#who'll be the next in line

[gifs-by-renegadesstuff]

JANE GREY & GUILDFORD DUDLEY in MY LADY JANE, 1x01 “Who'll Be The Next In Line” 🤍

[renegadesstuff]

THE MOMENT HE FELL IN LOVE WITH HER 🥹🤏

[wammypilled]

Been living the kitty cat life (sleeping >14h a day, sipping warm milk) for the past couple of days and i must say. didn't like it as much as I thought I would :\ (might be the 39°C fever part)

[sibbyshark]

Who'll be the next in line

[everrinsly]

a/n; holy spray here! i blame my cousin and tiktok haha, dedicated to all your favorite boys and for those wanting a little spice hehe thank you for reading! I'm sorry been slow again, olympic momager soon I promise, work is slapping my face (ಥ﹏ಥ)

take me back. smut (oral). nsfw. mature. very suggestive. mdni. fem!reader. | not proofread.

“listen baby, i know i was a bad girl... but c'mon, you'd have to be crazy... not to take me back.”

♡ For all your favorites, who'll always take you back.

more of your favorite boys!

more reads!

જ⁀🏐ᯓ⚽⋆⭒˚.⋆🌌

He’s mad. 

You know because he’s... withdrawing.

You can hear the faint hum of the fridge, the muted buzz of the streetlights outside, and the soft thud of your own heartbeat, but you can’t hear him. 

No low music from his usual late-night playlist drifting through the apartment, no lazy hums or absent taps of his fingers against the couch. Not even the casual, familiar call of “hey, pretty girl” that he always tosses your way when you walk in.

Okay, fine.

Admittedly, you deserve it. 

You were supposed to be home three hours ago. Instead, you got stuck at work and forgot to text him. His messages went from “you good?” to “yo?” to a very dry “m’kay baby.”

Which is code for: I’m fucking worried, so I’m not going to make this groveling shit easy for you.

And rightfully so, he did not make it easy for you.

“...Hey,” you murmur softly as you shuffle towards him on the couch. Maybe if you say it gently enough, he’ll look at you the way he usually does—fond because he’s got all the patience in the world for you.

But today, he just gives the barest flicker of a glance before his eyes slide back to his phone. It’s not mean, not sharp… just distant. And somehow, that stings worse.

Your pout deepens, your throat tightening around something awful, and before you can stop yourself, your eyes are welling up. You blink quickly, swiping at them with the back of your hand, hoping he doesn’t see… 

Except maybe you kind of do want him to see.

You drop to your knees between his legs, letting your hands slide up his thighs as you press a lingering kiss to his knee. Then another. And another. The material of his sweats is soft under your lips, but it’s the warmth of him beneath that makes your chest ache.

His fingers pause over his phone screen, and you feel the muscle under you tense.

“Are you really gonna stay mad at me… when I’m down here like this?” you whisper, voice trembling.

He finally looks down at you… really looks. 

And there it is—the shadow of heat behind his eyes, a twitch at the corner of his mouth he tries to suppress. You know that look. You live for that look.

“You crying on my thigh right now?” he asks low, a softness curling under it. “That your master plan?”

Your lip wobbles as you fake another kiss to his thigh, arms wrapping around one of his legs, hugging it. “Maybe…” you sniff, “Is it working?”

He lets out a slow breath; you’re testing his last nerve but he likes being tested. One hand drops to your head, fingers threading through your hair, stroking lazy lines along your scalp.

“Dunno,” he murmurs, thumb brushing the corner of your eye. “Keep kissing me, and I’ll let you know.”

So just to prove a point, you press your lips against the inside of his thigh, shifting just enough that the next kiss lands closer to the heat of him. You skirt over him, hovering right there, letting the tension simmer.

Your hands slide up over his legs, nails grazing lightly through the fabric of his sweats. Every time you feel his muscles tighten under your touch, you bite back a smile.

“Mm,” you hum against him, pretending to think it over, “you really gonna let me work this hard for a little forgiveness?”

He exhales through his nose, head tilting back against the couch, but you don’t miss the way his fingers flex in your hair. “You’re making it… interesting.” 

You smirk, sitting back on your heels just enough to look up at him through your lashes. “I can make it more interesting…”

“Yeah?”

“Listen, baby…” you murmur, dragging your hands slowly up to his hips, “…I know I was a bad girl…”

That earns you a lift of his brows.

“…but c’mon… you’d have to be crazy,” you finish, your voice dipping into something almost sultry, “…not to take me back.”

You watch the way his eyes darken, the subtle shift in his breathing. His hand is still in your hair, thumb tracing lazy, idle circles against your scalp, toying with the idea of pulling you in or letting you sit there and squirm for a little while longer.

But when his mouth twitches, you know you’re not getting off easy. 

“Really, baby?” he taunts. “You think quoting Shark Tale is gonna work on me?”

You hold back a smile. “It’s Lola, though.”

“And?”

“You literally said she was hot,” you remind him, tilting your head. “So, technically, I’m just… playing to my audience.”

“Didn’t say I wanted to be played,” he drawls.

“You also didn’t say you’d mind.”

“You’re lucky you’re cuter than a CGI fish.”

“So… it’s working?”

He huffs a quiet laugh, low in his throat, the kind that says it absolutely was, but he’s not about to admit it. His fingers tighten just slightly in your hair, not enough to hurt, just enough to keep your attention.

“You think you can pout a little, kiss my thighs, bat your lashes, and I’ll just fold?”

Your eyes drop to his lips, and you smile, all sweet and dangerous. “I know you will.”

He leans in, close enough that his nose nearly brushes yours, his voice a whisper now. “Cocky for someone who disappeared all night.”

“I said I was sorry…” you murmur, letting your fingers drag slowly up the line of his abs, teasing. “Thought I could make it up to you.”

He hums, pulling back a little to make you chase the closeness and flashes that lazy, shit-eating grin.

