voice gruff as he uttered three words that made your brows knit together. “Close the door.” You stayed frozen, lips parting in surprise. “Did y’hear me? M’not into exhibitionism. Close. The. Door.”

You did as he asked, obliging, stepping back to close the door before returning to your place. Without warning, he turned you around, pressing your palms flat against the cool glass of the desk, a sharp chill that made you yelp. His hand settled firmly on your back, guiding you down until your chest was flush against the surface as well. In one swift motion, your shorts were gone, followed by your soaked panties, a damp spot where your arousal had begun to seep through.

He slipped his fingers inside you first, his hand covering your mouth to stifle the needy whimpers escaping your lips. The roughness of his beard grazed your cheek as he hovered over you, his breath hot in your ear as he spoke. “Bein’ too fuckin’ loud, doll.” Matching the rhythm of the slow drag of his fingers, his hips pressed forward, grinding against the curve of your ass, each movement making his mouth go dry. “Y’want this cock that bad?” He nipped at your throat, and you, against his sweaty palm, mumbled what could have only been a muffled Yes. “Then I need y’to keep real quiet for me, alright?”

His jeans and boxers hung around his knees, his cock leaking and throbbing at the tip. Joel realized what true desperation felt like, dangerously close to busting his load at any given moment before even getting the chance to be fully inside you. On top of the desk, your body trembled, and you reached back, pulling your top higher up to bare more of yourself to him. He unclasped your bra with one hand, while his other guided him to your entrance, his lips pressing reverently against your spine as he pushed inside, savoring the heat of your walls wrapping around him for the first time. It certainly didn’t feel like anything he’d ever experienced in his fifty-six years of life.

It had been short, and harsh, and fast. Borderline animalistic, what experts would label as a quick fuck. The moment he breached your entrance, you begged for more, fucking yourself back onto him until his thighs met your skin. You acted as if possessed by a greater entity, diabolic, though Joel didn’t mind it. He relished it, welcomed it. But he couldn’t let you take the reins. He asserted his dominance, snapping his hips forward with a force that drew moans from the depths of your lungs. He was the one in control, driving himself deeper and deeper within you. Suffice it to say you seemed to love it, if the sounds he elicited from you were anything to go by.

It was what you wanted, what you needed. One way or another, he’d caught onto what those lingering glances throughout the party had signified. Every glance you’d thrown his way had been leading to this—a silent promise that whatever was happening had been destined to be the night’s climax.

You bit down on his palm as you reached your peak, tightening around him, and perhaps it was the thrill of it all, the knowledge that he’d need far more time to become well acquainted with your body, that had him chasing after you. Holding back until you came had been a feat, pulling out seconds prior to his release, stroking his length once before painting your skin with his seed. A low, primal groan escaped him as he slid his length between your cheeks, prolonging his high, each heated pulse marking you in a way that felt undeniably his.

As he regained his composure, he watched you swirl your thumb along your lower back, collecting a trace of his release, and bringing it to your lips to have a taste of him. You softly laughed when he cursed under his breath, turning your face lazily to the side. “Damn minx y’are,” he rasped, closing the gap between your mouths, his claiming yours in an urgent kiss. Your mewls faded beneath the insistent press of his mouth as he sought to suppress the strange pull in his guts, reluctant to confront the unfamiliar sensations churning within him.

Things wrapped up quickly after that. You both returned to your places, resuming the roles you’d stepped out of briefly: Joel had been in the bathroom; you had been on the phone with a friend. When he reappeared downstairs minutes after you, no one thought twice about his slightly damp hair.

For the remainder of the party, the two of you exchanged no further words. The time for him to leave came, and he offered only a nod of his head across the packed living room. It was a farewell only Joel would give, a subtle acknowledgment that left you wondering about its meaning. There were no explanations, no parting words.

The next time he saw your father, the mere thought of seeing you again terrified him. If it’d happened once, then the temptation would still remain undiminished, strong enough to awaken the lust and the longing veiled in silence. But you weren’t there anymore—back in New York, focused on finishing your semester at college. The surprise must have been evident on Joel’s face, a bewilderment that prompted Stephen to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Remember I told you she hasn’t graduated yet?”

“Yeah, yeah. I remember now,” he said, wishing to convince both your father and himself.

You were out of the picture, no longer around. Yet, the two of you now shared a secret. You still do, to this day. He’s no stranger to the notion that some things never seem to change. After all, he’s a creature of habit—same breakfast every morning, same brand of bread he’s been buying for years. Like all his other preferences, he’s come to realize he likes his women a certain way. And though he hates to admit it, you fit the bill perfectly.

Betty, Stephen’s mother, was turning eighty-five tonight. A seat with Joel’s name was saved at the big table; they wanted him there, his best friend and his best friend’s mother. How nice it was to actually feel wanted. He liked that feeling. Still, he’d had to bite his tongue when your father mentioned you’d be there, too. You had graduated at long last, with your birthday having been just a couple of weeks ago.

“Can’t believe she’s twenty-five already,” Stephen muttered with a chuckle, taking a long drag from his cigarette.

Sitting beside him, Joel gripped the arm of his chair, sinking his nails into it. “Me neither, man.”

His choices had led him to this moment. The clinking of glasses rings in his ears, blending with laughter and the rich aroma of food that fills the air. None of it manages to distract him. He can't help but track you down, eyes scanning the room, relentless in their pursuit of yours. The need to see you goes beyond any shred of restraint he might have faked to have. Joel can’t muster the decorum to feign indifference—God, not when you’re near, when the pull toward you feels like gravity itself. He’s keenly, almost painfully aware, that he’s not even pretending to be indifferent, his interest etched plainly in the way his gaze persists, refusing to pull away.

It’s his first time seeing you in a year. A lot can change in that span of time. He can’t help but be amazed, because you look just the same as you did back then. Only your hair’s a touch shorter. He wonders if it’s even noticeable, or if he’s just spent so long memorizing your features that he’s losing his sanity. He bets it’s the latter.

A light pressure on his shoulder makes Joel jump, breaking down his reverie. He turns quickly, eyes widening. "Betty," he exhales, patting his chest with a smile, eyebrows lifted. "Jeez. Y’scared me."

“Y’alright, Joely? Y’look a bit pale.” The older woman reaches up, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead with a gentle familiarity. Through her lens, he’s still young. “Doesn’t seem like you’ve got a fever, though.”

"That’s ‘cause I’m not sick." Joel takes her hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "How’s everythin’ goin’ so far? Got all these people together just t’celebrate ya’."

"It’s a wonderful night, sweetheart. So happy y’found the time t’be here," she replies, pinching his cheek in that affectionate way that earns her a quiet laugh from him. Her eyes then catch sight of a familiar figure. "Oh, look who's here. If it isn’t my beautiful granddaughter."

He stops smiling. In fact, he thinks he even stops breathing for a second as you intrude yourself into the scene, settling yourself beside your grandmother, flashing him a knowing grin. “I was getting kind of bored with the little ones.” 

“Y’know Joel, right, dear?”

“Yes.” A pause, a beat you draw out between breaths. “Yes, I do.”

Betty leans his way, her warm hand still on him. “Have y’heard the latest news? This young lady just graduated.”

“Stephen told me,” he answers, looking up at you with a reserved nod. “Congrats, kid.”

“Thank you, Mr. Miller.”

There’s that damn name again. Were he alone with you, he’d laugh in your face, but he can’t. Under the scrutiny of family and friends, he knows he’s cornered. Joel’s starting to believe you think you’re untouchable, that there are no consequences to your actions. You might look the same, maybe a little older, but that teasing, provocative spark in your eye hasn’t changed a bit.

“Always so polite, my child,” Betty says, cupping your cheek with a light pinch, a grandmotherly gesture perfected over the years which she seems to repeat often. “Any boyfriends back in New York?”

This would, without a doubt, be the perfect moment for him to excuse himself and stand up—a conversation he’d rather not be privy to. But with you positioned right in front of him, escape isn’t an option. “Still single, grandma,” you respond unfazed, as if you know exactly what you’re doing. “No one to worry about. Better like this, anyway.”

“But what’s the problem? There aren’t any boys y’like?”

He doesn’t even know what makes him say it—some impulse, some hidden tension surfacing—but he jumps in, his voice carrying a slight, sardonic edge. “Boys are more foolish than ever these days, Betty. Surely y’wouldn’t want her to settle for the first idiot who crosses her path.”

Betty clutches his arm, shaking her head in feigned shock. “Oh, not at all! It’s all about waitin’ for the right person. There’s no rush, for either of you. You’re still on your own, Joely?”

Time to drink again. He drains the last drops of alcohol remaining in his glass, feeling your eyes on him, intense and searing, and then he clears his throat, swallowing down the words he’d rather say. “Affirmative.”

“Well,” she sighs contentedly, patting each of your hands as though binding you both with some invisible thread. “Just means y’two have to wait a bit longer, right? Time has its way.” She chuckles, eyes soft with memory, turning to you. “Darlin’, this man here was quite the heartbreaker in his day. He and your dad would find all kinds of trouble with the ladies!”

“How so?” You cross your arms, playfully tilting your chin up. “Joel Miller, the charmer of the town?”

“Guess I’ve been known t’make a fool of myself,” he shoots back, silently cursing the moment he missed his chance to slip away. “Stephen got more fans than I did, though.”

“I did what?” Joel feels an elbow nudging his back, and there’s his friend, grinning in his usual easy way.

Joel's luck in life had been more bruised than blessed, a string of hardships that seemed amplified compared to what most people experienced. Being drawn in by you—in which category did that fall? Good luck or bad? He couldn't decide. Every glance and delicate smile you aimed his way stirred something reckless within him. Was it pure thrill, or a warning?

He laughs every time Stephen cracks a joke, but he’s barely listening, his mind half-tethered to the present. It’s like he’s watching himself from afar, observing his reactions as if he were an outsider. He isn’t stoned or drunk, just acutely mindful of your presence. He catches himself peeking up at you from where he sits, jaw tight, his brow creased. You meet his gaze with a slight squint, a polite look that hides something far more dangerous.

Boys are more foolish than ever these days. He’s sure of that much. They’re young, untested. But what about him? He’s no model of virtue, either. He’s made his share of mistakes, left good women behind—women who were willing to love him in spite of his flaws. They’d seen through the layers he wore like armor, and yet, in the end, he couldn’t hold on to any of them. He carried the ghosts of every past life, fragments of who he’d been and what he’d left behind, and he knew those shadows weren’t for everyone.

A thought pierces through him, sharp and sobering: what would Sarah think? His lovely daughter, grown and settled into her own life, would likely be mortified to know her father’s infatuation with a twenty-something. The weight of that realization sinks into his chest, and that seems to be his last straw.

He can’t possibly take it anymore. Rising from his chair, he mutters something to Stephen about needing fresh air and makes his way to the backyard door, exhaling deeply and gripping his car keys. The cool night air hits him, stepping outside, a temporary relief as he heads toward his truck.

Just as he’s about to open the door, he hears your voice. You call his name, your tone soft but distinct. He doesn’t turn, only lets out a long, weary sigh. “What?”

“Where are you going?” You stop a few steps behind him, watching the way his shoulders visibly tense. “Are you mad at me?”

“What?” He faces you, almost snapping his neck in his rush to look at you. “Why would I be—I’m not mad at ya’.”

“Then what’s wrong? Why are you leaving so early?” 

He scrubs a hand over his nape, fingers pressing into the tension gathered there. “Would y’like me t’break it down for ya’, how messed up this is?” His gaze drops to the ground, unable to meet yours. “I’m riskin’ the only real friendship I’ve had here for… for somethin’ that I can’t even wrap my head ‘round. This isn’t okay, no matter which way I look at it.”

In that moment, it’s as if reality pulls you under. The mask of subtle, practiced arrogance falls apart, scattering in fragments around you. He watches, waiting for you to gather them up, to hide behind that composed veneer again. But you don’t move. You leave the pieces where they lie. Instead, you confront his gaze, unguarded, and ask, “Do you regret what happened between us?”

Another question. You seem to be full of them. They just keep coming, one after the other, as if you already had them prepared. I don’t, he thinks to himself, but would it do you any good if you knew it? “Don’ start with those mental games.”

“Then come back inside.”

“I know myself well enough to know what’s gonna happen if I do that, darlin’.”

Neither of you breaks the silence that’s settled between you, thick as the night air. You slip your hands into the pockets of your jacket, shoulders slightly hunched, head hanging. Once again, like all those times before, he’s struck by how young you are compared to him. The difference stretches between you like a chasm, bridged only by these stolen moments. The weight of his years presses down on him, the choices he’s made—the mistakes and the half-hearted attempts to mend them. He’s got decades on you, three of them to be precise.

Joel never thought of himself as an ever-lasting free spirit, the kind of man who clings to youth or pretends to be something he’s not. Right now, with you here, he feels reckless, like a boy again. Stupid, impulsive, like the foolish young men he used to shake his head at—the very ones he’d warned your grandmother about.

“You left without even saying goodbye last time,” you mumble, low but clear, as you scuff the toe of your shoe against the grass. “And now you’re doing it again.”

He inhales sharply, clenching his keys, feeling the edges of the brass biting into his palm. For a moment, he thinks the sharpness will give him something to hold onto, but he knows the sting is nothing more than a weak anchor. “You’re a smart girl. Don’ need me to spell this out.”

“I know exactly what you mean, trust me. I get it.”

“Then why do you keep pushing?” His pent-up exasperation slips through despite himself, and he can see the hurt flicker across your face, the way your forehead barely puckers as his words hit harder than intended.

Even as you look away, a trace of that hurt fading, you stand firm. You shake your head after a beat, seemingly trying to brush off your doubts and confusion. Joel can’t decipher if you’re feigning innocence—if you are, he thinks, you could be one hell of an actress. “I don’t know. I guess I want to see how far this can go.”

You take a small step forward, testing the waters. Your feet move cautiously, not aiming to scare him off. Each step draws you nearer until there’s only a whisper of space between you, close enough for him to catch your scent, and he has to force himself to peer down to meet your eyes. They hold a quiet intensity: pleading, wide and earnest, already trained on him. Gleaming like two lone stars cutting through a moonless, empty sky. 

It baffles him, the question forming unbidden in his mind. He goes even further, can’t help but wonder: why him? What is it that you see in him? What makes you keep coming back for more? You’ve already had a taste, a story you could tuck away, a secret to be shared with your friends someday around a campfire. So why, he would like to know, are you still here, seeking something from a man like him?

“I like you,” you blurt out, fingers drifting to skim over the worn fabric of his flannel, almost hesitantly. That tentative gesture sparks something raw in him, a low rumble of desire that feels like it’s been lying dormant for too long. Heat pulses through him, hot blood racing through his veins, awakening every nerve, each beat of his heart more insistent than the last one. “I think you like me, too.”

“You’re insufferable,” he bites out through gritted teeth, his jaw clenching so hard it nearly hurts. He closes his eyes, half hoping you’ll disappear, that he’ll find some reason, any reason, to call this off. Though when he opens them, you’re still there, waiting, unshaken. “I wish I knew how to stop this. How to walk away.”

“That’s not what you want.”

“We don’ always get what we want, kid. You’ll figure that out soon enough.” He means it as a warning, but even he hears the way his voice falters, his defenses crumbling in the face of your unflinching state.

You let out a slow sigh, your arms falling to your sides, eyes roaming over his features as if you’re memorizing every line. Your focus dips to his mouth. “Maybe,” you murmur, and he feels the warmth of your breath against his skin. “But some things are worth fighting for. And sometimes, those who don’t give up… get the best in the end.”

With a gentleness that stuns him, you lean in, bringing your lips to his in a featherlight kiss. You pull away, and he helplessly notices the way your lips part, how your breath hitches, and for a split second, the guilt becomes palpable, the significance of wanting a woman he knows he shouldn’t. You stand there, chest rising and falling, skin tingling, a faint trail of goosebumps visible where your neckline meets your chest. 

Apart from the glint in your eyes, he catches the persistent, quiet ache of want. He isn’t sure if it’s just physical attraction, if it runs deeper, or if that’s all it is for him, either. He doesn’t need to know. The simplicity of it all is a short-lived relief. It’s an easy escape, though, this bare minimum of understanding—you want him, he wants you. Let it be enough for one more moment, for tonight, just another memory he’ll have to lock away. Yet he’s aware, deep down, of his own pattern: promises broken just as easily as they’re made. He’s only fooling himself. The part of him that knows this isn’t something he’ll let go of so easily sits there, silently taunting him, daring him to make another compromise he won’t keep.

From where you remain frozen, he’s certain you can practically see the gears turning in his head as he weighs every possible outcome. “It’s gonna happen, isn’t it?” Your voice is barely above a whisper, and before you can react, his arm slides around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and turning you toward the car door. The cool metal pressing against your back startles a gasp out of you, but the suddenness only heightens everything—the heat of his body, the toughness of his hold. 

He doesn’t waste time with words, having always been a man of action. His hand cradles your face, inspecting your features to later crush his mouth against yours. Your tongue finds his without hesitation, seeking him out, hungry and unrestrained. He savors your eagerness, the way your hands roam over him, clutching at his shirt, tugging him closer by the belt until your lower halves are pressed tightly. The taste of beer and mint clings to your lips, and a husky groan rumbles from him as your fingers find their place in the longer strands at the nape of his neck, twisting and pulling him impossibly closer. 

He could lose himself in this, the simple, electric thrill of kissing you, how you fit so perfectly against him. Hours could slip by, and he wouldn’t mind, but then reality pulls him back; it’s too exposed here, right outside his truck where anyone could stumble upon you. “Get in the car,” he rasps, pulling back just enough to catch his breath, fumbling to unlock the door. It takes him three tries, and he chuckles, feeling the warmth of your laughter beside him as you tease him.

Once inside, his mouth finds yours again, this time more urgently, his hand pressing against your back, tracing the line of your spine through the clothes. “Tell me y’want this,” he breathes, his kisses trailing down your throat, latching onto the tender skin there. “C’mon, baby. Tell me y’want it. Tell me y’want me.”

A soft, breathy sound escapes you as his mouth fixates on that sensitive spot just below your ear. You tilt your hips instinctively, craving contact in search of relief, and he shifts you onto his lap, guiding your thighs to settle over his. Desperately working to undo the buttons of his shirt, yearning to uncover him, you pant against his cheek. “J-Jesus Christ, I need you. Please, touch me. Anything will do. Just—”

He’s silently grateful for your choice of a dress tonight. It makes things easier for him, and he gets right to it, bunching the fabric around your waist, hands roaming over the soft skin of your hips before moving his fingers lower, tracing teasing lines over your clothed center. He can’t fully make out the murmured words you breathe into his ear, but your voice drives him like a lighthouse guides a sinking ship, and he adjusts his movements, pressing with more intention. The only sounds filling the car are his ragged breaths and your gasping moans, and he holds you close to his chest, cooing softly as you start to rock into his hand, asking for more. 

His fingers find their rhythm, circling your clit in deliberate flicks. Joel watches as you unravel, trembling in his arms, a hint of drool spreading over his shoulder from your parted lips on his skin. His grip tightens as he tugs your underwear down your legs, grinning when you kick them impatiently to the floor of the car. Now, as he strokes his digits up and down your folds, you turn to putty on his lap. In another world, he’d have you laid out in his bed, enjoying each inch of your body. But here, in the cramped, dim backseat, he keeps the lights off. He knows it’s reckless, yet that barely slows him down. His cock throbs at the very risk of getting caught, at the edge he’s walking just to have you like this.

“Goddamn, you’re soaked, aren’t ya’?” He doesn’t expect you to answer, at least not in any coherent way. He sinks his middle finger into your bare heat, searching your face in the dark, contemplating the fluttering of your lashes. His hand weaves into your hair, a firm tug guiding your gaze to his. Your head tips back, a moan spilling from your lips at the new sensation, rolling your hips into his palm with earnestness. “It’s gonna be a tight fit, huh? If this is how you’re grippin’ my fingers, I can’t imagine what that cunt’s gonna feel like wrapped ‘round me.”

Studies suggest that in those final, fleeting moments of life, memories flood the human mind—a last journey through a person’s years before crossing over. If he were to die after tonight, he knows your face would be there, etched into his last breath. He can almost picture it: struggling for air, teetering on the edge, with that reddish, towering figure of mortality looming over him. But even then, he’d find solace in the thought of you, thrown into oblivion. You’d grant him a last-minute reprieve, easing the ache. You’d be the one who’d hold back the shadows. This constitutes the apex of his life, and he knows he should be worried, yet intellectual dominance doesn’t stand much of a chance when confronting the heart of a man. Not when that heart, so long starved of its pulse, has finally found someone worth remembering.

He makes space for himself, thrusting his long fingers into you until he’s got your slick coating his palm. One hand settles firmly at the small of your back, guiding your movements, while he feels his collected composure faltering. You mouth at the rough stubble along his jawline when you start to get close, breathless whimpers clouding his thoughts. “Joel,” you call out to him, as if that alone would make wonders. “Oh, fuck. Please, I waited a whole year. I need to come.”

A whole year. You were his once a year, and he was yours, a bittersweet ritual bound by time. He never would’ve thought this party could bring him such pleasure, though he can’t pretend he’s against it. Last time, he hadn’t taken the chance to pull you under and make you fall apart as many times as he’d wanted. He’s intent on making up for that missed opportunity, determined to make you enjoy every moment.

He withdraws his fingers abruptly, and a sharp laugh nearly escapes him at your reaction. You reach instinctively, grabbing for his hand, trying to guide him back to where he belongs between your legs. But he’s already moving, maneuvering you down until you’re lying on your back, fully under his command. He lowers himself, replacing his fingers with the warm insistence of his mouth. The sound that escapes your lips as his mouth presses against your center is nothing short of a scream—a wild cry that fills the space around you. He’s grateful he parked far from the other guests, because that sound would turn more than a few heads. 

Joel laps at your arousal as if it's the fountain of youth, the very essence of everything pure and precious in the world. He presses down on your thighs until they rest on either side of him, unclamping your legs from around his head. The suppleness of your skin feels divine under his fingertips, and he brushes his thumbs over your trembling form, coaxing you into calmness, to let him have his way with you at his own pace. It's an absurd paradox—aiming to soothe you while his mouth continues its fervent worship, tracing intricate patterns against your most sensitive flesh. His beard, streaked with gray and freshly trimmed, glistens with your slick, and Joel smolders with all-consuming passion.

When his friends had told him to go out more, maybe find someone to date, he's certain they didn't mean this. The smart choice (scratch that: the correct one) would have been to pursue a woman his own age. But fuck it—he's spent a lifetime doing what's right. Every road he might've taken would've led him here, to this moment, with you. Part of him believes he must still have something left, some spark of appeal. To have a pretty little thing like you, so eager, so willing, offering yourself to him? He has to have something. His knees ache from where he kneels on the unforgiving surface, but the burn is inconsequential, and he’ll endure anything to be what you need.

Joel trails his hand up your body, over the curve of your breast, before gently groping it, his palm covering yours in a shared grip. He runs the tip of his tongue along your folds, his saliva mingling with your wetness, aquiline nose grazing your sensitive bud. “You’re tellin’ me you’re this tight ‘cause you’ve been savin’ yourself for me? You do know what t’say t’make a man happy.” He spreads you open slowly, his gaze lingering on the way your cunt glistens, a sense of satisfaction rippling through him. You remain silent, your breath shallow. “Still with me, sugar?”

“It’s just that—I’m so close.” You bite back a moan, nails digging into the soft leather of the seat. Joel hums in response, his lips closing around your clit. Agitation flickers across your face as you try to grind your hips against his mouth. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

The pressure is gone as he notices your thighs quivering again, his movements halting immediately.

“No, Joel. Please—”

“You’ll come when I tell ya’.”

He’s having the time of his life. Damn right he is.

He suddenly realizes he's still dressed from head to toes, the heat building in his body becoming too much to ignore. With a frustrated grunt, he undoes his belt, yanking the metal zipper down, longing to rid himself of the constricting denim. A strangled noise escapes him as you suck on his neck, fisting his base, giving him a few purposeful tugs.

“Now, you’re gonna ride me,” he murmurs, making a pause to shrug his shirt off, letting it fall to the floor of the car, “and you’re gonna like it. Don’ want you t’hold back this time, understood?”

His back ends up against one of the fogged-up windows. The air is thick with the apparent scent of sex—a phrase he’d only ever heard in movies, but now, it’s undeniably real. Joel holds his cock, aligning the tip with your entrance as his lips crash against yours in a hungry kiss. A deep groan escapes him, vibrating over your mouth, nipping at your lower lip. The sensation intensifies when your wet interior welcomes him, velvet walls molding to his size. Your brows scrunch together at the stretch, a choked whimper catching in your throat. As your hips sink fully, your ass flush against his thighs, your body clenches around him, that abrupt tightness drawing a stuttering gasp from him.

“For God’s sake,” he exhales, the words rough as his forehead bumps into yours. His hand splays over your ribcage, fingers curling slightly. “Sweetheart, you’re—killin’ me here.”

“I can feel you everywhere,” you huff, your arms looping around his neck to pull him closer, holding your breath. He takes the moment to capture your nipple between his swollen lips, leaving a shiny trail of spit in his wake. You lift yourself, the motion teasing, before sinking back down onto his lap, taking him in fully. “Can feel you in my stomach.”

When you begin to move, Joel loses track of everything else. Time seems to stretch, bending and reshaping itself each time his tip finds some hidden place inside you. He’s fifty-six years old, yet in this moment, his soul feels infinite. Invincible. He brings his hand to your lips, thumb grazing over them before slipping inside. Your warm tongue envelopes it, and when you start to suck dutifully, muffling your moans, his body jerks in response. His eyes drift to your glistening chest, where a sheen of sweat makes your skin glow in the dim light. You’re the most captivating woman he’s ever seen, and he knows he’ll never look at anyone the same again. He can’t tear his gaze away, mesmerized by the way your body merges with his, the way you undulate your hips on top of him.

You move back and forth, and he drives into you, filling you to the brim with every calculated thrust. He thrusts upward, stealing the air from your lungs, the sharp motion making you sputter as your body struggles to keep up with his.

“That’s it.” His voice is a husky growl as he wraps his arms tightly around your back, your chests sticking together with sweat. His pace quickens, the rhythm becoming more insistent. “Takin’ it like a good girl. You feel exquisite, baby. Makin’ me lose my fuckin’ mind.”

“So big inside me,” you pant, your own pace faltering as you surrender to Joel’s unforgiving tempo. His hooded eyes flicker to yours, catching the way your pupils have swallowed up your irises, dark and blown wide with desire. A shiver runs through him as your fingers dig into his shoulders, your grip leaving faint crescents in his skin. “Missed your cock so much, Mr. Miller.”

Fuck, not that shit. If it’s possible, he grows impossibly harder. He pounds into you with renewed intensity this time, his singular goal to leave you speechless, boneless, completely undone. He wants you limp and shuddering, with nothing left to give. “Enough of that.” His hands find their place on the soft globes of your ass, molding and squeezing until the pressure has you mewling, the sweet sound shooting straight through him. His lips ghost over the shell of your ear. “Responsive everywhere, honey. Have any idea how much fun I’m gonna have with ya’?”

Who would’ve believed him back then? It proves this isn’t some once-in-a-lifetime fluke. It happened before, and now it’s happening again. He might as well surrender to it—accept his fate and move through the motions like a man resigned to what’s already written.

There’s a moment when your moans sharpen, turning high-pitched and dazed, and the way you constrict him sends his eyes rolling to the back of his skull, a guttural noise tearing from his chest. His movements still, clutching your waist to pin you in place, denying you the chance to move, to bounce on him.

Then you break. A sob wracks your body, tears spilling over and tracing hot paths down your cheeks. They gather, fusing together as they slide along your throat and pool in the hollow of your jaw before disappearing lower. “Asshole,” you hiss, the word fragile as you push your face into the curve of his neck, seeking refuge in his embrace.

“Sorry? Couldn’t catch that.” He makes sure to keep you securely tucked under his chin, tilting his lower half upward. “If you want me t’stop, just say the world and I will.”

He’s messing with you, plain and simple. He doesn’t actually expect you to take his words at face value. But you do, grinding down harder, impaling yourself further on the length of his cock, and your arousal trickles down, slicking the coarse hair of his thighs.  “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please fuck me.” Slotting your mouth over his, you attempt to move, chasing any sort of friction against your clit. Sadly, pleasure doesn’t come on its own—it’s Joel who can make you feel good, and he’s not obliging. His hand seizes your hair in a rough grasp, tugging sharply. Eyes fluttering shut, you hunch forward, submitting to the sharp edge of his control.

“What an impatient little thing y’are.” Joel grabs your thighs and turns you over, your back pressed against the leather seat. The brusque shift pulls him out of you, the cool air a cruel tease before he taps his head against your swollen folds, then fills you again in one powerful thrust, kissing your cervix in the process. A deep moan rips from your lungs, deep and guttural, as your legs tremble uncontrollably on either side of him. Your ankles dig into his back, fervent to keep him close. His balls rest heavy against your skin, full and aching for release. “Gonna give ya’ what y’want, okay? You’ve been on your best behavior,” he mumbles with his lips stuck to your forehead. “That’s a good girl. Think she deserves to come after all.”

Only then does he find his rhythm again, ramming into your drooling hole. For the third time tonight, he’s captivated by how you teeter on the edge of overwhelming pleasure. He has you eating out of his hand, taking all that he offers, and you do so willingly. He knows he could ask you for anything, and in exchange for an orgasm coaxed by him, you'd comply without thinking twice. In many ways, he’s not so different. He gathers some of your saliva, using it to moisten his fingers before slipping them between your bodies, rubbing your clit as he continues to hit your bundle of nerves. Where his stamina comes from, he has no clue, though he’s determined to keep pushing.

Your face becomes a living poem, each cry of yours adding to its verse. Your head nearly reaches the door, but he cradles it with his arm, ensuring you don’t hurt yourself. “Close,” you whine, struggling to keep your eyes from falling shut. “Joel, please. Let me—”

“Give it to me, darlin’.” Another thrust, another moan. “Drench me, c’mon. That’s what y’want, isn’t it? To come all over this cock?”

The way he’s worked you up has its rewards, leading to a release that feels like an eruption. You bite down on his shoulder, your cries growing louder, chanting his name without pause. It loses all meaning after being chanted so many times, but the way you say it still has an undeniable weight. He doesn’t mind it one bit, not when he’s finishing right after you plead him to fill you. His jaw hangs open as ropes of his seed spill inside you, and he sags against your frame, giving short thrusts to push his cum deeper into your warmth, your pussy milking him dry.

“Oh, God…” he groans, fumbling with one of your breasts, holding onto something for dear life. “Jesus Christ.” 

“Don’t pull out yet,” you say, grinning when you feel him twitch. “Stay a little longer.”

Too personal. Too intimate—dangerous in his books. Normally, he'd tuck himself back into his briefs, drive the woman he’s slept with home, and that would be the end of it. No happy endings in his story. So he’s surprised when he supports his weight on his forearms, claiming your lips in a voracious encounter of tongues and teeth. He caresses your cheek, tilting your face to deepen the kiss, and you sigh contentedly.

The two of you lapse into a heavy silence after that. He clears his throat, and says: “I should’ve asked you for your number that one time.” In the heat of the act, he’s being too honest. Regret will come knocking on his door once his excitement fades. His eyes bore into yours, dubious. “M’sorry for that.”

“Well, you could ask me for it now,” you admit from beneath him, and Joel pulls away for a moment, trying to gauge if you’re serious. He doesn’t think you’re joking. “To make up for lost time.”

This must be the onset of something else. He can't quite put it into words, but he feels it in his chest, in every place where your skin merges with his. He's no fortune teller, and there's no way for him to know where this path will take him, whether it leads to ruin or salvation. Though in this moment, he doesn't care—not now, at least.

At last, Joel blindly reaches for the pocket of his jeans with one arm. “How long are you stayin’ in Austin?”

dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

[spookysanta]

Old Man. (MBJ)

Summary: You love to clown Michael about his age. But you quickly learn — again and again — that he might have a couple greys in his beard, but there’s nothing old about him.

Pairing: Michael B. Jordan x Younger!Reader

Warnings: SMUTTTTTTTT, overstimulation, squirting, rough sex, hair pulling, rough oral (m!receiveing), oral (both), slight degradation, insatiable!Michael, this is an amalgamation of a bunch of scenes i was too slutty to cut out

who's ready to get fucked uppppp! another item checked off my heathen draft checklist. have i been working on this for the last two weeks while i'm at work? yes. am i sorry? no. i'm salaried. i still got paid. so we're good! pleaaaaase send me some asks if you've got any ideas for a new fic. thxxxx

MINORS DNI PLS

The night started with a simple movie, a hoodie you stole from him and refused to return, your bare legs curled in his lap. One of his hands was lazily resting on your thigh, the other nursing a glass of dark liquor.

You were supposed to be relaxing.

But you just couldn’t help yourself.

Michael stretched, arms overhead, back arching slightly, and the obscene series of cracks that popped from his shoulders echoed around the living room. You paused the movie, turned slowly toward him, blinking with faux concern. “…That was your bones?”

He gave you a side-eye. “Don’t start.”

“I thought the popcorn bag was poppin’ again,” you grinned, eyes gleaming. “You okay, grandpa?”

“Keep playin’ with me,” he warned, sipping slowly.

You leaned in, faux whispering like you were trying to protect his pride. “You want me to grab the Bengay, or you good?”

Michael didn’t respond at first. Just held your gaze. Silent. Calm. Then slowly, dangerously calm, he said with a hum, “Aight. Bet.”

You giggled like it was nothing. But you felt it. The shift. His hand flexed a little tighter on your thigh. His jaw ticked. And you – naive, sweet, stupid little you – kept pushing.

When the credits rolled on The Wood and he said something about seeing it back in the day, you really lost it. “Baaaaaabe,” you gasped through laughter. “I was literally in diapers. That’s crazy. You were watchin’ Mike and Slim get into fights over girls and I was still eating applesauce and watchin’ Blue’s Clues.”

Michael just stared at you. Blank face. The kind of silence that spelled your doom.

And you were wheezing. Bent over, laughing like you paid yourself to do stand-up. You slapped his chest. “I’m–I’m sorry, I’m just saying, that’s before my ti–AH!”

You didn’t get the chance to finish the sentence.

Because in one swift motion, Michael grabbed you by the waist and flipped you onto your back. Your head bounced lightly against the couch pillow, laughter dying in your throat as his full weight pressed down over you. His hand wrapped around both your wrists and pinned them above your head. And his voice, low, deadly, and smug, brushed right along your jaw. “You done?”

“…Maybe.”

He tilted his head. “Oh, you're cute today, huh?”

“Always.”

He smirked. But there was nothing funny in the way his other hand slid down your body, skimming under the hem of your borrowed hoodie to brush over your bare stomach.

“Y’know what’s not funny?” he asked. “You thinkin’ any of these lil boys you messed with before me could ever do what I do to you.”

You blinked. Your mouth parted but no words came out.

“That’s what I thought.”

And then? Then he dragged his hand into your shorts.

You gasped, hips bucking, but he pinned you tighter, shushing you like you were interrupting him. “Still wanna play?” he murmured, fingers slipping into your folds. “Still wanna talk shit?”

Your voice cracked. “Michael–”

“Say it with your chest, baby,” he mocked. “You had all that mouth five minutes ago.”

You were soaked. Embarrassingly so. And he felt it.

“See?” he whispered, brushing your clit in slow, punishing circles. “This is why I don’t take you seriously. You talk like I can’t handle you, but your pussy doesn't know how to act when I put hands on you.”

You whimpered. And that’s when your phone buzzed on the coffee table.

The screen lit up. Tati. You knew she’d be asking something ridiculous. Probably a meme. Probably an “is this you and Michael” message. You tried to reach for it against his grip, but he snatched your wrists into a tighter hold.

“Oh no,” he tsked, feigning disappointment. “You're busy right now, remember?”

“Michael–”

He didn’t even let you finish. Slid two fingers deep inside, curling just right, watching you fall apart beneath him. “You gon’ apologize?” he asked calmly, thumb still teasing, pace brutal in its precision. “Or you want me to keep proving my point?”

“I’m–I’m sorry,” you gasped. “I didn’t mean–”

“Oh, you meant it,” he growled, sliding down your body, lips dragging along your inner thigh. “And now I mean to make you forget every one of your little jokes.”