“Gonna take more than ‘pulling a Lola’ and a few thigh kisses, baby.”

Your pout returns, but there’s heat in your eyes now. “Fine,” you challenge, “I’ll try harder.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his mouth tugging into a faint, dangerous smirk. “Do that.”

𝜗ৎ ♡ 𝜗ৎ

You don’t hesitate. Your fingers tug at the waistband of his sweats slowly, and he lifts his hips just slightly—barely a gesture, but it’s permission. The fabric slides down his thighs, and your mouth waters at the sight of him, already hard and heavy, resting against his stomach.

His head tips back against the couch, eyes half-lidded as he watches you from above, his hand still in your hair. “You gonna show me how sorry you are with that pretty mouth?” he murmurs, smirk curling at the edge of his lips.

You meet his gaze through your lashes, your own lips parting just slightly before you lean in, tongue flicking out to trace the underside of his shaft. His breath hitches, fingers tightening in your hair.

You take your time at first: soft licks, open-mouth kisses. You drag your tongue up the length of him, suck gently at the tip, then ease him into your mouth inch by inch, swirling lazy circles as saliva trail after each pull. He twitches in your mouth, and you moan softly around him. Your lips stretch, jaw aches, but you don’t stop.

“Fuck, baby…” he mutters sharply. “You’re so—”

He cuts himself off with a groan when you sink lower, your throat constricting around him. Your hands press against his thighs for leverage, trying to take more, give more, everything all at once.

“—fucking perfect.”

It gets messy fast. Spit slips past your lips. Your jaw’s working, rhythm a little desperate because you need him to feel how badly you want to be forgiven.

And you’re not even pretending to be composed—not when your own hips start rocking subtly against the carpet, your thighs clenching with every low groan he gives you. You’re soaked, throbbing, rutting into nothing, hoping it’ll give you relief. And he sees it.

“You’re grinding like that? On the fuckin’ floor?” he laughs, breathless.

You whimper around him as his hand tightens in your hair, not harsh, just firm enough to make you gasp around him, to pull your mouth off with a wet pop. Your lips are red and swollen, a slick string of spit still connecting you as he leans back and looks down at you. 

You look pitiful; you look like his.

“Please, baby... forgive me?” Your voice comes out wrecked but so achingly sweet.

“Mmh… don’t know if you deserve it yet, baby.” His thumb strokes along your jaw, all condescending. “Look at you—tears in your eyes, drooling, humping the floor… all for my cock? That’s kinda pathetic, isn’t it?”

Your lashes flutter, and you lean in just enough to graze your lips over his tip without taking him fully in. “Mm… maybe. But you like it… don’t you?”

His eyes narrow. “Careful,” he warns. “You’re getting bold.”

You pout, leaning in to press a kiss to the head of his cock, innocent... mocking. “I said I was sorry…” you lilt. “But maybe you just missed me too much.”

His grip in your hair tightens. 

“You really tryin’ to brat your way out of this?” he asks, giving you one last chance to back down.

But you don’t. Of course you don’t.

You smile up at him, infuriatingly smug, and let your tongue trace the vein along his shaft. “Maybe I wanted you to miss me,” you say, breath ghosting against his skin. “Maybe I like when you get like this…”

“Like what?” he asks, voice tighter now.

You blink up at him with faux sweetness and reckless heat.

“Desperate,” you whisper. “Bet if I begged you to fuck my throat and not stop ’til you came, you wouldn’t last a minute.”

And just like that, all his restraint snaps.

You feel it in the sharp exhale from his nose, in the way he yanks you forward again. “So get back to it, baby. I'll take you back when you fuckin’ gag on me.”

[powderpuff-divines]

pick a pile: when love finds you again, how do you wish to be held by it?

what kind of love does your heart yearn for? pick a pile to find out! this is a general reading so not everything may apply to you. only take what resonates and leave the rest. please excuse any grammatical errors or typos. happy reading!!

pile 1 ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

(TW: mentions of bullying, please exercise your own discretion.) seven of wands, queen of swords rev, nine of swords

oh pile one, when love finds you, you'll hiss at its hand the way a stray cat does when someone finally shows it some kindness after experiencing years of living alone on the streets.

people have been cruel to you by way of words and there are still cuts on your soul from that. i'm hearing death by a thousand cuts by taylor swift in my head, more specifically the line 'papercut stings from my paper thin plans.' maybe you made plans with loved ones (friends, family, lovers), went out of your way to do nice things for them and truly treasured them, but then had the gut-wrenching realization that it was not mutual. they could have mocked you for being so sensitive and taking things too seriously. ("oh that? don't tell me you actually thought i was being serious?"). some of you may have been victims of bullying in the past.

so when true, unconditional and kind love finds you, you will not be able to stomach it.

there's a deep level of mistrust and anxiety towards words of sweetness coming from anyone. but when love finds you again, you want do still want its words to be honeyed but true; not a coating of sugar covering rancid intentions.

you could still be beating yourself up for being swayed by other people's words and charms very easily in the past. please stop that. you cannot bully yourself into being better and being stronger. you live and you learn. you cannot be cruel to yourself for falling prey people who were actively trying to mislead you/ cause harm.

when love finds you again, you want its words, true and honest, to wrap you up and hold you in its warmth. to not need to worry about whether it's a ploy to get your trust only to break it again. you want a love so kind that it erases the pain from your past.

pile 2 ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

five of pentacles, seven of wands, knight of pentacles

someone dear to you could have betrayed your trust when it comes to money/finances/assets. for some of you, you do not even wish to acknowledge it or talk about it. 'it happened, i lived. it was miserable but i lived, and i'll never let that happen to me again.' is the type of energy i get from this pile. you could think that there's no point crying over spilled milk.

but that betrayal cut deep. so when love finds you again, you want someone who'll stand right by your side, especially if you go through a tough period like that again (some of you could have even been homeless for a while.)

the people who chose this pile do not necessarily want a flashy kind of love, with dates at the trendiest of places or elaborate gifts/ trips every month. you really want is someone to rely on, a shoulder to lean and cry on and someone who doesn't stab you in the back.

the type of scenario i'm seeing is someone having a breakdown in their dining room trying to balance their checkbook, but your person comes without you even calling for them, squeezes your shoulder, sits down next to you and starts helping you with it.

i feel like there's an emphasis on helping you with it rather than just doing it for you. you could be a very independent person, or maybe you just don't trust someone else to handle things for you again. you want a partner in the literal sense of the word.