You should’ve known better.

He warned you. Gave you every chance to stop. But no. Your ass just had to crack jokes, had to flex your youth, your smart-ass mouth, like he wasn’t twice the man any of those little boys before him ever dreamed of being.

And now look at you. Legs shaking. Breath caught in your lungs like you had to think about how to exhale. And you weren’t even in the bedroom yet.

Michael tossed the blanket aside, arms hooking under your knees as he stood, lifting you like you didn’t weigh a damn thing. Your shorts were still tangled around one ankle,like  a taunt to modesty. He didn’t bother fixing them.

You clung to his hoodie, face buried in the fabric, chest heaving.

He didn’t say much as he carried you. Just huffed a laugh under his breath and muttered, “Mouth still workin’? Or I finally fucked the jokes outta you?”

You whimpered something that might’ve been a word.

“Mmhm. Thought so.”

The hallway was a blur of shadows and low light, his footsteps heavy and steady. He kicked the bedroom door open and dropped you down in the center of the bed. You bounced once as your back hit the duvet, hair spilling around your face, thighs trembling, eyes wide.

The hoodie came off in one fluid pull, revealing his torso. Chocolate skin, broad chest, sweat-slick abs that flexed with every move. His sweatpants followed, slow, deliberate, dragging down inch by inch until he stepped out of them.

Your eyes darted to the bulge in his boxers. And honestly, you hated how much that made your mouth water. And as if he knew – 

“On your knees.” His voice cracked like thunder.

You blinked, snapping out of your daze. “Wh–”

“Don’t make me repeat myself.” his index finger – the one that was just inside you downstairs, actually, how ironic – pointed to the carpet as if to say duh. 

You obeyed. Legs weak. Sliding off the bed, you stared up at him, lips parted, still dazed from what he’d done to you on the couch.

He gripped your jaw, tilting your face. “You think I’m old, baby?” he asked, stroking the side of your throat with his thumb.

You shook your head.

“No?” he smirked. “Then why you walkin’ around like I can’t break you in half if I wanted to?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

His hand slid into your hair, fisting just tight enough to make you gasp, and he brought your mouth to him like it was owed. Like it was yours to worship.

You sucked him off like your life depended on it. Eagerly, desperately, like he was air and you’d been drowning. He groaned low in his throat, head thrown back as you took him slow and deep, letting him guide your movements until his grip tightened and he cursed under his breath.

“That’s it,” he growled. “Take it. Show me how much that smart mouth really loves me.”

You moaned, messy and wet, tears clinging to your lashes when he finally pulled away and lifted you back onto the bed. You didn’t get a second to breathe before he was over you again, cock heavy and hot between your thighs, one hand pinning your wrists above your head, the other handling his cock at your entrance.

“You remember what you said earlier?” he asked, tone so low it rumbled in your chest.

“…no–”

He slammed into you in one stroke. Your body arched. “Oh fuck–”

“You remember now?”

You screamed. Not a yell, not a moan. Like an actual scream. He grinned like he was proud of himself, then started moving.

Every thrust hit home. Deep. Unrelenting. Your legs were spread wide, locked around his waist. The bedframe slammed the wall in time with your gasps. He kissed you hard, tongue claiming your mouth, then dragged his lips down your neck, your chest, your breasts – biting, sucking, devouring.

“You like talkin’ shit?” he panted, his strokes turning savage. “Then go ahead. Say somethin’ now.”

You couldn’t. You weren’t even forming words anymore. Just sobbing into the pillow, clawing at the sheets above you like you’d fall apart if you let go.

“That’s what I thought.”

He kept going. Harder. Slower. Rougher. One leg thrown over his shoulder, your body bent and folded to take him as deep as humanly possible.

He watched you fall apart. The way your stomach trembled, your chest heaved, your jaw dropped in that perfect O as your body convulsed around him and you came so hard you forgot how to breathe.

But he wasn’t done.

Not until he’d fucked you through the mattress.

Not until he’d made you cum again. And again. And again.

Not until you were crying his name and begging for mercy.

Not until he collapsed on top of you, both of you sweat-drenched and broken, your body twitching through the aftershocks under his like you were still recovering from an exorcism.

He kissed your temple. Brushed damp hair back from your face. Whispered against your skin. “Still think I’m old?”

You shook your head, unable to form a thought.

“Yeah. Didn’t think so.”

–

Morning sunlight streamed in through the blinds, soft and golden, casting lines across your bare legs tangled in the sheets. The house was quiet except for the hum of the fridge and the faint sizzle of bacon coming from the kitchen.

Michael stood at the stove in nothing but gray sweats, his broad back flexing as he flipped pancakes like he didn’t break you in half the night before. He was whistling. 

Whistling. 

Happy. Clearly very pleased with himself.

You walked in gingerly, hair still messy, hoodie thrown over your sore body, and the slightest limp in your step. 

He clocked it immediately. “Mornin’, baby,” he said over his shoulder, smug as hell. Bastard. “Sleep good?”

You shot him a glare that held no real weight. “You tried to rearrange my spinal column.”

Michael grinned. “Did I succeed?”

You narrowed your eyes but didn’t answer. Just grabbed a cup from the cabinet, poured yourself some juice, and leaned against the counter.

“I was nice,” he said. “You had jokes, remember? I was just tryna make sure you remembered who you were talkin’ to.”

“Mm,” you sipped. “Could’ve just shown me your driver’s license, old man.”

It slipped out before you could stop it. The room went still.

You froze.

Michael turned his head slow. Real slow. That little crooked smile stretched across his face like a wolf baring its teeth. “What was that?”

You slapped your hand over your mouth like that would undo it. Eyes wide. Shaking your head like no no no nope didn’t say that, even though the evidence was loud and clear.

His brows lifted. “Really?”

You were gone before he could put the spatula down. “BABE–!” you yelped, darting out of the kitchen, juice sloshing dangerously in your cup.

Unfortunately for you, you didn’t make it very far.

Michael stalked after you, bare feet against the floor like a threat, laughing deep and dark from the back of his throat. “Oh nah. Don’t run now. You were BOLD a second ago!”

You threw the juice cup on the hallway table and made a sharp left toward the bedroom, sliding sock-footed like a cartoon character. “I take it BACK!”

“You meant it!” he shouted, footsteps getting louder.

“I DIDN’T, I SWEAR–”

He caught you halfway through the doorway, arms around your waist, lifting you right off the ground like you weighed nothing. You screamed through laughter, legs kicking. “Kari!”

“Nah, keep that same energy!” he said, tossing you onto the bed.

You bounced once. Tried to scramble away.

He pounced, landing right on top of you, pinning your wrists above your head like last night was muscle memory, like he was built for this. You squealed, squirmed, already breathless with laughter and anticipation. “ See, I was gonna let you rest,” he said, shaking his head like he was disappointed in you. “I really was.”

“You should,” you said weakly. “You’re probably still sore–”

He kissed you hard, swallowing the laugh before it could leave your throat. “Too late.”

His mouth moved down your jaw, to your throat, down to where the hoodie was barely hanging on your body. “You wanna keep acting up?” he grumbled, dragging the hoodie up over your hips. “Cool. Let me show you what happens when you play too much.”

You writhed beneath him, still laughing, but it was panicked now. Desperate. Your body remembered exactly what he did to you last night. The ache between your thighs hadn’t even faded. But Michael wasn’t interested in mercy. Not when you kept calling him old.

He peeled your hoodie off entirely, exposing your bare chest, your soft belly, the deep grooves of finger-shaped bruises blooming along your hips like love notes. “Damn, baby,” he muttered, dragging his knuckles down the side of your ribs. “I did all this?”

You nodded, cheeks hot, lips parted.

He grinned. “Good.”

He moved slow(er) this time, kissing your neck. 

Sweet. Soft. Which only made it worse. 

Ugh. Just punish me, already! You thought, brows furrowed in anticipation.

He worked down your body like he had all the time in the world, tongue tracing lazy circles on your collarbone, his hands kneading your thighs until your toes curled into the sheets. “You remember the rules, right?” he murmured, pressing open-mouthed kisses between your breasts. “Smart mouths get shut up.”

You whimpered.

“Wanna test me again?”

You shook your head.

He smirked. “Nah, you do. That’s why you ran.” Then he bit your inner thigh. Not hard. Just enough to make you yelp.

You didn’t get to process when his mouth was on you again.

He released your wrists to spread you open with his thumbs, flattening his tongue against your clit and dragging it slowly back and forth. No rush, no mercy. Just languid, wet strokes, over and over, until your back arched and your fingers clawed the sheets.

You moaned loud, tried to close your legs.

He held them open. He made you take it. Made you feel every inch of his tongue, the press of his nose, the scrape of his teeth.

His one – devious, downright evil – goal was to make you cum. As many times, and as violently, as he could. When you came, it hit you like a ton of bricks.

Your whole body shook. You sobbed out his name. Your thighs clamped tight around his face and he didn’t move. Just moaned into your pussy like it got him high.

When he finally pulled away, your eyes were glassy. Michael crawled back up your body, slow and heavy, dragging his cock against your still-throbbing center. “I want you to feel me this time,” he whispered. “Every stroke. Every inch.”

You whimpered, trying to close your legs. But he just slid between them again, lined himself up, and sank into you to the hilt with a deep thrust that knocked air out of your lungs.

Your mouth dropped open, no sound coming out at all.

Michael didn’t move. Just watched your face. Studied the way your lashes fluttered, the way your hands scrambled to hold on to something. “You okay, baby?” he asked, voice thick, teasing.

You nodded weakly.

He leaned in close, lips brushing your ear. “Good. ‘Cause I’m just getting started.”

Then he pulled out painfully slow… and slammed back in.

He kept the pace like that. Slow, heavy, unrelenting. Your nails carved red lines down his back but he didn’t stop. Just kept fucking you like he was trying to leave a permanent impression, like your body was a memory foam mattress and he was trying to stamp his name into it.

“Still think I’m old?” he grunted, biting your shoulder.

You shook your head. “Mm-mm–”

“Say it.”

“You’re not–fuck–you’re not old, Michael, please–”

He snapped his hips harder, and you shattered again, crying out, your orgasm crashing through you like a wave breaking over rocks.

But he still didn’t stop. “You wanted to act up?” he panted, fucking you through it. “Now you gon’ take all of this.”

You weren’t even speaking anymore. Just babbling, trembling, letting him use your body however he wanted.

And when he finally came, spilling deep inside, teeth gritted, groaning your name like a prayer, you were limp. Gone. A complete puddle of ecstasy melted into the mattress, eyes unfocused, mouth slack.

He collapsed on top of you, chest to chest, hearts pounding together. For a long time, the only sound in the room was your breathing and his heartbeat in your ear. And then, Michael pulled back, kissed your nose, and brushed sweat-slick hair off your forehead. “You gon’ behave now?”

You couldn’t speak.. just gave him a dazed thumbs up.

Michael laughed. Laughed, kissed your cheek again, and stood up, stretching like he hadn’t just turned you into pulp. “I’ll get you some water.”

As he walked out of the room, still naked, still grinning, you let your hand fall over your face and whispered to no one in particular: “…I need to mind my business.”

 

Later, as the morning bled into the afternoon and found yourself tangled in his embrace, eyes closed in a blissful daze, you felt something.

Movement. 

The kind of movement to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Your eyes popped open, all inklings of drowsiness leaving your body.

And there he was, towering above you like he was hunting. Michael slid back down your body, eyes locked on yours. He didn’t say a word; just spread you out again, thighs pushed open with his forearms locked tight beneath them. You were too tired to fight his insatiability. And frankly, you deserved more love-making than the brutal punishment he’d provided two days in a row.

But there was no warm-up. He didn’t offer any teasing. No playful licks. His lips locked around your clit and put his tongue to work like his life depended on it. And these are the moments where he was most dangerous.

Because Michael didn’t eat pussy to make you cum.

He ate you out like he was trying to ruin you for every man who would ever think about stepping to you again. 

Like he wanted a piece of you to keep with him at all times.

Like your orgasm was a challenge, and his ego would never let him lose.

Your back arched the second his tongue hit just right at that spot – laid flat and wide.

You tried reaching for something – anything – for purchase, but your fingers just clawed the sheets. Your legs twitched, tried to close, but his forearms locked tighter, his way of saying you weren’t going anywhere, without his mouth ever leaving your aching cunt.

“About to cum already?” he murmured between strokes. His lips glistened, beard damp with your juices, tongue still circling slow. “I just started, baby.”

You whined, almost wanting to climb out of your skin. The pleasure, the overstimulation, the ache that still burned in your hips when you tried to wriggle away… it was too much. 

But then came the fingers.

His index and middle fingers sunk perfectly deep inside, your hole practically begging for them to enter. Curling up with pinpoint accuracy, pressing against that spot that made you curse god. He didn’t even break rhythm, tongue still flicking, lips never letting go, while his fingers pumped in and out of you with intent.

It was absolutely filthy the way he knew exactly how to unravel you.

And before you could even think – you couldn’t stop it. Your body snapped, and the orgasm hit like a tidal wave – violent, raw, loud. “Michael–!”

But he didn’t stop. Didn’t pause. Didn’t even linger to come up for air.

If anything, he got hungrier. “You’re not done,” he growled, voice muffled against your clit. “Give me another.”

You cried out, shaking your head. A shallow “Uh-uh” escaped your throat in protest, but your hips bucked into his mouth like your body had already betrayed you.

And then… you felt the build. The tingle. That oh-so sickeningly-sweet, painfully-blissful pressure low in your belly that warned you it was about to get messy. “No–Michael, please, I–”

“You what?” he taunted. “Gon’ squirt for me?”

You whined.

“Go ahead, baby. Fuckin’ drench me.”

Your brain couldn’t move fast enough before your thighs clamped around his face and the gush of it hit hard everywhere, hot and wet like a flood. His face, his mouth, his chest. And the bed – the poor bed – was completely soaked. Your body shook, back arched so hard it felt like you’d ascended to heaven, and you screamed his name like an apology for every utterance of the word “old” within his earshot.

Michael moaned. Like, actually.

Like it turned him on, like the taste of you soaking his face made his cock twitch, made his hunger double. He kept licking, sloppy now, messy, his beard slick and jaw locked like he wanted every last drop.

You tried to crawl back. Pull away. “It’s t-too m-much, Michael, I c-can’t–”

He grabbed your hips, yanked you right back down to his mouth. “I said give me another.”

You sobbed as he dragged it out of you… over and over. Until your body was wrung dry, twitching with aftershocks, tears streaming down your cheeks, thighs sticky and shaking, voice hoarse from screaming.

When he finally pulled back, he looked up at you like he just conquered something sacred – his lips swollen, his beard wet, and his chest heaving. 

You were a ruined, soaked mess on the bed. But Michael… 

Michael looked refreshed. Smug. Charged. Like every drop of you he swallowed sent lightning straight to his cock – and he was still starving. “You still with me, baby?” he asked, even though he could see the answer written all over your face: dazed, eyes glossy, mouth parted and gasping.

You managed a nod. A twitch of your fingers.

He grinned like that was permission enough. “Then turn over.”

You didn’t move – more specifically, you couldn’t move.

So he flipped you face-down into the sheets, hips yanked up and back until you were on your knees, your ass arched high and your chest pressed low into the mattress. You could barely hold yourself up as your thighs shook. Your pussy was swollen and glistening, practically pulsing in desperation

Michael just groaned. “Look at this fuckin’ pussy,” he muttered behind you, dragging his fingers through the slick. You jolted. “Still drippin’ for me. Still open. You meant it when you said I was old, huh? That's why you actin’ up?”

You shook your head into the pillow.

He slapped your ass. Just once. Sharp. “That was a question.”

“No,” you gasped. “I didn’t–I didn’t mean it–”

“Oh you absolutely did,” Grabbing his cock and lining it up with your entrance, taunting the hole with his leaking head. “And now you gon’ take what you started.”

The air rushed out of your lungs as he pushed into you again. Your knees nearly gave out, but his hand was already fisting in your hair, pulling your head up as he started to fuck you deep.

He didn’t dare to fuck you fast. Well, not yet, at least. Just long, heavy strokes that pressed every inch of him into you until you were babbling nonsense. Your mouth hung open. Drool hit the sheets. “Oh my God–”

Michael just moaned behind you, gripping your hip with one hand, your hair with the other, driving into you like he was building something permanent. “You feel that?” he growled, dragging his cock out slow, then slamming back in hard. “Ain’t no little boy ever made you feel like this.”

“Michael–”

He yanked your head back, lips brushing your ear. “Say it.”

You sobbed. “No one–no one ever–fuck, baby–”

“You gon’ behave now?”

You nodded, tears spilling down your cheeks.

But he wasn’t finished – even though you relented, he still wasn’t satisfied, while your pussy was still fluttering around him like it couldn’t stand to be empty, and while your thighs were sticky and trembling from rounds one and two (and three, honestly) and you still had more to give.

He dropped your hair and pressed his palm between your shoulder blades, pushing you flat into the bed. He grabbed your wrists, pinning them down behind your back, and fucked into you hard, truly punishing you like the ragdoll he loved to turn you into.

Your voice cracked as you squirted again, just a little, just enough to make him growl. “You like this shit,” he spat, slapping your ass again. “You love actin’ up just to get fucked stupid.”

You didn’t even try to deny it. Because you were already cumming on his cock again, a silent scream stuck in your throat, your whole body convulsing as you lost yourself.

And he followed you over the edge not long after – the hold on your hips gripping you so tight you’d feel everything tomorrow, spilling deep inside you with a loud shuddering moan and a gasp of your name, head thrown back.

He pulled out slow, collapsing onto the mattress and pulling you into him, your back to his chest. The mess between you two was evidence of your punishment(s), though all he wanted in that moment was to kiss the back of your neck and shoulders as you both came down from your highs.

“You still think I’m old?” he whispered, smug as hell.

You groaned. “I think… I need physical therapy.”

Michael laughed. “Good. I’ll make the appointment for us.”

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[yanderenightmare]

Okkotsu Yuuta

♡ TW: noncon, yandere, kidnapping, bondage, revenge, bully reader 

♡ FEM reader

Thinking about the major power trip Yuuta went through once he figured out how to control his cursed energy. 

Here’s this loser who’s been bullied all throughout life for being such a loner, who suddenly gains unlimited and unsupervised power to do whatever he wants. And he’s never once stood up for himself out of fear that Rika would take it too far—but he’s fully in control now and free to do all those things he’s been too scared to do before.

You used to be one of those bullies back in the day—one of those pretty girls who would laugh and sneer at him while other goons would do their worst of swirlies and wedgies and gut punches. He hasn’t seen you in years already, but there hasn’t been a day he hasn’t thought about you. Old, twisted emotions of hatred and want brewing in the darkest pits of his gut. He can still remember that evil look of glee in your eyes each time you’d say or do something horrid.

He wonders if he has that same awful look in his eyes now as he stands over you—terrified, lying in his bed with your hands and feet tied.

He doesn’t even remember how he got you there. He must have blacked out completely, and yet, the knots of rope are tied so neatly he must have known what he was doing.

You’re in what you wore to bed—a pair of panties and a little crop top. He’s actually never seen a girl so bare before—only two flimsy articles away from being naked. It makes him blush—big and dour-eyed, scanning every curve of your smooth skin, feeling his throat get tight.

Your mouth’s taped shut—he isn’t interested in anything you’d have to say. But he’s left your eyes. He can’t tell if you recognize him. But the fear within them makes him feel so good he’s never been harder in his entire life.

Still, he doesn’t know if he can go through with it. It’s a strange feeling—how your shivering and tears make him feel both ashamed and yet so very horny he might cum in his pants just from looking at you. 

He thinks of the you from back then—what an absolute bitch you were—all your mean words and hard glares, ugly comments whispered in your friend’s ear while looking down on him, giggling behind a hand as if it were some big secret you were talking shit—as if you hadn’t just poured rotten milk over his head in front of everyone.

Yeah… you deserve this.

You try worming away from him once he crawls on top of you, but the way he’s tied you makes it a pointless struggle. It should make him feel worse, but oddly enough, it just makes him want to touch you more. Your skin is so soft it gives him chills, manhandling you just the way he sees fit. 

It seems crazy to him that something with teeth as sharp as yours can also look like the sweetest thing in the world. To anyone else, he must look like the bad guy. But he knows, and you know—you’re no victim.

With your hands tucked under your back, you’re completely pinned beneath him as he straddles your legs. You whine, but he pays you no mind—carefully lifting your top up further.

His body sags with a sigh at the sight. They’re even more perfect than he’d dreamed, and they feel even better in his hands—soft and squeezable.

It’s so fucked up—you have the ugliest personality he knows, and yet you're just as pretty as he remembers. He hates you, and yet you’re the only one he wants this way.

He bends down and wraps his mouth around your nipple—it’s perky and warm and makes him groan with a shudder—rocking his clothed bulge against your thigh with a string of moans.

He can’t believe your pussy is just a thin little layer of cotton away—waiting for him just beneath a pink print of cartoon bunnies. He doesn't know why, but he really likes that more than the black lace he’d expected. 

Suppose it makes you fit the role more—his prey.

Just knowing he’s going to fuck you makes him feel like the most powerful guy in the world. He wants to make you cum until you can’t even remember your own name.  He wonders if you’re a virgin, too, but he doubts it.

“I’ve seen you had so many tongues down your throat, it wouldn’t surprise me if you’ve had dick just as much.”

But that’s okay. He’s going to make sure this time is special. 

His body drapes yours with all its weight as endless thoughts of what he’s going to do to you flood his head. He moans, making drool spill over your chest where his mouth covets your breast while he keeps rutting into you—he’ll make you feel so good you fall in love with him.

And it’s sad how the thought alone instantly makes his boxers fill with stickiness.

And it’s only sadder as the post-nut-clarity hits because he’s left with a heavy feeling of grief for not having filled your womb instead. 

♡ OKKOTSU YUTA masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

[angelkiyo]

you had intentions of finding true love here; that was its pitch line after all. you met a nice guy, his name being kento. he was 28, a salaryman, and worked in the city. life would be stable and serene.

however, when the bombshell came, you couldn’t help but simply feel drawn to toji fushiguro. it was like a tropical storm hit you.

he was the oldest one in the villa, definitely older than you by a decade or so. he was 36 and a dad but he sure as hell didn’t look it. he worked out every day, worked in private security, and his body appeared to be sculpted from a renaissance artist; the cliché tattoos of snakes and such were etched on his sun-kissed skin.

you felt his eyes on you the entire time and you stared at him back, meeting his gaze and noting the seductive smirk etched on his face.

you could only wish you hadn’t.

“damn, he’s such a dilf,” your fellow housemate commented.

you remember laughing at her words, “no, he’s just fucking old.”

for some time, the tension between the two of you felt grand, despite your thing with kento. winning challenges together didn't help either and the fact that he let it slip that he wasn't looking to mess around yet stared at you like you were a meal amplified that.

however, it isn't until one of the girls got a text where it showed that others saw your tension too:

🔔 “islanders, the hideaway is open tonight. the couple chosen by the public to spend the night is...y/n and toji. #SheLikesItRoughApparently.”

you felt the rest of the house go into chaos, with some people catcalling, laughing, and screaming in glee.

your gaze went over to toji: smirking like he just won the damn lottery, and then over to kento, whose expression looked rather solemn.

"comin' or nah, princess?" and while you meekly walked over to him, you heard someone yell out "use protection!"

yeah, you had plenty of that at the hideaway.

it was big and mirrored a suite from a five-star hotel. the room had a king-sized bed littered with rose petals and candles. not to mention the mirrors everywhere and the big box of condoms in the drawer of the nightstand.

the silence captivated the both of you until you spoke: "you're awfully comfortable for someone who didn't want anything with other people, old man."

he turned around at you, his gaze almost predatory. "let me clarify. i never pretended i didn't want you."

"i'll show you what this old man can do, sweetheart.”

fuck.

what happened next was a blur, but what you do know was the quick whirlwind of clothes on the floor, you being pushed onto the lavish bed, and the lack of care for hidden cameras. you just didn't care anymore, and that was the mindset that engulfed the two of you for nearly an hour.

the sound of skin slapping filled the room while you clawed at the silky satin sheets beneath you. you had tears brim under your eyes as you felt toji's calloused arms hold you in place in front of the myriad of mirrors in front of you.

you couldn't fucking take it anymore. the way he rolled his hips and thrusted into you with such incredible speed knocked the wind out of you.

"ah—fuck!" you mewled, arching your back as much as you can. toji hit all your sweet spots without trying and the fact alone irked you. it irked you that he had a reason to be so cocky and relentless.

the sensation of his cock made your eyes roll: filling, fast, and sure as fuck rough.

"goddamnit ma. your pussy is milking me dry," he let out a guttural moan as he bottomed out in you, "fuck, doll-face. letting me fuck you so good."

the wolfish grin on his face stayed there on his face as he examined the mirror and how your ass moved while he thrusted into you with finesse. the way the skin where your back tattoo was, moved drove him crazy. however, the little milky white ring where he thrusted into you and the sound of your slick and moans drove him crazier.

“think your prissy little salaryman can fuck you like this? hm?” he maneuvered your hips like you were a doll and kept his pace.

toji could give two shits about the damn cameras, because all he wanted at this moment was you.

and proving that he isn’t old.

[wonryllis]

the hot dad next door (m) | park sunghoon.

﹙ 🎬 ﹚ ぃ ────𝗶𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗵𝗼𝘁 𝗱𝗮𝗱 𝗻𝗲𝘅𝘁 𝗱𝗼𝗼𝗿 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁𝘀 𝘆𝗼𝘂?

preview. the ever quintessential first time dad moves in next door with his five year old and finds it impossible not to fall for you, the pretty girl who gives his daughter cookies and him; the doll eyes. obsessed with your entire being, unable to keep his hands off you, park sunghoon questions if he's just crazy or he's crazy over you.

or where, he notices the way you look at his hands a little too long for it to be innocent.

meet the cast. single dad!park sunghoon with his pretty neighbour fem!reader.

genre. DILFF AUU !!, SMUT MDNI, fluff, neighbours to lovers, sunghoon is quite literally yes insanely crazed over you and for the sake of god can't keep his dick soft, domestic a little bit i guess, i want to make her my wife trope EEEKKK, slight age gap (hoon in late twenties and reader in early twenties) more to be added.

word count. est around 20k or more

warnings. inaccuracies about parenting cause i aint a parent, i got no idea. more will be mentioned in the actual post.

releasing. TBD , progress update tag , second preview

park sunghoon was hot, he was a walking greek god. was single and wore these fitted suits that had you weak in the knees. if that wasn't hot enough, park sunghoon also had the cutest baby girl you had ever come across and it just made him hotter than he could ever have been.

"hey, um .. is ji—" sunghoon stands at the threshold of your open apartment door, one hand holding his creased blazer and the other rubbing at the back of his neck. embarrassed and shy at having to show up at yours looking like a mess after work because his daughter ran off while he was busy on a call and taking out her school bag from the backseat. and because everytime his daughter ran off, it was to the pretty girl next door who gives away sweet cookies all the time.

"is jia here? yeah she's in the kitchen," you answer, smiling soft and knowingly at the worried guy who barely looked like a dad. he worked in a corporate editorial, out before eight in the morning just as you prepared ingredients for your bakery. taking his daughter along to school, her excited voice resonating through the halls talking about how they were going to play with clay in class. around seven in the evening you'd hear her again, this time alone as she would skip over to your door because dada was too slow.

on weekends it'd be impossible to ignore the ruckus they made playing around, sometimes inviting you over for lunch because sunghoon apparently made too much and jia wanted to share her dada's delicious food. on some occasional weekends when he'd be called in to work for a few hours, jia would promise him to stay home and behave only to call you through the landline the moment he'd step out the door. and you would text sunghoon to come over to yours after work, his daughter munching on the new flavored cupcakes you made, unbothered about her dad and his scoldings.

"come on in, i made some almond lime tart, you could give me some feedbacks along with jia. you know she always says it's good and i can never know if it's actually good," sunghoon can't help but chuckle at that, slipping off his shoes by the front and walking inside. his eyes following your figure with a fond look as you tend to his daughter delicately, and might he admit— even more so than him.

you're sweet, you know how to handle kids; cue that one time jia was crying her eyes out after school and he had no idea what to do to comfort her, knocking at your door frantically and having his mind blown at how quickly you figured things out and calmed her down.

you're sweet, you know how to handle kids, you treat them both so well, always ready to help him out with jia, giving them sweet treats every other day and most of all— you're fucking pretty. way too pretty for him to handle.

FIRST TAGLIST (open.) @s00buwu @lilyuwon @pockyyasii @nctislifue @shawnyle @enhastolemyheart @belowbun @aaa-sia @niniissus @tobiosbbyghorl @imjakes-wifeofc1 @youresolivlie @eun-cherry @kimsunoops @aiden2001 @brownsugarbaybee @pockettwinzz @bangtancultsposts @diorikis @heelvsted @crimnalseung @iselltulips @yzzyhee @woniebae @river-demon-slayer @lovingvoidgoatee @antonsgirlfriend @kpopslover @bugcattie @slut4hee @yunjinswifee @woniefull @nanaheex @soobs-things @dammit-jjk @starlvcieszsq @mnxnii @skylaly @mintdsunoo @uyuchoco @anittamaxwynnn @rikiwaify-blog @kill4jl @ggparkjh @sstephenzz @judeduartewannabe @jungwoneez @aye2611-blog @hybeboyenthusisast @minjaexvz

[livingmybestfakelife]

Waiting to Exhale

Elijah “Smoke” Moore x Reader

The hospital stank of sulfur and various of other chemicals used in an attempt to reduce the illness that was causing such suffering to the current patients of Mercy Hospital. You were one of the victims fighting tuberculosis, it weakened your already fragile body quickly. Being born with a scarred lung did you no favors, and even the best doctors in the state had little hope for your survival, they didn’t say it but you could see it in their eyes that they weren’t confident that your body would accept the treatments.

One of the frequent visitors you had was your childhood friend Elijah “Smoke” Moore. He hated seeing you so beat down by this disease. He’d give anything for it to disappear from your fragile body. But he had no choice but to impatiently wait for some hope that the treatments would work, and you’d bounce back to your old cheerful and mischievous self. But the other part of him knew there wasn’t much hope, and having to face that realism wasn’t something he was ready for.

“You shouldn’t be wasting your time being here and worrying about me. You have a business to run”

He wipes some more sweat from your forehead, ignoring your words.

“Were you able to eat anything this morning?”

“Elijah, you should go on back to your off-“

“Did you?”

You let out a frustrated sigh at his stubbornness

“A little bit, I managed to eat half a bowl of oatmeal”

“Good….that’s good”

“Listen….Smoke, as much as you don’t want to hear this, all they’re doing is making sure I’m comfortable bef-“

“NO-no, don’t talk like that alright, you’re getting out of this alive and well, I won’t have it any other way”

“It’s not your decision Eli….it’s all in God’s hands now honey, please, let this be a positive last moment between us, okay?”

Your scratchy voice burned his heart. Gone was your smooth honey vocals that softened his spirit, now it had withered away in less than a week, he couldn’t take it anymore, when he said he wouldn’t have it any other way he’d meant it. After a nurse came in and told him that visiting hours were over, he kissed both your cheeks and lips and told you he’d see you later.

When he stepped out of the hospital he was met by Stack leaning up against the brick wall.

“How’s she doing?”

“She ain’t got much long until….”

“I know….I know brother”

“Stack, I….you know I don’t want this but”

“You want her”

He nods while chuckling, the tears are burning his eyes as the flow got heavier.

“I love that girl more than myself, I’d give up all this shit if she told me to”

“I know Smoke, I know you will, you’re in love it’s only natural, don’t we all do crazy things when we’re in love?”

His hand is resting on Smoke’s shoulder, they’re eye to eye now, Stack trying to make him understand his point, his real point.

“…..Don’t hurt her Stack-“

“It won’t be like how Mary did me, she won’t feel a thing”

Stack pulls him into a tight embrace before he enters the hospital.

———————————————————————————

You open your eyes to your hospital room darker than how it was when Smoke visited. The sun was setting quickly, and by how you’re feeling, it would be a miracle if you made it through the night. Something else catches your eyes, you squint a little to see a manly figure hovering over your bed, the fragrance wafting off of him was strongly familiar to you.

“Who is….” You could barely even talk, it hurt to breathe

“It’s gonna be alright cherie”

“No….no no no Stack please don’t”

“Shhhh”

You couldn’t fight him if you tried, your body had given up any strength you had left, and Stack had your limp wrist in his mouth in no time. He kept his word to Smoke, it felt like a little pinch, maybe a bug bite, but it wasn’t violent like how it was the night when he and others were turned. He finally removed his mouth and kissed your palm before gently placing your arm back down.

———————————————————————————

You and Stack walk out of the hospital as if nothing ever happened, you especially felt as though all those months of suffering never happened. You smiled when you saw Smoke and ran into his waiting arms, after sprinkling his face with kisses you squeezed him tighter in a hug, letting him swing you around, he took one look at his brother, who had a small cocky smirk on his face. This was the way, no more being trapped with mortal ailments, both physically and spiritual. Stack had won this battle with Smoke, he was able to manipulate the love his brother felt for their childhood friend, one down and hopefully soon, another to go.

“Thank you” Smoke mouthed to him and Stack gave him a salute before walking off home to Mary, letting the both of you have your moment together.

“First thing tomorrow you’re going to work Elijah, no more worrying about me, you have a business to run”

He chuckled and leaned down to kiss you

“Whatever you want baby, it’s yours”

[tender-rosiey]

smack, smack — gojo satoru x f!reader

a/n: special thanks to the beautiful @stinkyme for inspiring me to actually write this and for fangirling over the idea with me <3

gojo satoru, like any dad, got his fair share of ‘bullying’ from his daughter, his 5 months old baby.

some dads get peed on, others get their hair pulled, and others get their nose bitten on the daily. it's a little something to make them suffer a bit like the mothers had to during the pregnancy.

your husband, however, is always getting smacked in the face whenever he has his blindfold on, and I mean harshly smacked in the face and unforgiving scratching.

the first time it happened was when he was going to school. he was ready, uniform on and everything, but he simply had to say goodbye to his two girls.

skipping to your shared bedroom, he placed two big smooches on your face. then, after much of pulling him off you, he went to smooch his little girl. a big unmatched grin was on his face as he looked down at her in her crib.

he picked her up, cooing softly at her, “what a pretty girl, just as pretty as your mama, huh?”

satoru then laid her gently against his chest and started rocking her softly, while humming. after a while, he felt her stir a little in his arms. she sleepily looks up at him, and he smiles down at her, “good morning, baby—“

now, your daughter was used to seeing her dad without the blindfold. she was used to getting met by her dad's bright blue eyes.

so when a strange unknown man was holding her up instead of her papa, she started wailing and screaming, repeatedly smacking him in the face.

whenever her little—strong—hand landed on the blindfold, she would try to pull it off with all her baby might. you scrambled out of your bed at the loud screeches and screams of both your husband and your daughter.

you saw how satoru was desperately trying to, as gently as possible, make her release her grip. you stumbled on your words, before yelling, “your blindfold! take off your blindfold off!”

“I! am! trying!” he yelps as she continues slapping the hell out of his face.

you hurry and take his blindfold off, swiftly throwing it to the side. he started rocking her, smiling despite the red marks and scratches all over his handsome face, “it’s me, daddy! you see me?”

almost magically, your daughter calmed down in an instant with the occasional hiccup from her previous crying. he smiled, “there you go; that’s my girl.”

she gently made grabby hands at him, and he quickly pulled her back into his chest. your daughter instantly snuggled into his shoulder and hid her face in his neck.

you stared at him for a moment, “well, at least we know that she bloody hates that blindfold.”

it honestly kind of adds up.

you remember the many times that your daughter was generally distressed or fussy and instantly calmed down when she saw her dad’s eyes. you also remember that one time your daughter was actually zoning out while looking at satoru’s eyes, her own safe place.

satoru chuckles with a shrug, “I have you as my savior, anyway.”