(some of you could be thinking 'even if it's someone who doesn't contribute to helping me get back to a good place, i just want someone who won't make it worse. otherwise, i might as well just be alone, right?' and i just want to tell you that please hope for more. you deserve to be loved and taken care of. someone not harming you is just the barest of bare minimum. expect more from your loved ones)

what you really what is someone who'll tell you to hold your head high, put their reassuring hand to your back and guide you. they'll do the scut work with you, they'll make it easier for you to go through the murky waters and not complain about it.

i have a feeling that if someone like that were to actually appear, you would just stare at them for a few moments-- shocked and emotional, but grateful that you get to experience a love like this.

when love finds you again, you wish for it to be steady and unwavering, to hold your hand tight and not let go even once even as it knows that difficult times are ahead. to silently hold an umbrella over your head as it begins raining. to be as comforting as hot cocoa on a cold day. to stay. you want love to be loyal, kind and to stay.

pile 3 ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

(TW: mentions of sexual content. please exercise your own discretion.) ten of cups, page of swords, ten of swords

you want to find the love you've been dreaming of, to get your happy ending, to find the one. you're sick of meeting people who aren't your forever person.

you, out of all three piles, dream of domestic bliss the most. a happy home, a happy family with pets and/or kids. but with the way things have been going, you've become mentally resistant to this dream after so many failed tries and ,if you're aware of it, you hate that. because you never wants to be the type of person who doesn't like love or runs away from love, not after you've spent so long yearning for it.

this could be the pile that daydreams about a soft and romantic love.

the type of love where you're in the kitchen, baking something, and your partner comes behind you, wraps their arms around your waist and kisses your neck as they mutter something that makes your heart skip a beat.

you want someone who won't shut down your ideas, and wants to do fun (and tbh chaotic) stuff with you. you want to go on adventures with this person. (like the way the old couple from Up did when they were young.)

and also really good sex where by the end of it, you're exhausted and completely sated; after which, you lie in your lover's embrace, mindlessly drawing patterns on their skin (they could also do the same for you) with some pillowtalk.

you could also really want to travel to other places with this person and make a lot of memories.

when love finds you again, you wish for it to be in the form of a person in whom you see home. a home for your love, for your joy and smiles. a home that will accept all of it, nurture it and multiply it tenfold. whether it be now, a year later or even decades down the line, you wish to be held in its loving embrace. one could even say you wish to be held by it throughout the ages. you want a love that will transmute the bad days into something easier; a love that will stay forever soft and young as you and your lover grow old and develop wrinkles on your faces (from laughing and having so much joy in your lives.)

i recently decided to join tumblr and was surprised when i discovered that there was a pac community here. it's been super fun going through all the readings here so i thought maybe it would be fun to dip my own toe into it. i had a ton of fun editing the images and this post!! tumblr's so cool. i hope the reading resonated at least a little bit and it was fun to read!

[jungkoode]

FIVE SECONDS TO FREEDOM | PROLOGUE

"debts unpaid"

"In Tokyo's underground, there are only two currencies that matter—respect and reputation. When someone threatens to take both, you don't just race them. You destroy them."

next | index | wc: 3.5k

↦author's note : Soooo here we fucking go. I've been obsessing over this story for months—I think we all know that lmaooo I think I posted the teaser like a couple months ago and I was devastated because it barely got 50 notes. But you know what, this was still in my head so I did write some drabbles—and I kind of shaped the prologue, which is what you're gonna read below hahaha. "But Kiki we just sent you 45 asks telling you to rest" AND I SAID SIKE??? No actually, I'm okay I promise! Usually writing different stories is what prevents me from burning out, because I get frustrated with the same storyline so it's like… I write something else and my brain goes 'yay thanks'. You know, ADHD—shiny new toy, mind dances to the music. Anyways, so. I love this. I love this because as always I get to experiment with different personalities and psychological backgrounds and what I fucking love about these two is the masks they wear and how opposite they are. He's cocky and arrogant, but in a different way FMU!jungkook is. She's determined and ambitious, always pushing for more, but still very distinct from all my other Y/N's because she's handling different situations (you'll see in later chapters). And Hachiroku and Jaque aren't just racing personas—they're escapes. And what makes this delicious is that they're running from opposite lives. One from privilege, one from struggle. Both finding freedom in the same five seconds at the starting line. And yes, the cars matter. They're not just vehicles; they're extensions of identity. The AE86 is legendary for a reason—not the most powerful, but perfectly balanced in the hands of someone who knows exactly what they're doing (sound familiar?). Meanwhile, the R34 Skyline is raw, unapologetic power held in check by someone who understands precisely when to unleash it. AS ALWAYS—READ THE AUTHOR INTRO AND TW listed in the index post. This is a must before reading this story. Fair warning: this isn't going to be a clean race. These characters are messy. They make decisions that will make you want to scream at them. They'll crash into each other's lives and leave debris everywhere, and the kind of attraction that feels like a guardrail giving way on a mountain pass. But that's the point, isn't it? The most interesting stories happen in the dangerous curves. So buckle up. We've got a long road ahead. Ready? Light's about to turn green.

Edit: prologue takes place 6 months before the main storyline!

Respect isn't given in Tokyo's underground—it's paid in cash or blood.

You roll the cherry lollipop against your teeth, counting seconds in your head like engine timing.

Two weeks. Fourteen days. Three hundred and thirty-six hours since you left Kalo and his overpriced Supra in your rearview on the Hakone downhill, his taillights disappearing around the corner while you took the perfect line through the hairpin that everyone else brakes too hard for.

It's nighttime at Daikoku.

You cross one leg over the other, letting your heeled boot dangle casually off the edge of your AE86's hood. The mini skirt wasn't a random choice. Neither was showing up without your racing gear.

Because tonight isn't about driving—it's about collecting.

"Kalo's nowhere to be seen," Maya says, leaning against your car's hood, arms crossed. "Dipped hard."

You don't bother looking at her, just shift the lollipop to the other side of your mouth with your tongue. The neon from nearby signs reflects off the polished black and white paint of your 86.

"What?" Maya catches your expression. "I'm just saying. Word is he's been avoiding this spot since you embarrassed him."

"While still flashing cash at that club in Roppongi," you add, voice flat. "Buying drinks for anyone who'll listen to his bullshit version of what happened on the mountain."

You tug at one of the layered chains around your neck, watching the crowd that's gathered tonight.

The usual suspects are here—wannabes with more money than skill taking photos of each other's cars, veterans huddled around hoods talking suspension setups, scouts looking for the next race.

Everyone except the one person who should be here with your money.

"So what's the plan?" Maya nudges your shoulder. "Just gonna sit here looking pretty until he magically appears?"

You roll your eyes. "Since when do I just sit and wait for anything?"

"Fair point." She grins that wolfish grin of hers. "So?"

"So I track his ass down." You twist the lollipop stick between your fingers. "He owes me fifty thousand yen. But more than that, he owes me the respect of paying up and admitting I smoked him fair and square."

Maya snorts, exactly as you expected. "Called it. Knew you wouldn't let this slide."

"It's not about the money." You straighten up, adjusting your cropped leather jacket. "It's about the principle. You lose a race, you pay your debts. That's how this works. You don't just disappear like some amateur who can't handle defeat."

"Especially not when he talked all that shit beforehand," Maya adds, picking at her black nail polish. "What was it he said again? Something about how no girl could ever handle his—"

"'No girl could handle my power on the downhill,'" you quote dryly. "Right before I passed him on the outside of that corner everyone brakes for."

The memory brings a slight smile to your face.

The shock in his eyes when you appeared in his side mirror where no car should have been able to fit.

The desperate overcorrection that sent him nearly scraping the guardrail while you smoothly accelerated away.

"Exactly." Maya pushes off your hood. "So what's the first move? Hit his usual spots?"

You pull the lollipop from your mouth with a pop. "Already did. Club Seventh in Roppongi. The garage where his uncle works in Setagaya. That ramen shop he's always at in Shibuya."

"Stalker much?" Maya raises an eyebrow.

"Thorough," you correct her. "There's a difference."

A brief silence falls between you as you both watch a metallic blue GT-R roll into the lot, bass thumping hard enough to vibrate the pavement.

Not Kalo's crowd—these guys run with the Yokohama crew.

"Kenji might know," you say finally, referring to your mutual friend who somehow knows everyone's business in Tokyo's racing scene. "He mentioned Kalo's been hanging around some new spot in Meguro the past week."

Maya pulls out her phone. "Want me to text him now?"

"Already did." You tap your boot against the bumper of your car. "He's supposed to meet us here in—" you check the time on your wrist "—fifteen minutes ago."

"Typical." Maya rolls her eyes. "That guy couldn't be on time if his life depended on it."

You're about to respond when you spot a familiar face weaving through the crowd. Kenji, with his signature sunglasses despite it being well past midnight, making his way toward you.

You straighten up slightly, not wanting to appear too eager for information.

"Ladies," he greets with that irritating smirk of his, adjusting his sunglasses even though there's absolutely no need. "Looking dangerous tonight, Y/N. Someone's not here to race."

"Just tell me what you know about Kalo," you say, cutting through his bullshit.

Kenji leans against your car without asking—a liberty you allow only because he's useful.

"Direct as always. That's what I like about you."

"Kenji," you warn, patience already wearing thin.

"Fine, fine." He holds up his hands in surrender. "Your boy's been hanging at this new garage in Meguro. Place called Midnight Rush. Trying to get in with that crew that runs the Wangan on weekends."

You raise an eyebrow. "The twins' territory? That's desperate even for him."

"After what you did to his reputation?" Kenji shrugs. "Man's gotta find somewhere to start over."

Maya laughs. "Not how this works. You don't just reset when you lose."

"Exactly." You shift your weight, boot heels clicking against the pavement. "So he's there tonight?"

"Should be. They're prepping for some big run tomorrow. Word is there's serious money changing hands. He's trying to buy his way in."

The conversation halts as the distinctive growl of an approaching engine cuts through the night.

Not just any engine—something with a tune you've never heard before.

Sharp. Aggressive. Perfectly balanced.

Heads turn as a midnight purple Skyline R34 GT-R glides into the parking area, before coming to a stop under the harsh parking lot lights.

"Who the hell is that?" Maya straightens up, suddenly alert.

Kenji's expression shifts from boredom to interest in an instant—a rare change for him. "New player. Goes by Jaque."

You study the car, assessing rather than admiring.

Aftermarket body kit, but tasteful. Custom wheels. The stance is aggressive but functional.

Whoever built this wasn't just throwing money at it—they knew exactly what they were doing.

"Jaque?" you repeat, keeping your voice neutral despite your curiosity. "What kind of name is that?"

"Latino guy. Showed up about a month ago." Kenji lowers his voice, shifting into the gossip mode he lives for. "Been cleaning up. Undefeated so far."

Your eyebrow rises slightly at that.

Undefeated is a bold claim in this scene.

"Never heard of him," Maya says, voicing what you're thinking.