“you can’t always count on me to be the one to save you from our daughter’s monstrously strong grip.”

and he can’t.

no one is brave enough to try and to fight back a baby, let alone the strongest sorcerer’s baby.

that attack happens way more than satoru would like. for example, whenever you’re busy, he takes his little princess to the school with him. in general, everyone helps in taking care of the little angel (devil in some cases).

however, god forbid she sees satoru coming back from a mission with his blindfold on.

it took some time for your husband to learn his lesson and immediately take his blindfold off before he entered the school. until then, he was prone to his daughter’s crazy strong hand smacking his face till his entire face is painted red and not the cute kind.

satoru never believed in his students to save him, except for yuuji. the first time it happened around the students, most of them were either laughing or speechless.

yuuji did try to save his sensei from his smacking machine of a daughter, but ended up getting smacked himself.

your husband did hope that, maybe, nanami’s heart would soften, and he would finally help him.

nanami’s heart did soften, just not for satoru. instead, your daughter now has a special soft spot in nanami’s heart, as he did in hers, but that isn’t our topic for today.

the amount of times you would enter the room to find nanami chuckling or smiling at your husband getting beaten to a pulp by your baby. satoru could be sobbing, “nanami, please! save me!”

and nanami would simply smile—sadistically—and hum, “I don’t think I will.”

you’re pretty sure that nanami believes this is god’s way of punishing your husband for all the mischief he caused.

ignoring that, it grips your heart how satoru’s face would brighten up the moment he saw you. he would run up to you, giving you the baby to calm her down while he gives his face a rest.

and your little girl was smiling and giving you her version of cheek kisses.

your husband recovered quickly though, and took her back, his blindfold finally off. he doesn’t do it without pecking your lips though, “my savior.”     

then he gets lost in his own world with his little girl, and their laughs and giggles filled the room. her hands were gently holding her dad’s face as she squeals, and satoru’s heart soars as he forgets about his beating from a moment ago.

now, that doesn’t mean that his dear students don’t make fun of him for always losing against his little girl. during one of the recent teasings, he simply huffed, “you never tried the grip of a baby! tell them, yuuji!”

yuuji shudders as he remembers how long the slap mark lasted, “she is one hell of a strong baby.”

it’s one thing for panda and nobara to laugh, it’s another for megumi and maki to do so as well. your husband’s ego simply couldn’t take it anymore. he took his baby in his arms and gathered the baby bags, sparing one last glance at his ‘bullies’.

and so your husband dramatically exits the room, “I need my wife! I can’t with you people anymore!”

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[hoolaand]

Max Verstappen

The things we do for love

💌: toxic ex! max x reader. nosy fans and protective max. overprotective actually and a possessive freak, jealous! max w sprinkles of hot temperedness. suggestive content but not direct smut

💌: the chapter was done after you and your formula one boyfriend had finally broken up but what happens when he wants you back, more than ever and less than never

You and Max had been broken up for 2 years now. That felt like enough time passed for you to be able to come a grand prix without media or fan attention. You weren't an influencer or anything, but when you dated Max, it felt as though everyone knew your business. Papparazzis followed you, fans commented about you, and news kept buzzing.

'Max Verstappen's girlfriend seen walking the streets' / 'Max Verstappen's girlfriend seen on a cafe with a random man. A second fling?' headlines like this trended among fans in social media. At one point, it got annoying. An invasion of your privacy. Hanging out with your friends felt like a chore. You hated people being invested in your business.

However dating Max felt amazing, it was like you had found your dream man. A man who listened to you, made sure your opinions were heard, and cared for you. That's what it felt like. At least at first. You didn't know where it went wrong but gradually, the relationship felt like it was turning into something ugly. The perfect persona of being the perfect boyfriend was cracking slowly. Suddenly Max wasn't the nice sweetheart guy anymore. He turned overprotective and fierce. It wasn't as though being protective was a bad trait, obviously it was something you appreciated but he took it to a whole new level. He wouldn't let anyone come to you or let you go to anyone. He discreetly made sure you were isolated from people.

Fans that tried to approach you? Max hired bodyguards to make sure they couldn't approach you anywhere. Of course, without your knowledge telling you it was merely for your safety. A fan maybe pushing too hard for a picture or autograph, guess who got yanked to the side.

You tried to plan hangouts with your friends? Suddenly, a new event popped up inviting you and Max. And those were the ones you couldn't skip since it helped Redbull get investors because in everyone's eyes, you and Max were the star couple of Formula one.

One time you decided to stay at Max's penthouse on a rainy day. After dinner, you both started talking and suddenly none of you could keep your hands off of each other. His hands kept tracing your body, rough hands slipping under your shirt. You didn't hold back either.

One thing led to another and after a long while, you both were laying down with sheets and legs tangled. Somewhere during those quite moments, you told Max you were craving chocolate ice cream. Like a good boyfriend you thought he was, he wore his clothes, gave you a kiss and took his key cars to bring a tub of chocolate ice cream. While you waited, you decided to take a tour of his house. Wearing one of his old shirts, you walked around until you reached his office. He didn't work from home but he had it built when he attended video meetings from home. His office contained a mahgony desk in the center, with one large window overlooking the city and a sofa that laid out a crazy expensive bottle which might have been more expensive than your entire month's rent. Your eyes focused on something underneath the glass of whiskey. A pile of papers. It was nothing but something about it made you curious. You leaned in to see and your heart stopped beating.

Pictures of you. In every page.

Pictures when you were a teenager.

Pictures of your graduation, your first boyfriend and last boyfriend.

Pictures of your childhood home, dog and parents.

What the fuck.

Your eyes scanned through the papers and they contained probably every information about you. The good, the bad, the ugly.

The awards you own at school.

Your insecurities.

Even the boy you lost your virginity to.

Recent pictures after you started dating Max were also there. A polaroid of you crossing the street last week with your guy friend, mind you he's gay, were also there. The next page contained that friend's information.

You wanted to throw up.

You put the papers down and like a sensible woman - you wore your clothes and left.

You didn't go back to your home, instead you went to a friend's home. At one point, you felt like he would have tracked you here. Because who the fuck does that? It made you sick. He knew every single thing about you, meaning those papers with extensive information would only be obtained thought the help of a professional personal investigator. The fact that he willingly paid money to get those information without informing you made you want to throw up. You couldn't believe you used to trust this man.

At first it started with a text message.

-'Schatje, where are you?'

-'Come on, stop hiding. I bought your ice cream.'

-'Stop playing. Where are you.'

Then he found the papers.

Then came the calls. Not one or two, but a total of 137 calls and 268 messages that night. You were glad you turned your phone off.

Later you got to know from your friends, that he attempted to contact everyone you knew in hopes to reach you. He even contacted your parents whom he never even met before. After a few days had passed, you sent the final message.

The breakup message and blocked his number.

You bought a new phone, a new number and just moved out of your apartment. You didn't bother going back to his house to retrieve your old items. Instead, you decided to move on. Sometimes it felt like even in your new life, someone was following you but I guess what's you got for being so paranoid. Apart from that, you didn't have an update on Max. You decided to notreport him to the police because you knew his lawyers were top notch so going to the court with proof won't do anything.

.

Now you were standing at the grandstands of the Monacco grand prix. The sun was beating down but not in a humid, scorching way but rather in a gentle way that was enough for you and others to not get heated up. Just because you and Max were over didn't mean that you couldn't watch formula one anymore. You did however watch Max win almost all grand prixs and go onto win two championships after you both had broken up.

Today, you decided to wear a short skirt that reached till your mid thighs pairing it with a fititng black laced tank top. You watched as the scoreboard revealed the same old results. Max won the Monacco Grand Prix with Charles Leclerc in P2 and Lando Norris in p3.

Between your conversation wiht your friend, you felt a tap on your shoulder. You turned around and saw a man standing whom you assumed to be part of Redbull because of his team t shirt. He looked young and constantly kept fidgeting with his hands as if he was afraid to even look at you directly in the eyes.

'Um, miss. I-i hope you dont mind but I was asked to take you to the Redbull garage.' He stammered.

You pleasant expression had turned into a frown and the little movement in your facial expressions made him flinch as if you being upset was the worst thing in the world.

'NO, I didn't mean for you to get upset please!' the man pleaded. You and your friend side eyed each other wondering what the hell was even happening.

'May I ask who is asking for me?' you asked him in a gentle tone. Your soft tone made him visibly relax once he came to the conclusion that you were actually not upset.

'I was told by Christian to ask you to come.'

That made you raise an eyebrow. The moment you were about to decline, the man understood and immediately starting stuttering, basically borderline panicking.

'I-i please. You don't understand. If if i dont take you back, then I will be fi-ired. Please ma'am.'

You didn't know who he was but it didn't feel like he was lying. He genuinely looked terrified to be honest. You finally nodded, and his shoulders immediately relaxed. You told your friend to wait and to look for you if you didn't come back by 15 minutes.

You followed the man down the grandstands to the Redbull hospitality. You hesitated to enter but saw Christian leaning against one of the trailers, his eyes lighted up the moment he saw you.

He asked and you replied, having a little talk while you tried to keep your replies short and precise. Suddenly, he lowered his voice.

'So um, how are you and Max now?' He asked as he cleared his voice, trying not to make the conversation awkward but you already knew what was going to happen.

'Why? Did he ask you to call me here?'

'What? No. He doesn't know you're here. If he knew, I wouldn't get to look at you even less, talk to you. Whatever, you know how Max is, he's protective and overbearing. But I have never seen him act like this with anyone else. Before you, he didn't even hug back his girlfriends after winning a race. But when it comes to you, he's the most serious man in the world. I don't know why you both broke up but if you think he has found someone new, you are completely wrong.'

You frowned. You thought Max had already moved on, the rumours on tabloid snf gossip pages. As if sensing your question, he started speaking again.

'What, thinking about gossip pages? They are bullshit. Max made us look for you at every grand prix. We have crew members from redbull with a picture of you standing at different positions in the grandstands hoping to find you. Even before and after the race. I know it sounds bad but he's desperate. He just- he just wants to talk to you. Maybe apologise. I don't know.

And now he's. He's - I don't know how to explain.

He's unstable without you. He has short fits of rage. He gets angry at every little mistake. Doesn't smile. Doesn't do PR. Doesn't attend any event. Nothing. If he has a bad race, no one even dares to look him right in the eye, heck neither do I.'

He paused before sighing.

'I am not asking you to give him a second chance. But just talk to him, sort it out-'

Just then, he paused. And looked down before walking away.

'Christian, what's wron-'

That's when you felt it. You don't know how to even explain it. It was a strange feeling. A pile of emotions pooling at your stomach. The hairs on your body standing up. Your spine immediately straightening up. You looked behind. You knew who it was without even looking at him. The only man who could get a reaction like this out of you.

He called out your name. Softly. Gently. In a low whisper as if he was in a dream and saying it too loud might wake him up.

Max.

He did not look the same as before. Sapphire eyes that used to hold the joy of life, being void of any sparkle. Bags under his eyes. Hair messy and wild with random blonde strands sticking out.

Just like that, his fingers slowly touched your hand as if making sure that you were there. He caressed it before gripping it to remind him that yes, after two full years and 36 days, you were actually in front of him in flesh. Safe and sound. No, it wasn't the picture of you that he used to carry in his wallet, but you in real and in front of him looking as beautiful and radiant as ever.

Without saying anything, he hugged you. Tight. And buried his head in your neck.

You looked around and saw the redbull staff. Engineers and strategists. They looked with wide eyes, amazed but immediately snapped their eyes back to their papers once they noticed you staring.

Because they knew that if something made you upset, it would make Max Verstappen upset too.

You softly patted his back. He was still in his redbull fireproof, hair sweaty most likely cooling off. He hid his face on the crook of your neck. His grip on your waist tightened and his fingers twitched to caress the bare skin of your waist.

You heard the words 'I miss you', low and quiet in a whisper that felt intimate. You gulped, a familiar feeling pooling in your stomach. You had seen him after 2 years and despite the eye bags, he was still handsome as fuck. You came to the conclusion that he hit the gym way too often. His muscles were bulging from the tight fireproof and his hands that griped your waist had somehow grown larger with visible veins appearing. You clenched your thighs.

Okay. Not here. No.

Right then, you felt the harsh flash of a camera followed by a panicked 'shit!'. Before you could even react, Max's head snapped towards the direction. Behind the trailer, was a man of about 5'6, stout with a receding hairline. That's the most you could make out at that moment before Max's back blocked your vision as if he was protecting you out of instinct.

'Fucking hell' Max cursed in a low grumble. You felt the energy shift before the loud footsteps of Christian appeared.

'MAX, HEY MAN DONT LOSE YOUR TEMP-'

But it was already too late. One second, he was holding you and the next second, he stood beside that man. His camera snatched and under his foot, stepping on it and ultimately smashing it into pieces.

'Don't ever fucking take a picture of her. This is not a reminder, it's a threat. Try and your face is going to be next.'

Oh.

Wow.

Before you even realised what was happening, he took your hand and started walking inside before stopping at a isolated hallway.

'Max, you did not have to do that.' You admitted quietly.

A beat of silence passed. He didn't yet respond or even talk.

'Did you forgive me?'

'What?'

'Did you ever forgive me?'

'No.'

A long beat of silence.

He took a step forward and simultaneously you took a step back. Your back hit the wall.

'I'm sorry.' He said in a hoarse whisper, his voice heavy with guilt.

'What I did was wrong and I acknowledge that.

Take me back. Please. I will do anything.'

In simple words, he was desperate.

And for some twisted reason, you liked that.

'Anything?'

'Anything.'

A beat of silence passed.

'What if I ask you to leave Formula one?' You asked testing the waters, seeing what he replies.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed his hand twitched. An old habit of his. He didn't anticipate that.

'I would and I will. Only if you ask me to.' He said with a finality in his voice as if he was a hundred percent sure.

'Then get on your knees and apologise.'

A small smirk formed on your face and he didn't have to be told twice. You thought he wouldn't comply because generally from what you had seen, men in formula one had an awful lot of ego, too much for their own good but the moment you said it, in a blink of an eye, he knelt down with his face angled upwards, towards you.

'Eyes down.'

His eyes snapped down and he apologised.

'I am sorry for what I did. It was an invasion of your privacy. I was a dick. Take me back. Please.'

That made you happy, happier you had been these 2 years. Something in the whole interaction between Max kneeling and begging you to take him back satisfied the twisted part of your heart.

'I'll see what I decide. Don't follow me. I am going now.'

He knew better than to interrupt and you left. This is what you deserved and that was what he deserved. He made a mistake, he needed to earn his apology through you and you werent an easy person to please.

/

(A week later)

It was another lonely night. Well there was another thing keeping you company. Your trusty pink vibrator. Moments like this made you miss Max. Not that you only missed him when you were horny. You missed him more than you'd like to admit. Exes to lover was a trope you didnt appreciate having a comeback in your life but the amount of time your thoughts were consumed by Max was concerning and pretty pathetic.

You lowered the vibrator, thinking about Max. Him getting possessive when he caught the paparazzi taking pictures, his muscles almost bulging from that fucking tight fireproof, the way he listened to every thing you said. You bet he'd let you have your way with him if you asked him to. Maybe he could just slide one of his veiny fingers down your-

RING! RING!

Fucking hell.

You looked at the caller ID. Your friend. You tossed the pink vibrator and picked up the wall.

'Babe, what do you want? You know I was in the middle of something.'

She told you about the club in Monacco. That's right, you were staying at Monacco for a while. Honestly, you missed the posh place and decided to give it a chance. So what, you caught the love of your life being a full time stalker and then maybe tried to give yourself a pathetic orgasm after a 2 year breakup.

You know what. Fuck that. You were a hot, young and a beautiful girl. You jumped up and grabbed open your closet. That red dress that you never dared to wear? The one that was so short that a little bend might dangerously flash your laced panties, but that wasn't something that would bother you tonight. Your confidence sky rocketed and you swayed your hips to the beat of the music in the club. You had been dancing for what maybe 30 to 40 minutes straight before taking a break and sitting down on one of the empty barstools.

The moment you sat down, you felt a shiver down your spine. Was the air conditioning too cold? But then, you remembered this familiar feeling. Your spine straightened and you sat straight. And that's when you looked behind you, to find the only man who could get this reaction out of you only with their presence.

Max Emillian Verstappen.

He sat on the second floor on one of the luxurious navy blue sofas. The second floor was only reserved for the elite meaning that you had to have a membership of this club and boy, you had to work your ass off to get a membership or simply be rich and famous. That's what Max was.

A piercing gaze was how you would describe Max looking at you at that moment. A drink in one hand and simply staring. He didn't even look away when you looked back at him. No expression, nothing. Just a blank face watching you with darkened eyes before his eyes glanced down and took a full scan of you. Your skimpy outfit, the laced gartier, the flash and peek of a little fabric of your lingerie. You looked like you walked straight out of someone's fantasy.

If you did look straight out of someone's fantasy, then why did no one approach you? Everyone seemed to avoid you like you had reincarnated the black plague. Normally guys would hit on you everywhere, workplace, cafes and what not. Hitting on you in the club was the most common and appropriate place. Sometimes your friends would have to pry admirers away but tonight, even the bartender wouldn't make eye contact with you. You frowned at that. Did you look too poor to be here? I mean, you weren't as wealthy as those partying here but you weren't dirt poor either.

Just as you were thinking about it, a man probably in his late 20's sat down beside you. The bartender stilled while pouring you a drink and you missed the way he nervously glanced to the second floor.

The unknown man started small conversation with you. Your name, what you did, what you liked and gave you sweet compliments. You learnt his name was John and so far he seemed graceful and polite. You leaned towards him and gave him small replies. Before long, he started making jokes and you laughed, your fingertips brushing against his arm. But the wholesome interaction was interrupted by a tall man, maybe 6 ft ish, wearing a black blazer suit, he marched right up and grabbed the John's arm, yanking it right up. A little more twist given the angle of view and you were guaranteed that he would have to stay a month in a hospital bed. You gasped, standing up and rushing over to John in an attempt to stop the man. However the guy in the black suit stopped you.

'Ma'am please don't interfere. He is to be escorted out of this club this instant.'

Your eyes widened and so did John's.

'Wh-hat why?'

The man didn't offer you a reply and escorted John out. You tried to ask for help from the people around you but they pretended as if nothing had happened, only giving fake huhs and what. Even the bartender acted as if the scene of an innocent man being dragged out of the club so roughly was unreal and it made you feel like you either had way too many drinks or were currently experiencing a fever dream.

That's when it clicked.

You looked up and saw him.

Peacefully sipping from his drink, from the same position without moving a single muscle. Instead of a blank expression, he sat with a small smirk. You clenched your jaw. You marched straight up the stairs, your fingers gripping your bag tight trying to control your rage. The tall men in black suits who you assumed to be bodyguards did not dare to stop you but rather cleared the way for you. The upper floor was completely empty. Poker tables, gambling rooms, strip poles with seats being empty. Not a single soul except the devil itself was sitting on the center.

'Stop this.' You demanded in a strict voice, laced with anger.

'You think you can just do this and think I won't know? Of course I know it's you. You are the reason no one is looking me in the eye. You are the reason why he was escorted out of this club.'

'You shouldn't have touched him.'

That made you angrier. Who was he to tell you what you should do or not.

'Oh fuck off. We aren't dating anymore. I do what I want. I touch who I want.'

His eyes darkened and his lips pursed in a thin line. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his hand twitch. Oh so he was getting angry too.

He stood up and walked to you. Not too fast, not too slow. You couldn't predict what he was about to do and you never did. He walked like a predator circling his prey knowing there was no way out. You didn't take a step back, no you refused to be the prey. Rather you made direct eye contact with him to let him know you werent backing down.

He stopped right in front of you. Him being 6'1 gave him an advantage of hovering over you but you weren't intimated. (maybe a little bit but you tried not to show it)

His hand slowly lifted up and brushed your cheek with his knuckles. His knuckles felt rough and bruised up. He watched as your pretty face turned into a slight frown. God, he wanted to kiss you right then and there. How could someone be so beautiful. If you kicked him in the balls right now, he would thank you. Max was so down bad for you that he was ready to kiss the ground you walked on in front of the whole world.

'You fought with someone?' You asked softly feeling his bruised knuckles, forgetting about your fury.

He smiled. 'Everyone gets on my nerves nowadays.'

You sighed. Your hand grabbing his ones and putting them away. Instead, he just slid them down your waist, pulling you closer.

'Max.' You said with a hint of warning.

'Come back please.' He pleaded, his voice heavy and his eyes now held a shade of melancholy. Hot breath fanned your neck as his grip got tighter. 'I will never stop wanting you. I cannot bear to see you laugh with another man.'

'You need to change Max. What happened before cannot happen again.'

'No it won't. I won't keep things from you I promise.'

You sighed. Who were you kidding, Max was the love of your life. Dating other guys never made you forget him and probably never will. That was something you didn't want to admit, trying to make youself believe that there were other options but it never felt real.

The way your heart raced when you were near him, your eyes lightened up, your body leaned to him involuntarily - was something only he could bring.

'Okay. One chance. Just.. we don't date now. Let's just be as friends.'

Max nodded. God he was happy. He didn't care if he was as a friend to you right now. Just the sight of you made him relax. His eyes scanned your face before dropping to your lips.

Was it a good time to say how fucking ravishing he looked? You clecnced your thighs, you just wished his hands would travel down to your panties to see just how soaked you were. Not a good time to meet your hot formula one ex when you were peak ovaluating. He saw how your eyes darkened and how your hands crept up to his fitting t shirt to grab his biceps as an attempt to stabilise yourself. In response, his grip tightened and you felt him. God, he was hard. Hard was an understatement. It felt like it would literally bulge out. You imagined how it would look like, when he'd just fuck you mercilessly and decorate your delicate body with hickies. Was he thinking the same?

Wait.

This is your ex. The same guy you broke up with after he stalked you, invaded yoru privacy and acted like a possessive beast.

Get your mind together and stop making him think that giving you a good fuck would fix everything.

You tapped on his arm three times and that's all it took. He let go of your waist and straightened. Tapping was a method you both used during sex. Specially during rough sex after Max had a bad race weekend. One tap was a way of saying to go faster. Two taps would be to slow down and three taps meant stop. Usually you used two taps and the rest were very rarely ever used. Guess you both remembered it after all.

'Um, I will go home now. It's uh getting late.'

He nodded. 'Right. I can drop you-'

'NO, I mean no. Its fine.'

If this is how you acted when you guys got a little privacy then imagine what would happen if you both were left alone in a car.

You didn't wait for him to say anything before you walked away. You got into a taxi and it drove you back to your hotel.

What you didn't know was that Max drove his Porsche right behind the taxi, following it till he was sure you reached back to your hotel safe and sound.

-

Few days passed and guess what awaited outside your hotel door every day. Gifts. Constant gifts for 2 weeks straight. And you don't mean bouquets of flowers and chocolates. They were a staple but you received tons of jewellery, custom made to your likings. Cartier bracelets, Louis vuitton shoes, Hermes bags and what not. He even paid the hotel bills under your name which might have been too much.

What surprised you was the letter that arrived everyday. Tucked in the side of the bouquets. A little letter he wrote.

Schtaje,

I know it looks like I am doing too much but I am not. I am not doing this so you have to reciprocate my feelings. I am doing this to because you are the most important thing to me in the world. I know you think that the first time we met was in the restaurant in Montreal but it was not. The day I first saw you, I had one of the worst bad race days, p11 with an engine failure and furiously, I left everything and just walked out. It was raining heavily l remember and out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone dancing in the rain. Blissfully unaware, twirling their dress and dancing around in the rain. It was you. You had the brightest smile I had ever seen and eyes that glowed so preciously even im the dark. That made my heart race and I fell in love. I fell in love hard. You didn't know I was watching you and you didn't think anyone would but I did. That made me smile that day. I was so intrigued about you, I wanted to approach you but your friend took you away. But I heard your name when she called you. That's why those files were there. I couldn't stop thinking about you. That's how we unofficially met 2 years ago. During those 2 years, I didnt know how to contact you or how to meet you without making it looking obvious or making you think I am a creepy stalker. Then that day in Montreal, in that little restaurant, I saw you. It was like the universe had set us up and I have loved you ever since. I wanted to tell you but I was afraid that you'd think I am some creep and when you found out, it was one of my biggest secrets and my biggest fear had come true - you were convinced I was a creep. I have been a flawed person in the past, what I did was not okay and you were correct to leave me but please, I have reflected and changed. I will do whatever you ask me to. Give me a second chance.

I love you and I will continue to love you even if you say no. Accept these gifts please.

.

You and Max got closer after that. You lived with your friend in Monacco until you guys figured what to do. In your free time, you both went on dates in little cafes or maybe a picnic day in the parks. You both didn't kiss or lust after one another like before but rather talked. He would stare at you when you would animatedly with a soft smile on his face. About what you liked and dislikes now, how you found cats adorable but hated it when didn't arrive you after saying pspsps. He took his time and reflected on his flaws. And you listened to him. You both would laugh at everything you found silly and when the sun would start to set, you'd stare at each other before saying goodbyes.

Today was different. Today it felt a little heavy like there was something you had to desperately get out.

You looked around, Max sat wearing a navy blue polo t shirt and you wore a long sundress. He rearranged the items you had brought, packing the things up in the little picnic basket and putting your sunscreen and lip gloss in a different bag.

You smiled. This is what you missed. Not the materialistic, flashy love but the quiet admiration shared between each other.

Max was now gentle with you. He didn't rush, didn't act like a possessive fool but rather let you take your time. He waited patiently and tried to express his own feelings, not all the way up there but he was slowly getting there.

You both watched as the sun set and your hand crept to his.

'Max?'

'Yes schatje.'

Your hands slowly wrapped around his neck and you pressed your lips against his. He was shocked for a moment before he wrapped an arm on your waist and kissed you back. You craned your head for better access and kissed him hard until you both gasped for air.

'I love you' you whispered those three words, and he pressed his forehead against yours repeating those words again.

Relationship are never perfect. They are meant to be messy because we both reveal our flaws and insecurities to each other, but what's meant for you will come back to you and your heart finally was at peace knowing that this was right for you.

💌: DOESNT APPLY TO YOU OKAY. GIRLIES DONT GO BACK TO YOUR EX. THAT CHAPTER IS DONE. MAY MY FIC NEVER EVER INSPIRE YOU TO GO BACK. OUT OF A 100 PEOPLE, ONLY 3 HAVE ALREADY DATED THEIR SOULMATES AND YOU ARE NOT ONE OF THEM. MOVE ON AND DONT LOOK BACK OKAY.

[sturnlsstuff]

⸻ PUSH AND PULL • part three

— fratboy!chris x sassy!reader

— includes: smut, dom!chris, sub!reader, making out, dryhumping, titty playing, oral (m!receiving), unprotected sex, riding, car sex, dirty talk — english isn't my first language.

chris is cocky and persistent, all about getting what he wants until he accidentally runs into you at a party. your sarcastic attitude, and the way you refuse to fall for his charm, is both incredibly hot and frustrating- challenging him in ways he never experienced before.

previous part. | wc; 10k

the harsh buzz of the fluorescent lights was giving you a headache, or maybe that was just the lingering stress of everything. either way, the store was quiet, only a few customers walking around and a bored cashier scrolling on his phone behind the counter, the hum of the refrigerators lining the back wall.

you padded down the narrow snack aisle, the oversized hoodie barely brushing your thighs. you were on a mission for hot cheetos and maybe some chocolate milk. it was one of those nights— overthinking too much, not able to sleep, bored out of your mind. you had to leave your apartment.

the last week had been crazy. since the phone call with chris, you couldn't understand why he made you feel this way— like your body didn't belong to you. it was constantly betraying you, reacting to chris's words and actions against your will. your fingers were replying to his messages and answering his calls late at night on their own, your mouth responding to his banter faster than you could think, and it started making you sick, 'cause he was the type of person you couldn't stand. typical player, looking down at people, acting like he's better than everyone, as if girls were nothing to him, and all he cared about was having fun.

but then again, wasn't that what you needed? to have some fun? and you definitely had it while interacting with him, even if you didn't want to admit it. you were torn between blocking him and playing along with this little game you two had. you just didn't know what to do and hopefully you'll figure it out tonight. maybe if you got some kind of sign—

you turned the corner without looking, literally slamming straight into someone with enough force to make you stumble back with a soft gasp, hot cheetos crinkling in your hand.

“shit,” a voice muttered. deep, familiar. too familiar.

your stomach dropped. "you gotta be kidding me,” you said before even looking up.

of course the universe had to mock you. you'd just been thinking about him and now here he was. hoodie halfway zipped, backwards cap in place, a six-pack of cheap beer dangling from one hand. when your eyes locked with his and he realized it was you, his usual smirk curled slowly onto his lips. it made you want to punch him and get down on your knees at the same time. god, you hated it.

though, chris was completely in heaven. he tried to convince you to meet up with him for the past week, but you were stubborn, even if you already made him come through the phone a few times. whenever it was listening to your voice on the call or just getting some selfie from you— he was going crazy.

and now finally seeing you in person after almost a month? he might explode right there and then.

“woah,” he said slowly, taking in your legs, then your face. “so it really might be d—"

"if you say that it's destiny again, i'm gonna cut my ears off," you interrupted him, making his grin wider.

"sassy as ever," he wets his bottom lip with his tongue, checking you out again. he wonders how can you look so fine without ever trying. "you look good," he adds.

you wish he didn't say that.

"thanks. glad my pajama shorts and old hoodie can make you hard." you reply with a hint of sarcasm, taking a step to the side to pass by him, but he mirrored it, blocking your path just to be annoying. not touching, but close enough for you to feel his cologne. you got deja vu.

"who said m'hard?"

you arched an eyebrow, glancing down at his lap and then back up, causing a shiver go down his spine. he mutters, "naughty girl, you only think 'bout one thing, huh? who's the freak here?"

"you are," you said, stepping to the other side, but he did the same. "you're in my way."

“you ran into me.”

“'cause you were standing like an idiot in the middle of the aisle.”

chris smirked, eyes dropping briefly to your thighs again, "not complainin'.” rolling your eyes, you glanced at him again, catching the way he was just shamelessly looking you up and down. you knew that he knows exactly what he's doing. your stomach twisted and heat crept up your neck, hating him for causing it, for the flutter in your chest.

you crossed your arms like that would hold you together, fingers tightening around your hot cheetos. "stop it," you snapped, trying to keep yourself in check. chris looked back up, his gaze deepening, the corner of his mouth twitching. "stop what?"

"stop staring, dumbass." you muttered through clenched teeth. "what are you even doing here?"

his eyebrow shot up. "what am i doing here? what 'bout you? ya followed me to my grocery store?” he teased, tilted his head. “that's kinda obsessive, don’cha think?”

you gave him an unimpressed look. “your grocery store? what, you own aisle seven now?”

"i might,” he said, glancing at the shelves. “feels like my territory.”

you gave him a glare, arching a perfectly judgmental eyebrow, only to see the smirk on his face growing bigger. "you live 'round here?" he asks when you move past him, spotting your favorite cookies on the top shelf nearby. his eyes were drawn to your every move, his feet quick to follow too.

"why? you planning a break in?" you tiptoed, fingers stretching as far as they could go, but the box of your cookies remained frustratingly out of reach.

"maybe,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching when he sees you struggling. "depends how good your alarm system is.”

you pressed your lips together, biting back a smile, refusing to give him the satisfaction. "so? what's the plan for tonight, sweetheart?" he teases, taking a step closer without you realizing. he almost rolls his eyes at the fact you're too short to grab fucking cookies.

you let out a small huff, rocking back on your heels and squinting up at the candy like maybe glaring hard enough would make them fall into your hands— but no.

"wouldn't you like to know."

"i would."

before you could even turn around, you felt it. the solid press of his chest against your back, letting you know he's just behind you. your breath hitches when his arm slides past you, slowly reaching for the box, letting you feel the warmth of his body. you glanced up, only to find him already staring but at you, that smug smirk tugging at his lips. but behind it, his eyes burned with something intense, like having you this close without touching was some kind of torture.

your pulse stuttered.

you clear your throat, trying to keep it together, taking the cookies from him and stepping back.

“just felt like getting hot cheetos." you answered like nothing happened, your brain forgetting how to function, the butterflies in your stomach going ballistic.

“oh yeah?” he asks, tilting his head, enjoying your reaction to him being too close. “i've got a party and way too much weed for one guy. you could tag along or whatever."

you stared at him, something unreadable flickering behind your lashes. you hesitated, knowing it might be fun, but also being aware how this would end. that's why you've been avoiding parties lately. even if some foolish part of you wanted to go with him, just to see what would happen this time, you shake the thought off. "tempting,” you replied, brushing past him finally. “but i already made plans with netflix and my vibrator.”

chris laughed, shaking his head amused, something about the way you said it makes him more affected than he'd like to admit.

“you gonna miss me eventually,” he called after you, watching as you walk through the aisle without looking back. "only if you’re the last man on earth,” you tossed back, leaving him behind. chris watches you go, still grinning like the cocky asshole he was. netflix and your vibrator. jesus christ.

he stood there for half a second, blinking like he’d just gotten slapped and kissed at the same time, then adjusted the grip on the six-pack in his hand, smirk deepening as he started following you. you were halfway down the next aisle when he caught up. "so, vibrator, huh?" he asked casually, falling into step beside you like this was totally normal. you tossed him a bored side eye. “yeah. you threatened?"

he chuckles, looking down at you. “threatened? nah. just wonderin' what model. y'know, for science.” he leaned in a little, voice dropping. “i mean, was it that little pink one you showed me on facetime two days ago, or—?”

"shut the fuck up." you spun toward him, eyes wide. “you did not just bring that up in a public store.”

he shamelessly continues, not caring about how loud he speaks. "you think we could use it next time m'deep inside you? y'know, like, we'd see if your pussy likes my dick or your vibrator better."

your jaw almost drops, the image slips into your head before you can stop it, making your cheeks grow hotter. him pounding into you while using a vibrator at the same time? what a freak.

what is even freakier is that you'd be into that.

before you had a chance to respond, you both heard a weird, choking sound, your eyes catching a guy a few feet away, giving you both the most bewildered, horrified look, like he'd just overheard something that will haunt him forever. without a word, he turned and walked off, clutching his shopping basket like it might protect him. chris follows your gaze and grins even more after seeing your mortified expression. "oh. my. god."

"oops."

you gave him one of your typical death glares before lightly smacking his arm. "god, chris! so embarrassing." you shake your head and pick up a carton of chocolate milk, pretending to examine the label. “i hate you."

"ow," he massaged his shoulder dramatically, though the clear amusement on his face said he didn't mind one bit. watching you worked up like this was absolutely priceless. "that's abuse, babe."

“you're disgusting.”

“and yet,” he said, looking you up and down with that slow, lazy confidence, “you still ran into me.”

“i literally turned a corner,” you said flatly, moving past him, heading towards the register.

he grinned, loving the way he was able to annoy you in person again. he didn't even mind being late to the party, if it meant seeing more of that pissed off look on your face, it was worth every second.

he obviously follows you. "you sure you didn’t feel me from halfway across the store and come lookin'?”

you rolled your eyes so hard, that it was a miracle they didn’t fall out of your head. “you're so delusional that i almost feel bad for you."

“'n' you walkin' away from me again.” he tilted his head, getting into your way and walking backwards now, so you could see his stupid grin. "shit hurts, sweetheart.”

"stop calling me all of these."

“what 'bout sunshine?” he offered, voice low and teasing. "'cos y'know, you a real bundle of joy."

you stopped walking, looking at him like you couldn't decide between kicking him and pulling him closer by his shirt. "i'm going to pay for my snacks, but you—" you point your finger at him. "you're going to go to your stupid party, and get drunk with people who think pong is a sport. leave me alone and everyone will be happy." chris looked at you, your hair up, skin flushed, hoodie hanging off one shoulder like it had no business being that sexy. you hadn’t even tried and somehow that was making him even more frustrated.

"yes, ma'am."

you groaned painfully, practically losing your goddamn mind over his teasing, knowing damn well how he enjoys watching you struggle. you couldn't even blame all the girls who fell for his bullshit— he was such a charmer.

you turned on your heel and he watched you paying for your stuff, giving you the impression that maybe he will actually back off.

once again, you forgot who you were dealing with here.

a few minutes later after leaving the store, the night air hits you like a wave as the automatic doors slid shut behind you. you exhaled, finally alone again, the plastic bag swinging from your wrist as you walk through the parking lot towards your car. you had just clicked the unlock button and put your things inside, when a voice coming from behind scared the shit out of you.