"That's because he's been running mostly on the Wangan line. Outrunning cops, taking stupid risks. The kind of shit that gets you noticed fast." Kenji's eyes remain fixed on the car. "Word is he beat Hayato's record on the C1 loop last week."

That gets your attention, though you're careful not to show it.

Hayato's record has stood for three years.

This guy has broken it in a month.

Who the fuck is this?

Your question is answered when the driver's door opens, and the crowd's murmur intensifies. A figure emerges, oozing the confidence of someone who knows they belong anywhere they choose to be.

Not tall, but with a presence that fills the space around him. Dark hair, sharp jawline, and a smirk that suggests he's already three steps ahead of everyone else.

"He drives like he's got nothing to lose," Kenji adds, a note of genuine respect in his voice that you rarely hear. "Like he doesn't care if he crashes or dies. It's... I don’t know man. Something else."

You watch as the driver—Jaque, apparently—leans back against his Skyline, surveying the crowd like he's taking inventory.

His gaze sweeps across the parking lot, until it lands on your group.

Or more specifically, on you.

He gives you a small nod, as if acknowledging territory.

"Looks like you've got an admirer," Maya mutters, nudging your ribs.

You shrug, unimpressed. "Looks like another ego with a nice car."

But you don't look away, and neither does he. It's a standoff of sorts, neither willing to be the first to break eye contact.

You've played this game before with countless racers who thought they were hot shit.

You've never been the first to look away.

"Don't dismiss him so quickly," Kenji warns, surprising you. "I've seen him drive. I’m dead serious, it’s not normal."

"Nobody's unbeatable," you say, finally breaking the staring contest to look back at Kenji.

Just because you had to look back at Kenji.

"Maybe." Kenji shifts uncomfortably. "But this guy... he doesn't race like a normal person. It's like he's got some kind of death wish, but with the skill to back it up."

You scoff, though something about Kenji's tone—the genuine concern beneath his usual bullshit—gives you pause.

"Death wish or not, a car's a car, and physics is physics. There are rules to this game that nobody breaks."

Maya's watching you with that knowing look she gets when she can tell someone's gotten under your skin, even just a little.

"You want to find out, don't you?"

"I want to find Kalo and get my money," you correct her, though your eyes drift back to the Skyline against your will. "That's why we're here."

You scoff at Maya's knowing smirk, about to tell her to shut it when fragments of conversation float over from where the newcomer stands. One word cuts through the ambient noise of engines and chatter.

Kalo.

Your head snaps toward the source.

The Skyline guy—Jaque—leans against his car, talking to a small circle of racers. His hands move expressively as he speaks, gold bracelet catching the neon light.

"Kenji." You cut him off mid-sentence. "Who exactly is this guy talking to?"

Kenji follows your gaze. "Nobody important. Some Yokohama kids trying to get noticed." He adjusts those stupid sunglasses. "Why?"

"He just mentioned Kalo."

Maya straightens beside you. "You sure?"

No mistaking it. Not when you've been hunting that name for two weeks.

"Excuse me," you say, already moving.

Maya sighs behind you. "Here she goes again."

You don't look back. Your boots click purposefully across the pavement, moving slowly. Not rushing—you never rush. But determined.

Three guys surrounding Jaque glance up as you approach, their expressions shifting from interest to wariness. They know who you are.

He doesn't turn immediately. Keeps talking, voice carrying a rhythm unlike anything you've heard in Tokyo. An accent that doesn't belong here.

Only when you're close enough to count the stitches on his leather jacket does he acknowledge your presence.

And even then, it's just a partial turn. Forty-five degrees. Neck cradling slightly to look at you sideways.

Performative, if anything. Like he knew you were coming before you did.

You cross your arms, weight shifting to one hip. His mouth twitches upward at the corner, eyes traveling from your face down to your boots and back up again.

Not subtle about it at all.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this sight?" Velvet slides from his lips.

One eyebrow quirks upward, the slightest movement. His Japanese is fluent but different—consonants softened, vowels stretched in places they shouldn't be.

You narrow your eyes. "You mentioned Kalo. What do you know about him? What's your relationship?"

He studies you for two full seconds. Not answering. Just looking. Like he's trying to read something written in small print.

Then he chuckles, using two fingers to move a thin strand of dark hair that's fallen across his view. The movement is unnecessary. Theatrical. Done for effect.

"Why so serious, princesa?"

It’s Spanish, the last word. You know that much, know from the way the word rolls off his tongue, deliberate, inserted where it doesn't belong. Like he’s testing boundaries, hoping for a reaction.

"I asked you a question." You keep your voice unimpressed.

"And I asked you one too."

He turns to face you fully now, leaning back against his car with the casualness of someone who's never been afraid of anything.

"But since you came all this way... Kalo. The Supra guy, right? The one who races like he learned driving from a video game?"

The description is so accurate you almost smile.

Almost.

"I hear he owes someone money," he continues, watching your reaction carefully. "Someone who smoked him on the mountain course two weeks back. Embarrassed him so badly he's been hiding like a scared rabbit."

His three companions take subtle steps backward, no longer interested in being part of this conversation.

Smart.

Maya appears beside you, silent backup. Though her presence changes nothing in his demeanor.

"And how would you know about that?" you ask.

He shrugs one shoulder.

"People talk. I listen." His accent thickens when he adds, "Es lo que hago." (It’s what I do)

"Is that right?" You don't react to the Spanish. "Interesting that someone who just showed up knows so much about other people's business."

"I'm observant."

His eyes lock with yours.

"For example, I observe that you're not here to race tonight. That outfit? Those heels?" He clicks his tongue. "You're here to collect. To make a point."

Something cold slides down your spine. Not fear—you don't do fear. Something else.

Being read so easily isn't a sensation you're familiar with.

"What's your name again?" You ask it like you've already forgotten, though you haven't.

"Jaque." He says it with a slight emphasis on the second syllable. "And you're Y/N. The 86 driver who hasn't lost a mountain race in what, two years?"