“god, you walk fast for someone so small."

you jumped. chris was jogging toward you, breath a little short, beer still in hand, receipt flapping in the other.

“what the fuck, chris?” you snapped, spinning to face him. “you were sprinting?”

he slowed to a walk, grin already forming. "kinda. you left before i could give you shit one last time.” you rolled your eyes, voice dripping with sarcasm, "oh, lucky me."

chris stopped in front of you, eyes roaming over your face. "runnin' away after flirtin' with me in a snack aisle is wild."

"i wasn't flirting."

“you said vibrator in public. that's, like, second base.”

god.

the stare you gave him makes everything even funnier to him. “you are—”

“—irresistible?”

"ridiculous. you're fucking ridiculous." you moved to open the car door, but he leaned against it casually, blocking your way with a smirk.

“i mean, you can leave,” he said, voice low. “or you can go to the party with me."

he desperately needed to have you there, so he could hit again, 'cause the calls and messages you'd exchanged over the past few days just weren’t cutting it. it wasn’t enough to satisfy the frustration building up inside him, chris felt this restless ache, and he got bored of jerking off. no other girl could get him going as much as you could. no matter how annoying or confusing it was, it was the truth.

you huffed, "i'm not going. i got plans."

"yeah, with your vibrator, i get that." he says mockingly, making you regret the stupid sarcastic words that left your mouth. he leans closer, your heart skips a beat. "you could get the real thing though. or better— get both. maybe you don't miss me, but i bet your pussy does."

your mouth parted slightly, as if you were about to argue or at least say something, but then closed again, after realizing he was right. even now, you don't trust yourself to be this close to him.

before you could even begin to form a response, chris's eyes shifted over your shoulder, narrowing slightly. his expression subtly changed, so you followed his gaze, turning around. across the parking lot, halfway to the entrance, stood no one else but your ex. slouched, arms crossed, trying not to look like he was watching you and chris, but failing. your stomach dropped, not in the emotional way, but more like an eye roll from your soul.

"oh, ew." you grimaced.

why's he everywhere you go lately?

he scoffs quietly, "he wants another live pre show or what?"

the corner of your mouth twitched upwards, your eyes locking with jake's. he was still standing in the same spot, looking completely unbothered which was clearly an act. you could tell how mad he is even from the distance. you knew him too well.

"don't care," you shrugged. "i just wanna eat my hot cheetos and have some peace."

"he tryna make eye contact like a weirdo."

"he is a weirdo. and he's just trying to be all tough," you rolled your eyes. "i'm surprised he's alone and not with his little bitch that follows him around like a dog."

chris's smirk was back in place when you looked at him again. "clearly he didn't got the message last time."

"probably," you said, thinking back to the night, when you pulled chris closer and he kissed you without hesitation. jake never kissed you like this, he never make you feel wanted like this, even if he was the one you were with.

and even if this thing between you and chris was only physical— it still felt good, knowing that someone is obsessed with you in ways no one else ever was. you couldn't forget how quickly this whole thing went from trying to make jake understand that you two are done, to something that had nothing to do with your ex anymore. maybe that's why you couldn't bring yourself to simply tell chris to go to hell, and stop this from going any further.

the eye contact was making the air around you electric, goosebumps appearing on your skin. chris didn’t say anything, just stood there, eyes fixed on you with that same half lazy, half predatory look he always got right before saying something infuriating. he leaned just slightly closer, your breath hitches, his lips inches from yours.

he wasn't gonna miss this opportunity.

"so," his voice low and hoarse when he speaks up. "you down to give him some deja vu?"

your fingers twitched at your sides, aching to reach for him, but didn't yet. his gaze dropped from your eyes to your lips and lingered there, the tension curled around you two like a wire pulled taut. one more second and it would snap.

you swallowed hard, moving closer just barely an inch. your heart was pounding, every nerve felt like on fire, and you knew that if you kiss him, it's not gonna be to put up a show for your ex, but because you crave that. he doesn't have to know it though.

"maybe i do," you whispered, leaning in, hands finding his hoodie and pulling him down. your eyes fluttered shut, lips crashing against his, getting a respond instantly. chris hummed, tilting his head slightly, matching your rhythm. his one hand went to your hip, the other bracing against the car, boxing you in. his lips were warm and rough, all heat and familiarity, just like you remembered. your mouths moved in sync, greedy, like you both were starving for years— and to be honest, it felt like it too.

he bites your bottom lip lightly and you make a small, muffled noise— the kind you'd never admit to making, before pulling back with a short gasp. god, the way he kisses makes your legs weak.

your eyes open, blinking, catching chris already looking, your cheeks growing hotter. he licked his lips slowly, like he was tasting the moment before giving you that usual smirk of his, clearly trying to act nonchalant, but failing.

"if you gonna kiss me like that, better don't blame me for followin' you wherever ya goin' tonight," he speaks up, voice low.

you arched an eyebrow, "kiss you like that?"

"yeah. like you wanna devour my soul."

you stand there silent for half a second before chuckling and shaking your head, the amusement clear on his face as well. putting your hand on his chest, you gently push him away, trying to put some space between you both.

devour his soul, sure.

"can say the same about you."

"maybe i do wanna devour ya." he leans closer again. "and i think you'd let me."

"really?" you raised an eyebrow, feigning shock. "you're so sure about it, huh?"

"yeah, i am." he just smirks while you try to hold back a smile.

the cool night air wraps around you, but it’s not enough to chill the heat still simmering from the kiss even if you both are joking around. chris leans against the side of your car like he owns the damn thing, grinning lazily, his hand still on your hip like he’s got no plans of moving it anytime soon. "so, you gonna pretend that—"

"are you seriously doing this shit again?"

a sharp, familiar voice cuts through the air, interrupting whatever chris wanted to say.

your head snaps around just to see no one else, but your ex storming toward you like he owns the parking lot, like he's entitled to some kind of explanation— his jaw clenched and eyes narrowed. you didn't think he would had the balls to come here and speak to you. clearly he's had enough of seeing you making out with another guy in front of him.

and maybe the first kiss you shared with chris a few weeks ago was to send a clear message to jake that you moved on, but now? now you kissed chris 'cause you wanted to. you felt like it.

should it be concerning?

chris straightens slightly but doesn’t move away, his fingers curl at your hip calmly, like he’s clocked the situation and is more amused than anything. he even lets out a breathy laugh through his nose, barely turning his head. "aaand there he is,” he mutters under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.

you sigh. "oh, for fuck’s sake.”

jake stops a few feet in front of you, face twisted in jealousy and indignation. “what exactly do you think you’re doing?” the guy snaps, not even looking at chris. his eyes are locked on you like you betrayed some unwritten rule. your eyebrows shot up and you actually wanted to laugh.

and you did.

"excuse you?"

"dont play dumb. you're really trying to get back at me with him?”

"oh, you think it's about you?"

"isn't it? it's the second time you've seen me and then you two are fucking making out with one another. like, do you even know who he is?" jake gives chris a look over. "since when you're into fratboys?"

"aw, man, y'know who i am. see, i barely even acknowledge your existence. this says a lot 'bout us, isn't it?" chris speaks up, his tone dripping with irony, making your lips twitch upwards.

"shut the fuck up, i'm not talking to you." he looks at you. "this is your revenge? still bitter i left?"

woah, he really is doing this. seriously standing here, trying to confront you like he even had the right to be jealous.

the disbelief hits you first, but it's melted quickly, replaced with annoyance. another bitter laugh leaves your lips, you could absolutely feel the pulse in your neck, your fingers clenching into fists without you realizing it.

oh, he was asking for it now.

"you have no fucking right to be acting like this right now," you snap, pointing your finger at him. "am i still bitter that you left? all i feel is actually freedom, 'cause i left. finally not bothered by your pathetic ass. you're the one who couldn't keep your dick in your pants, and it's not your business what i'm doing now, and with who."

"it will always be my business." he takes a step forward, making chris shift slightly. "like, i told you we could fix it and you didn't want to. it's not my fault that you're so fucking stubborn—"

chris lets out a small snort, jake's glare shifting to him, sizing him up. he looks like he’s about to combust. chris just grins wider.

“the fuck you laughing for? you think it's funny?"

"i mean, yeah, a little. what you sayin' is literally ridiculous." chris raises an eyebrow. “you stormin' across a parking lot, like you’re 'bout to throw hands over a girl who clearly doesn’t want you. kinda peak comedy, bro.”

“fuck you,” jake spits.

"yeah, she gonna, so if you could be quicker with this insecure bullshit, i'd be glad." chris replies, throwing his one arm around your shoulders to piss off jake more which was working, cause his face was getting red like a tomato from anger. "look, i'd be mad too if i fumbled someone like her, but c'mon man, you cheated. you don't get to act offended now."

jake bristles, "that's none of your fucking business."

"he's spitting facts though," you add casually, shrugging. watching jake being so mad over chris, who was clearly finding this whole situation funny, was in fact really hilarious. you enjoyed it a bit too much— to be honest, you should've confronted jake like this a long time ago.

your ex ignores you, his eyes locked on chris's and he steps forward, jaw clenched. you raised an eyebrow. is he trying to put up a fight with chris? it was ridiculous to see, 'cause chris couldn't be more unbothered.

he looks him up and down, his smirk growing, "i'd be embarrassed if i was you. y'know, comin' here, tryna be all tough like she owns you an explanation. what do ya wanna hear? that she traded up for someone who actually makes her finish?”

your eyes widen and let out a chuckle, not able to hold back.

“guys— c'mon..." you cut in, still finding the situation amusing, but sensing that what chris said just might completely set off your ex.

and it does.

jake shoves chris, hard enough to make him his six pack of beer almost slip from his hand. he doesn't flinch or backs off though. “you wanna say that again?"

"hey—" you try to step in, but chris just hands the beer over to you, pushing you gently out of the way.

he looks at jake still amused, a low, disbelieving chuckle escaped him as he ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. "a'ight," he muttered, "you want me to repeat, yeah?" he nods and hums, then landing a clean, solid punch square to the guy’s jaw. not really that hard, but enough to make your ex stumble back, catching himself on a nearby car, stunned.

your jaw drops.

chris shakes his hand out once and exhales, bored. "that was just for bein' a dick," he says. "not for me, 'cos trust me i couldn't give a fuck less. but you won't be acting like you're the one who got hurt. your ears fixed? you hear me now?"

you're frozen.

you were expecting some snappy comeback or maybe a push back, but not this. time literally seemed to splinter for a second, adrenaline buzzing in your fingertips, breath caught halfway in your throat. a part of you was definitely in shock, but underneath it, was something else— a deep, burning satisfaction.

you hadn’t even known you needed it, until you saw it happen. your ex finally being ripped out of whatever reality he thought he owned? hilarious.

and chris... he literally just stands there, his lip curled into a half-grin that bordered on arrogant. did he just kind of defend you somehow?

karma finally threw a punch and you didn’t even have to lift a finger.

jake wipes his mouth, still not coming back with anything smart, but slowly straightening up. you decided to land something harder than the punch. "go cry to your girlfriend about it. y'know, the one you swore was a 'mistake' just to keep fucking her, and kneel to her like a pathetic puppy after i left your dumbass."

jake gives you a glare, only muttering something unintelligible and finally walking off, humiliated, shoulders tight with rage.

you watch him for a few seconds, then looking back at chris still in shock, for the first time seeing him without the filters of lust or annoyance. you were actually impressed.

your eyebrows shot up when he locks eyes with you, grabbing the beer out of your hands, clearly unbothered. nonchalant final boss.

"what?" he asks. "stop lookin' at me like that, shit freaks me out."

"i didn't need you to defend me."

chris scoffs, rolling his eyes. "stop being dramatic, i wasn't defendin' anyone. his face just needed a little fixin'."

you smile, amused despite yourself. "oh my god," you shake your head. "you're crazy."

"yeah," he smirks, leaning in. "you like that?"

something twisted low in your stomach, the way he looked and what he said was honestly kind of hot, causing your pussy to clench around nothing.

get. a . grip.

"you wish," you mumbled, playfully pushing him away. he backs off with his smirk wider, arms raised in surrender. the air is lighter now, even if your heart still thuds with leftover adrenaline. your eyes drifted to his hand, the skin across his knuckles slightly red. he notices your gaze, looking down at his hand and back at you. he raised an eyebrow, giving you a small shrug and stuffing his hand casually into his pocket. "didn't even hit that hard."

you look at him in disbelief, "he looked like he literally saw stars and you tell me you didn't hit that hard?"

"yeah, should've punched him harder, but i thought i'd leave the honor to you for another occasion."

"wow, so thoughtful of you, thanks." you rolled your eyes, even though you weren't able to hold back a smile again.

"no problem."

"if i hit him, i probably wouldn't have stopped at one." chris smirks, "yeah, figured. that's why i did it f'you. controlled damage."

"i mean, you didn't have to get involved, but that's nice, i guess." you keep the tone sarcastic, "i might tolerate you a little more."

"fuck, if i knew that punching your ex would get you to finally stop being annoyed with me, then i'd do it the first time i saw him."

"no, you wouldn't." chris raises an eyebrow at your response. "we were quite busy back then," you add.

lately, you wondered who the fuck was even saying and doing all those things, 'cause it for sure wasn't you.

his mouth tugged up in that annoyingly confident way, like he couldn't believe his ears. "i think i might have too much of an influence on ya."

"i think you're right."

you clear your throat, trying to wash that goddamn grin off your face, your hand finding the car door and opening it.

"still time to make it to that party, y'know." he speaks, not wanting you to leave, 'cause he knows that then he won't see you again so soon. and he really hopes for more tonight or he'll go insane.

you look at him, resting your hand at the top of your car. "i'm not gonna go, chris."

"what 'bout somewhere else? you were plannin' to go home or—?"

you're torn between lying and telling him. you could easily blow him off, it's not like he'll push himself into your car, he wasn't that crazy, but why not take him with you? or at least mention what your plans were for tonight? he'll probably prefer to go to the party anyway, when he hears that you weren't planning on doing anything interesting. besides, you know that he only wants one thing today— and you couldn't blame him, 'cause you yourself could barely hold back, especially after what he did a few minutes ago. it made him ten times hotter.

chill.

"nope, was gonna drive around and then eventually chill somewhere," you finally reply. "nothing fun."

"i mean, we can always make it fun," he winks at you, almost getting an eye roll in response.

"freak."

"am i gonna get invited or what?" he tilts his head teasingly, wanting to hear you say it. now you rolled your eyes. "do you have to? bet you'd somehow end up at the place im gonna go anyway. stalker."

"you're the stalker here, always runnin' into me."

"not always."

"often."

"only two times. and you runned into me."

his grin widens. "whatever ya say, ma."

you felt heat pool low in your belly, your pulse kicked up. you try to look annoyed when you say, "you can come, i guess."

he was already making his way to the other side of the car. "i heard that once from you before." he opened the passenger door and slid inside, closing it behind and leaving you in disbelief. a flush spread across your cheeks before you could stop it, the memory of you making chris come on the call still printed in your head. then it happened two or three more times, but he was more in control. you still remember that whimper. is it time to tease him about it?? two can play this game and he happens to forget it.

you got inside, closing the door and buckling your seatbelt. you looked over at him, seeing his smug expression as he puts the beer to the backseat, letting his hand brush against your arm. sickening.

the engine purred to life as you shifted into reverse, chris watching from the passenger seat as you pulled out of the parking lot, adjusting the volume on your crappy bluetooth speaker.

"speakin' about that call," you glance over at him, the city thinning out into quiet stretches of road as you drive. "when you said— what was it again?”

he sat up a little straighter. “no.”

“wait, let me get it right. something like, ‘please, keep talking and help me cum.’ or how i called you a good boy and you loved it."

chris groaned and slid down in the seat, like he was trying to disappear. “nah, absolutely not. that conversation is legally sealed and burned.”

you had to bite your lip to hold back a laugh. “come on, it was so sincere. you begged.”

“i was definitely on somethin'," he lies.

“you were stone cold sober.”

“i was emotionally compromised.”

“just horny.”

"same thing."

you burst out laughing, gripping the steering wheel with both hands to keep from swerving.

chris glares at you, but the corners of his mouth are twitching. "didn't i tell you not to bring that up again?"

"maybe," you shrugged, unbothered. his tongue clicks against his teeth as he tries to play it cool, even if he was just slightly embarrassed, 'cause no girl ever made him do any of this before. he just couldn't stand the fact that he wasn't able to get off without your help, which made him really desperate— he still is needy, wanting to feel your pussy around him again, and he has a good feeling about tonight. "i wasn't beggin', by the way."

"sure you were."

"don't be a smartass," he replies, his voice lower. "we both know i can have you cryin' and beggin' in twenty seconds."

"twenty seconds is solid, if you ask me." you said sarcastically, trying to keep your thoughts in check, even if your thighs subtly pressed together. he smirks, his eyes never leaving your side profile. "yeah, we wanna check that?"

you pushed out your bottom lip a little, shaking your head. "nope."

"that's what i thought."

"you're such an asshole."

"takes one to fuck one."

you glare at him, just to meet with his smug expression. chris adjusts his backwards hat, leaning his head back as he watches you drive. pretty hot sight, if he's being honest.

you two fall silent for a few moments, before you decide to ask. "so,” you start, looking forward at the road, “you always punch ex boyfriends for the girl's you sleep with or what?"

beneath the sarcasm, there was a real question out of curiosity.

"yeah, m'walkin' around, asking which one of 'em has an idiot ex, and then i find him and kick his ass," he replies playfully. then he adds, "didn't hit him 'cos i like you or some shit, if that's what you think."

"i didn't think that," you lie. he just smirks, "for sure. just say that's what you want."

"what?" you glanced at him again, before focusing on the road. "want you to like me?"

he hums, "mhmm."

you grimaced, "ew, don't ever say it again. i'd actually rather eat glass."

"good," he replies, still not looking away from you. "means we on the same page."

his gaze drifts to the window, trying to guess where you're taking him, but the road signs meant nothing. you'd left the familiar parts of town behind at least ten minutes ago, and you hadn’t said a word about directions. he shifted in the seat, peering out at the empty suburban sprawl slipping past the windows. "so," he spoke again. "where are you kidnappin' me?"

your eyebrows shot up. "i'm not kidnapping you."