"Nineteen months," Maya corrects automatically.

You shoot her a look.

Jaque's smile widens. "Nineteen months. Impressive."

"If you're done wasting my time," you say, turning slightly, "I have a debt to collect."

"From a guy who isn't here."

He pushes off his car, closing the distance between you by half a step. Not enough to be threatening. Just enough to make his presence unavoidable.

"And won't be. Not tonight," he adds.

"And you know that how?"

"Because I passed him on the expressway heading in the opposite direction. About twenty minutes ago." He taps his wrist where a watch would be. "Running scared, looked like."

You clench your jaw. If he's telling the truth, you've wasted your night. Another dead end in your hunt for the coward who owes you.

"So you just happened to recognize a stranger's car?" Maya asks, skepticism heavy in her voice.

"A white Supra with that terrible aftermarket body kit and the Rising Sun decal on the hood?" He makes a dismissive gesture. "Hard to miss. Hard to forget, unfortunately."

That description matches Kalo's car exactly; and the sick feeling in your stomach tells you he's not lying, as much as you'd like him to be.

"Well," you say, voice cooling by several degrees, "thanks for the information."

You turn to leave, disgusted at having your time wasted. First by Kalo's absence, now by this newcomer who clearly just wanted to get your attention. Another night, another waste.

"I'll pay you double what he owes you."

The words stop you mid-step.

You turn back slowly, measuring every movement.

"Excuse me?"

Jaque's expression hasn't changed, but something in his eyes has.

They’re gleaning.

"Fifty thousand yen, right? I'll make it a hundred." He says casually, like offering to buy a coffee. "If you beat me."

Maya makes a small sound beside you, something between a scoff and a laugh.

"And why would I race someone I don't know for money I don't need?"

You almost laugh. As if this is about the money. You were born into more yen than he’s ever seen—this is about respect. About principle. About owning your loss when someone beats you clean. No excuses. No saving face. Just bow your head and pay what you owe.

But he’s not done.

"Because you're curious." He says it like it's obvious. "Because you've been the best for nineteen months and you're bored. Because you want to know if I'm as good as they say."

"As good as who says?" You roll your eyes. "I've never heard of you before tonight."

"Then I must be doing something right." His smile shifts, becomes syrupy. "But if money doesn't motivate you, how about this—I win, I get to run with your crew. Race in your territory."

You can't help it—you laugh. Short and dismissive.

"That's not how this works. You don't just buy your way in." Your eyes flick to his car. "No matter how pretty your GT-R is."

"I'm not buying," he corrects, that accent slipping into his Japanese again. "I'm earning. Difference."

You narrow your eyes.

Maya leans close to your ear. "You're not seriously considering this?"

You should walk away. This guy is nobody. A newcomer with a nice car and too much confidence. The racing scene sees them every month. They come, they crash, they disappear.

But.

Something about the way he stands there, utterly certain of himself, gets under your skin.

Like he already knows your answer before you do.

And maybe it's the wasted night. Maybe it's two weeks of hunting Kalo with nothing to show for it. Maybe it's just the need to put someone in their place.

"One race," you hear yourself say.

Maya's head whips toward you in surprise.

"One race," you continue, "and when I win, you pay double what Kalo owes me, and you don't bother me again."

"And when I win," he counters, not missing a beat, "I race with your crew. Simple."

"If," you correct.

"When." He doesn't back down.

One calculated step closer brings his scent into focus. Leather, naturally, but beneath it something that doesn't compute. A scent that belongs to ryokan inns and meditation halls, not this arrogant foreigner.

Hinoki.

"You're awfully confident for someone who knows nothing about me or how I drive."

"And you're awfully defensive for someone who's supposedly unbeatable." His voice drops lower, meant for your ears only. "What are you afraid of, princesa?"

The Spanish word again. A barb. Challenging.

"Afraid?" You match his tone. "I'm trying to save you the embarrassment. And the money."

He laughs, so genuine that it catches you off guard. "So it's settled then. You and me. Tonight."

From the corner of your eye, you see Kenji approaching, drawn by the developing scene. Others are watching too.

Word travels fast in this world.

"Fine." You extend your hand, a formality in this world of verbal contracts. "My terms. My course."

He takes your hand. His grip is firm but not aggressive. Just right. His palm warm against yours.

"Your course," he agrees. "But I pick when."

You raise an eyebrow. "When, then?"

His smile widens, showing teeth. "Now."

Death has a rhythm.

Tonight, it sounds like Daddy Yankee.

The mountain is yours—every curve, every shadow, every inch of guardrail. You've memorized each crack in the asphalt like the lines on your palm.

Yet as you sit at the starting line, engine purring, the midnight purple Skyline beside you blasts "Gasolina" loud enough to vibrate your windows.

He's not even looking at the road.

Jaque's got hand on the wheel, the other tapping the window frame in rhythm.

Kenji stands between the cars, arms raised.

You grip your steering wheel tighter.

Focus. Calculate. This is your mountain. Your rules.

"Ready!" Kenji shouts.

You check your gauges, settle into position, drop your breath rate. Your 86 is an extension of your body.

"Set!"

Jaque turns to you—actually turns his head away from the road—and winks.

Winks.

What the fuck is his problem?

Your jaw clenches so hard you hear teeth grinding.

"GO!"

You snap into the first gear immediately, launching forward as your tires bite into asphalt. Perfect traction. Perfect release. Your 86 shoots ahead exactly as calculated, exactly as it always does.

The Skyline stays even.

First corner approaches—tight right-hander with a nasty camber that catches amateurs by surprise. You brake at the perfect moment, downshift, feel the weight transfer as you clip the apex.

Textbook. Flawless. The corner you've taken hundreds of times.

The Skyline mirrors you exactly, staying in your blind spot. The bass from his music is still thumping through the night air.