"really? i was hoping you would," he replies sarcastically. the corner of your mouth twitched upward, "no, you'd be way too loud." chris snorted, "you tellin' me that i'd be way too loud? did you forget how loud you were when i—"

"one more word and i'll leave you here." you cut him off mid sentence, feeling your stomach twisting at the memory. you take a sharp right, tires crunching over a gravel path lined with trees.

chris blinked, looking at you again. "okay, gonna leave it for later. and that’s not a real road, by the way. shit's gettin' creepy."

“aww, you scared?"

he scoffs, "don't have enough reasons yet."

"yet," you repeat, smiling.

the car finally rolled to a stop around ten minutes later, parked in front of an empty field, edged by a half collapsed chain link fence. a wide, curved concrete bowl was off in the distance.

"a fuckin' skatepark?" he raises an eyebrow, unbuckling the seatbelt and leaving the car after you do.

"yup, found it recently. i can hate everyone in peace here."

"okay, emo."

you just rolled your eyes. chris follows you, the distant city lights blinking through the trees, the wind slightly messing with your hair. you climbed up to the edge of the concrete bowl and sat down, legs dangling. chris joins you, obviously sitting a little too close.

you hear the sound of a can opening, your eyes moving to chris, just to see him taking a big sip of the beer he bought. you didn't even notice him taking it from the car.

"what?" he asks, catching your gaze. "didn't grab one f'you 'cos you drive."

"you're being responsible? wow," you raised an eyebrow.

"m'not as stupid as you think."

"you don't know what i think."

"so you do think somethin'."

"i never said that."

"didn't need to," he smirks. "i know you gotta think a lot 'bout that one night."

"the one i called you a—"

"no," he interrupts immediately, your amusement back in place. he really tries to remove this from his memory. "the one when i fucked you so good that you spilled my pepsi."

"what's with that pepsi obsession, by the way?" you ask.

he shrugs, "it's delish."

"delish? you're gay."

"shut the fuck up, i spend too much time with nick."

"i'm sure he doesn't use that word."

"okay, can i live? jesus." he lets out a huff, pretending to be annoyed, but there’s a sparkle in his eyes, and that damn smirk not leaving his face.

you lied down on the cold concrete, biting on your bottom lip. chris was pretty funny and this started to bother you. if he was horrible and boring, you wouldn't even be here with him in the first place.

he takes another sip of the beer, glancing over at you and raising an eyebrow, but not saying anything. he slouched back as well, spreading his legs, his hand behind him.

you looked at him for a second. and then another.

god, he was such a guy. like, every dumbass fratboy stereotype who you never liked before, always thinking that they're all so shallow, but now there you are, sitting here with the king of the frat.

you watch the way his jaw clenches when he takes a sip, his adam's apple bobbed as he swallows. his jawline was stupidly defined, and he has this one small mole right along it that was annoyingly hot. the kind of detail you only see when you're too close or pay too much attention. his hair stuck out from under his backwards hat, in messy little curls at the nape of his neck, a little too long and boyish for someone, who walked around like he owned every room he stepped into. you hate that you notice things like that.

"shit, don't tell me you fallin' in love, 'cos that's when the fun always ends." his voice bring you back to reality and you realize he caught you staring. damn it.

you scoffed, now looking at the sky and starting to count stars you couldnt care less about. "with the idea of choking you, maybe."

"how many more kinks you got?" he asks sarcastically, voice all lazy and smug. you glare at him, quickly realizing it was a bad idea, when something twisted low in your stomach. that stupid smirk. he was so cocky and infuriating, yet it was so fun and easy to talk to him. "i wont tell you. we don't want you to fantasize about me more than you already are." you reply, looking back at the sky.

"too late."

he puts the beer down, shifting closer to you until his face was hovering right over yours, blocking your view of the night, one arm lazily holding him up. the air between you thickened, his breath warm near your cheek.

"you're in my space," you said. "you like it," he mutters, voice low and teasing. your eyes shift to his. "y'know... don't have to pretend to be all mysterious with the stars, when i'm way more interesting."

you raised an eyebrow, your pulse quickening when his gaze flickered down to your mouth. "proof?"

god, the way you were challenging him in ways no one else ever did.

his lips crashed into yours with a force that made you softly gasp, not in a surprise, but because it was so fucking obvious this was inevitable.

you pulled him even closer by the front of his shirt, returning the kiss as your hand slid up to the back of his neck. he leans over you, settling between your legs, his body pressing against yours, not all the way, but just enough to make you want more. his hand moved, brushing against your waist where your hoodie had ridden up, his thumb traced a line just above the waistband of your shorts. not rushing, but teasing, even if he was impatient as hell.

you hummed in response, deepening the kiss, your tongue sliding past his lips, tangling with his. you felt how his hand started sliding up under your hoodie, your skin warm and tense beneath his palm. a low groan leaves him when he finds out that you're not wearing a bra.

you playfully bite his bottom lip when his thumb brushes against yours nipple, sending shivers down your spine immediately. he smirks in response, his mouth leaving yours, moving down your jaw instead, nipping at your neck. you knocked his hat off, hand sliding into his hair and tugging on it, causing him to groan again, which you felt deep in your stomach. your body was betraying you again, arching into him and his touch. he spreads your legs with his body, his growing bulge pressing against your core as he lowers his head, letting you think for a moment that he's finally gonna give some attention to your pussy, but no— his head disappears under the soft fabric of your big hoodie, lips teasingly brushing along your skin. you raised an eyebrow, amusement written all over your face. "what're you doing?"

"hm?" he hums against your stomach, hot kisses dragging up your chest, your breath catching with each one. if someone saw you both, it'd look ridiculous, but at least you were still covered. "nothin'," he adds.

"doesn't look like nothing— oh!"

he groans, noticing you're not wearing a bra, and his lips attack your hardening nipple immediately, making you gasp softly.

all those weeks, every single night he spent replaying your last time together, every fucking moment he’d imagined having you again, it all had built up into something sharp and heavy in his chest. now that he finally had you under him again, he felt like he was going to explode, but he was dragging it out, teasing you until you felt as desperate as he had been.

he couldn't get off with anyone else, or without hearing and seeing you, so now with his lips on your skin, he was barely holding back, just enough to drive you crazy first. you weren't fighting it, having to admit that you thought a lot about that party. the way he made you feel like you were burning from the inside out, making you completely spent and hitting spots no one ever did. so with his hands beneath your hoodie, and his tongue flicking over your nipples, all you did was exhale and let him keep going.

his face buried between your boobs as he kisses, licks and bites softly, his free hand playing with your other breast, while the other one traces patterns on your inner thigh, close to your clothed pussy. you start getting more responsive as he switches between your nipples, your hips starting to shift slightly under him. he smirks against your skin, starting to move his lips down your stomach slowly, until he pulls his head out from under your hoodie, his breath just a little uneven, lips pink, hair a complete mess— sticking up in all directions, making him look even more delicious.

"no bra, huh?" his tone low. he licks his lips, "makes me wonder... got nothin' under those tiny shorts too?"

a shiver goes straight to your pussy.

you shrug nonchalantly even if you were anything but.

"check."

he wanted that kind of answer. he grins, knowing that you're already pretty damn desperate if you're getting submissive. he leans in, catching your mouth again with his in a kiss that felt hungrier now.

you respond immediately, deepening it. he moves, quiding you with him as he leaned back on the concrete, pulling you effortlessly on top of him, his hands resting on your ass now. your legs shifted instinctively, knees bracketing his thighs. heat crawled up your spine when he made you press against the bulge in his pants, getting a small whine from you. the ache between your thighs was too strong to ignore now.

you were getting in fact really frustrated.

chris groans into the kiss when he urges you to start grinding against him, the feeling of your warm pussy against his hard cock through your clothes is driving him crazy. your shorts started clinging to you, sticky and damp, and he could feel it with each movement of your hips. he smirked against your mouth, pulling back slightly, his hands gripping your ass tighter, guiding you in rhythm against his hardness. "you gettin' so... fuckin'— wet...—"

your stomach flipped, still rocking your hips in a way that makes you both moan. "shit," you mutter, slowly straightening up, thighs tight around him. one hand grips the front of his shirt, fingers curling in the fabric like you needed it just to stay upright. your eyes slightly unfocused, the pleasure overwhemling, but still locked on his. you already looked wrecked and somehow it makes you even hotter to him.

but chris in this angle, god. eyes half lidded, jaw clenched like he was holding back some noises, brows furrowed. he looked too good and the way he stared at you makes heat pulse down in your stomach.

"you look so fuckin' hot on me right now," he says, voice hoarse with lust. "but if we keep goin' m'gonna cum."

you bite back a smile, now moving your hips in circles, his cock brushing against your clit perfectly. "thought that's what you wanted."

"i mean, yeah, but not in my pants. that's fuckin' embarassing." his hands moved to your hips, urging you to stop moving. "would rather your mouth much more."

oh.

before you could reply, you heard wheels scrape pavement and it makes you snap back into reality, reminding you where you both even are.

"chris, we're in public—"

he scoffed, "no shit." he keeps looking at you, his chest raising and falling rapidly. "dry fuckin' me just two seconds ago and suddenly now remembering where we are?"

"god forbid a girl gets distracted," you roll your eyes, making him smirk.

he slowly sits up, keeping you close and still on him. he looks around, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. "i mean, ya ever did it in a car?"

you weren't strong enough to not agree to this idea.

few second later, the car door slams shut behind you both, cutting off the outside noise like a switch. chris gets comfortable on the backseat, already pushing his jeans down while you slid down between his spread legs. the cramped space barely was giving you space, but you didn't care.

"y'know," he starts as you look up at him, hands moving to his boxers and pulling them down with his help. his dick splits out, already leaking precum. "had a lot of girls on their knees f'me like this, but you look the hottest."

you raised an eyebrow, the corners of your mouth twitching updward. "is this what you tell all of them?" you ask, wrapping your hand around the base and sticking your tongue out to lick the head slowly, collecting the clear liquid there. his hand comes down to the back of your head, not pushing, but letting you know he's still in control.

"nah," he replies, biting on his bottom lip to suppress a sound when you take him into your mouth. "but my dick likes seein' you like this the most for some reason."

heat flashes through you like a jolt, settling low in your belly. after hearing that, you double your efforts, wanting to make sure that what he said was true. you hollowed your cheeks, bobbing your head and taking him deeper until he hits the back of your throat, making you gag. "fuck— just like that... you can take it— you wanted this so now take it."

you hum around him which is enough to make his hips jerk slightly. you pull back for a split second, saliva connecting your lips to his tip, before you give him a kitty lick. "don't stop," he mutters, tilting his head back against the seat as you take all of him again, watching his reactions.

after thinking about this exact situation for past weeks, chris felt like in heaven right now, finally getting what he craved and what no one else could give him lately. there was only one thing he needed more in that moment— your pussy.

he groans, his breath starts to stutter as you keep going, now faster, lips stretching around him. if he could, he would take a picture. "look at you. mouth full of me, tearin' up and gaggin' on my cock."

you let out a soft, muffled sound around him, your things squeezing together involuntarily. he smirks, gripping your hair tighter. "yeah," he mutters, voice a little lower as he begins to struggle. "i knew you like being talked to like that."

by the way your pussy was literally pulsing with need, it was clear that you did like that.

his breath was ragged, every time your mouth moved on him, every flick of your tongue, the way you looked at him while sucking him off, it was all pushing him closer to the edge. it was incredible, finally being able to feel this again, knowing that he'll get the release he craves from you.

he exhales deeply, fingers clenching in your hair, not to guide but stop you. "a'ight, fuck. i can't—" he pulls your head back firmly, his dick sliping out of your mouth with a pop. "what?" you blink, lips swollen. chris grips your wrist, pulling you up. "get over here," he says, voice rough. "need to be inside you right now."

he was supposed to make you wait more for it, but he couldn't torture himself like this, especially that he was struggling to come without you so bad.

you smirked, pulling your shorts down and as he thought— no underwear. he licks his lips unconsciously as you straddle him, exposing your glistening cunt to his gaze. "so, no panties, huh?" he drags the tip of his cock along your folds, making you whimper. "fuck, that's hot. you always walkin' around like that?"

"m-maybe," you stutter when he puts the tip in, getting a soft gasp from you. "you'll never know."

chris lets out a low groan, feeling your tight walls stretching around him inch by inch. this was what he needed. weeks of frustration, of bullshit that didn't work, and now he has you wrapped around him again, and it's like his whole body remembers how to feel again.

"it's like you knew you'd bump into me, not havin' anythin' under that little outfit," he mutters, watching as your pussy swallows his dick completely, until your ass hits his thighs. you felt full. "yeah, 'cause i thought, lemme not wear anything so maybe if i randomly see chris then we'll fuck in my car." you reply sarcastically, gripping his shoulders for support. he grins amused, hands sliding to your hips as he starts guiding your movements. "that's exactly what i thought," he says.

chris thrusts up into you, dragging a choked moan from your throat as he perfectly hits that sweet spot inside of you. "feel that?" he asks, removing your hoodie in one swift motion and exposing your tits to his hungry gaze. "that's what you've been makin' me think 'bout for the past weeks."

you whimper, fingers clutching at his hoodie, head falling back as the pressure builds too fast and too strong. his hands move to your ass, helping you bounce and meeting his thrusts. "yeah, this what you needed, hm?" he mutters, leaning in to press some kisses on your neck. you bite down on your bottom lip, nails digging into his shoulder as he rocks up into you again, making your head spin. "mhm, fuck—" you moan, hand moving to the back of his head, gripping his hair.

"i know i did," he sucks on your skin, marking it. "needed to feel your pussy fuckin' soaked f'me again."

"oh my god, chris— it feels so good—"

every roll of your hips matches with his hard, precised thrusts, his hands using you like he pleases. your tits bounce as you desperately try to speed up the pace, but he doesn't let you. "slower," he groans, squeezing your butt. "want you to feel every inch."

you obeyed, clenching around him, struggling to keep riding, but doing the best you could. the car around you feels too small for the sounds you both were making. the sharp slap of skin, your pussy making squelching noises everytime you slid up and down his cock, the windows had long since fogged up, trapping the heat.

"fuck, you hear that?" his head tipped back as you sank down hard on him again. you whimpered, fingers curling against his chest for balance and he was instantly more feral for it. he bucks up, hitting that spot of yours deeper, his dick throbbing inside you. "doing so well f'me, pretty. keep goin'."

"i'm— m'trying— oh!" you cry out, a smug grin spreads across chris's face at the sound, like it fueled him. your legs were shaking now, not just from how good it felt, but from how long you'd been moving like that. your thighs burned and every time you tried to slow down like he asked, you just ended up riding him harder, chasing that release you were barely holding back from. he felt the way your rhythm got uneven, the little whimpers slipping out louder, the way your hands clutched him like you were falling apart in slow motion.

"legs givin' out already?” he asked mockingly, his cheeks flushed from effort. "can't take it anymore, huh? you poor thing."

you opened your mouth to argue and say something sharp, but it came out as a gasp, when he suddenly stilled you completely, hands tight around your hips again. he shifts, lifting you up just enough to slide himself out, dragging a broken sound from your throat as you clench around nothing. "lemme fuck you properly then."

"chris...."you breathed, voice wrecked.

"yeah, feelin' a lil' empty now? missin' my dick already?" he smirks, guiding you down onto the seat, making you lie back and spread your legs. your pussy dripping with juices, making his cock twitch at the sight. he hovers above you, lining himself back up, but not pushing in yet. "ask nicely," he looks down at you.

your eyes narrow at him, ready to talk back, but when he starts rubbing the tip of his dick against your clit, that's when you completely lose your mind.

"oh— please.... i need it, please chris..."

"need what exactly?"

"you— mhhp, fuck!"

chris pushes back in without a warning, feeling how your pussy sucks him in, until he's buried to the hilt again. your back arches off the seat instantly, mouth falling open, a sharp moan ripping from your throat. he stays still for a moment, smirking while watching you and then he starts moving, deep and slow, like he wanted you to feel it for days. your legs wrapped around his hips instinctively, trying to pull him closer.

"jesus— shit, right...— there...—"

chris's face contorts with intense pleasure as he starts pounding into you, not being able to keep the slow pace, your breasts bouncing with impact. he reaches down, grabbing one of your legs and hooking it over his shoulder to go even deeper. his balls slap against your ass with each powerful thrust. "thaaat's it, take my dick... fuck, you're so tight—" he groans.

your hands clawed at his shoulders, nails dragging down his back even through his hoodie. the combination of his dick hitting perfectly your g-spot, his words and just chris in general, it all makes your toes curl as your orgasm starts building up. you were shaking beneath him, chest raising and falling rapidly, eyebrows furrowed in pleasure.

"you close, huh? can... can feel it, y'know—"

you whimper in response, gripping him like you might fall apart otherwise. you try to hold it, try to breathe through the tension building up in your stomach, but he didn't let up. "chris, i... fuck, i can't— please...."

his thumb finds your clit and when he starts rubbing it, adding to the stimulation, that's when you lose it.

"f-fuck, i'm... oh shit—" you gasp, walls clenching tight around his dick.

"c'mon gorgeous, give it to me."

your whole body seizes, legs trembling, moan breaking free from you. chris watches how your orgasm crashes over you, your cunt gripping him like a vice. he hisses through his teeth, your walls milking him perfectly.

you're a moaning mess, pulsing around him, barely able to think. he doesn't stop, now moving even more erratic, like his desire had taken over, chasing his own release. every thrust sends a fresh jolt through you, eyes barely open and breath shallow.

"chris..." you whine, getting overstimulated.

"i know, ma." he breathes out. "gonna come inside you."

"please," you whimper.

he slams in one last time, his hips twitching, breath catching in his throat. the pressure and frustration of weeks without your pussy, all of it breaking loose at once. he groans, painting your inner walls white as he comes hard, filling you up.

you both stay still for a moment, the only sounds left were your breaths, heavy and tangled, lingering in the thick air of the car. you shifted slightly, coming down from the high, leg still wrapped around his hip, the other one on his shoulder. he hisses at the sensitivity.

"already sore?" you teased, breathless.

he raises an eyebrow, "ya think m'done only 'cos i came once?" he grins lazily, "the night's long, sweetheart."

a/n: i wrote half of it at night while literally falling asleep so if there's any mistakes or something doesn't make sense, y'all know why 😭

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