Second corner. Third. Fourth. Each attack perfect, each line immaculate. And still, he's there. Not gaining, not falling behind. Just... present. Like a shadow you can't shake.

"What the hell is this guy playing at?" You mutter, taking the next hairpin with a controlled aggression that should give you an advantage.

Should.

Doesn't.

The Skyline follows, its midnight paint swallowing the moonlight instead of reflecting it. Through the next three corners, it continues—you lead, he follows, neither gaining ground.

Until the straightaway.

The road opens up, and you floor it. The 86 responds instantly, pushing you back into your seat. This is where your lighter weight should shine.

But the Skyline surges forward, twin-turbo engine unleashing a growl that slices the night.

He passes you.

Not aggressively. Not dangerously.

Just... efficiently.

Like it's the most natural thing in the world.

For the first time in nineteen months, you're staring at someone else's taillights.

"No fucking way."

You push harder, finding speed you rarely tap into. The gap closes slightly on the approach to the next corner—a sharp left with a cliff drop on the outside.

No guardrail. No room for error.

Normal people brake early here.

Jaque, as it turns out, is not normal people.

You don't brake until the last possible microsecond, throwing the 86 into the corner. The tires scream, traction at its absolute limit. You can feel them searching for grip, dancing on the edge of adhesion.

You exit the corner a car length behind him.

"Come on!" You slam the gearshift, pushing for more.

The next section is technical—five corners in quick succession. Your territory.

It's where precision matters more than power.

You close the gap. Corner by corner, inch by inch. Three more and you're on his bumper. Close enough to see his fingers still tapping against the frame slightly to the rhythm.

The next hairpin is your chance. The inside line is risky—there's barely enough room—but it's your mountain.

You know exactly how much space you need.

You dive for the gap.

For one beautiful moment, you're alongside him. Equal. Your front bumper inches past his door.

Then he does something impossible.

Instead of defending the line—instead of doing what any rational driver would do—Jaque throws his car into a drift so aggressive it sends the back end swinging wide, nearly touching the guardrail.

The move creates an arc that cuts you off, forces you to brake or crash.

You brake.

The maneuver costs him speed, should give you another chance to pass on exit.

But before you can capitalize, he's already accelerating out of the drift, the Skyline's all-wheel drive finding traction where none should exist.

"What the actual—"

The move was insane. Suicidal. The kind of thing that ends with twisted metal and sirens.

And he pulled it off like he was parallel parking.

For the final stretch—three corners and the last straightaway—you throw caution aside. Push beyond limits you usually respect. The 86 responds, giving everything it has.

It's not enough.

The Skyline crosses the finish line two car lengths ahead. You slam your palm against the steering wheel.

The taste of defeat is metallic in your mouth, foreign and despised.

You bring the 86 to a hard stop, tires protesting at the sudden deceleration.

The music still pounds from his car. That same goddamn song.

You throw open your door, adrenaline and anger propelling you forward. The cool mountain air hits your flushed face as you storm toward his car.

Because that last move? It wasn't just reckless—it was deadly. The kind of stunt that gets people killed on these mountains.

Words build in your throat. Sharp words. Words about respect for the mountain and death wishes and arrogance.

His door swings open as you approach. The music blasts louder without the barrier of glass and metal. He slides out with that same casual grace you saw when he called you princesa, when he winked before accelerating.

And something stops the words in your throat.

He shakes his head slightly, dark hair falling across his eyes before he pushes it back with one smooth motion. His other hand remains on the Skyline's roof, some golden ring catching the moonlight.

When he turns to face you, there's no triumph in his expression. No arrogance.

Just... satisfaction.

Like he's found something he's been looking for.

His eyes meet yours across the short distance. That smile appears again—not the cocky smirk from earlier, but something more genuine. Lips curved just slightly at the corners.

"Thanks for the adrenaline rush, mami," he says, voice carrying over the pounding beat of Daddy Yankee.

You've never hated Spanish music more in your life.

next | index

taglist: @cannotalwaysbenight @taevescence @itstoastsworld @somehowukook @stutixmaru @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @annyeongbitch7 @mar-lo-pap @mikrokookiex @minniejim @curse-of-art @cristy-101 @mellyyyyyyx @rpwprpwprpwprw @jkrailme @graydolan12

© jungkoode 2025 | banner/div credit: @dailynnt no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[gifs-by-renegadesstuff]

JANE GREY & GUILDFORD DUDLEY in MY LADY JANE, 1x01 “Who'll Be The Next In Line” ❤️

[renegadesstuff]

THEY ARE SO MANY TROPES IN ONE SHIP 🥹🤍

[thankskenpenders]

I have to admit that the more we see from CrossWorlds, the less enthusiastic I am about it. Mostly thanks to all the crossover DLC.

Early on, following its announcement and the public playtest, CrossWorlds was pitched as this big celebration of Sonic in kart racing form. A big roster of characters, a bunch of tracks based on locations across the series, even the return of the Babylon Rogues and Extreme Gear for Riders fans. It seemed like it was doing everything right.

And then they started announcing the crossovers.

First they announced the first few Sega guest characters who'll be added for free. And that was fine. That made sense. It's all Sega stuff, and seeing Ichiban and Miku racing against Sonic characters is funny.

And then right after that, they announced... Minecraft. Minecraft Steve will be in the Sonic racing game, along with a whole Minecraft track, as part of the season pass that's being announced months before the game is even out. It seemed very arbitrary, just doing a crossover with something super popular as a marketing stunt.

And then, as had been previously leaked, we got the SpongeBob announcement. SpongeBob and Patrick will be in the new Sonic racing game, along with a Bikini Bottom track. And like, yeah, I love those first few seasons of SpongeBob as much as the next late-gen millennial, but does that mean I think SpongeBob makes sense to include here? No. And later in the season pass we'll also be getting TMNT and Avatar crossovers, because of course we are. Nick characters are literally half of the season pass. I will admit that the turtles are a good fit for Sonic, but the rest? Come on. But please be sure to pay $90 USD to get the Digital Deluxe Edition so you can play as Aang, everyone!

The current fan favorite (Sega-developed) Sonic kart racer, All-Stars Racing Transformed, also had its fair share of random third party guest characters. I didn't mind it there. The difference to me is that the selection there was so random and asinine that it was kind of charming, and easy to ignore. Including Danica Patrick, Wreck-It Ralph, and one of the guys from the YogsCast in a Sonic racing game was so stupid that it was funny. It was also easy to ignore in a game that already had such a hodgepodge crossover roster.

But here it feels cynical. It's a generic corporate synergy move in what was pitched as purely a Sonic game. Viacom will shove SpongeBob, the turtles, and Aang into every game they can as cosmetic DLC, from Fortnite to Fall Guys to Smite and beyond. We're not getting these characters because someone at Sega thought they'd be the best fit for Sonic, but rather because Viacom owns the Sonic movies and they wanted to do cross-promotion of their Most Valuable IP with Sega. This wasn't a decision made by a creative, it was made by a boardroom. And also they had to do it on the cheap, I guess, because they couldn't pay to get Tom Kenny or Bill Fagerbakke to provide voice lines, or even get the rights to use stock clips of theirs. So SpongeBob and Patrick are just going to be mute in this racing game that places a huge emphasis on having a ton of voice lines and interactions for the Sonic cast. There's a very real chance we're just gonna see lobbies full of mute crossover characters when playing online. Sonic is simply a part of the Viacom corporate machine now, whether we like it or not. And Minecraft is here because it's the most popular game in the world and its movie just made almost a billion dollars, I guess.

It just feels like it's watering down the identity of the game so much. I like Fortnite, but I don't need every other game in the world to turn into Fortnite with all these corporate crossovers. It's fucking exhausting. I won't go as far as going "slot crisis" mode here and assume that these DLC characters have taken slots from other characters I'd rather see included, but like... If the game comes out and Tangle and Whisper aren't in it, but SpongeBob is? Sorry, but you're never going to hear the end of it from me lmao

(I know fans have already datamined an Extreme Gear for Whisper that seems to point to their inclusion, but that's not exactly a confirmation. It could literally just be the Extreme Gear thrown in as a nod to the comics and nothing else. Also now that we have all these mute crossover characters part of me worries that they wouldn't even bother casting voice actresses for them, which is half the reason why I'd be excited to see them in a game in the first place. I know it's a whole different rights situation with the Nick characters, but still, the thought is in my head.)

So yeah. I dunno. It'll probably still be decent. But these last few announcements have kind of killed the excitement for me.

At least I still have Ring Racers.

[aneurins-barnard]

EMILY BADER as JANE GREY and EDWARD BLUEMEL as GUILDFORD DUDLEY MY LADY JANE Episode 1 Who'll Be the Next in Line?

[blxksun]

18+, minors and ageless blogs dni

storemanager!choso who really doesn't know how he got this position other than being an employee for a while.

storemanager!choso who tends to stay in the office because he really couldn't be bothered to interact with people who'll believe they're right, despite asking for him to try to get him on their side when his employees/coworkers, said the same thing he's about to say.

storemanager!choso who thought he was doing a good deed hiring you for the summer, because you plead your case mid-interview, despite the fact that you went to college in some other city and would leave in about a month leading him right back to having to interview.

storemanager!choso who lets his employees break certain rules, because you weren't being paid enough anyway and he didn't think it would be fair since he makes money just sitting around. truly he really doesn't know how he got this position or why he hasn't been fired.

storemanager!choso who despite being lax, is really big on making sure one rule in particular is followed, no fraternization.

storemanager!choso who has to pretend he doesn't find you attractive (even though it played a big role in his hiring decision) and that he doesn't know you feel the same way.

storemanager!choso who lets you teeter the line anyway, because you'll be gone soon and it won't be considered fraternization.

storemanager!choso who waits until you hand in your two weeks notice, to engage back in your efforts of seduction.

storemanager!choso who tells you to go on break on your last day and joins you in the break room.

storemanager!choso who finally addresses the elephant in the room, which leads to you laid out on the breakroom table, thighs spread so far and held there as he lets his mouth ruin you, two long fingers curling just right, and getting to hear the name only you dared to call him on company time in the whiniest voice "mmm~ cho"

storemanager!choso whose cock is so hard now that it hurts and there's no way he can tell you no when you ask him in the most fucked out voice to put it in.

storemanager!choso who can still hear the squelch! squelch! of your now terribly achy, but in a good way, pussy. still see your beautiful face when you creamed all around him. and as you clock out for the last time, can't help but hope you'll apply again next summer.

blxksun2025 do not copy or translate my works. happy reading !

a/n this idea has been plaguing my mind, and i might just make it a thing for the others too. here is suguru. here is satoru.

[mysteryshoptls]

Idia Shroud Chat Lines

The King of the Underworld's System

Idia: A-Apparently, the King of the Underworld made a system that'll automatically keep track of the number of dead souls. Idia: Doesn't that feel super advanced for that mythic era? Idia: That's why I def think it's best to have a forward-thinking mind to clue into the newest stuff. Idia: Th-That's why I bet it'd be more efficient to have an AI be a Housewarden, 'stead of a human... Idia: I can set up a perfect program for it and everything... You sure I can't?

An Admired Idol

Idia: I-Ignihyde's dorm emblem...? It's portraying a Cerberus. Idia: I see it popping up in a ton of games as the last boss, but actually, it first appeared in the Underworld. Idia: Try not to forget that. Idia: The King of the Underworld definitely had a massive cheat code active with an OP pet like that. Idia: He's way too cool. An admired idol of all middle schoolers everywhere! Idia: ...Eh, they don't admire him...? Idia: How dare they not understand his appeal... Idia: Aaand this is why I don't get what goes on in a normie's head...

Good at Dealing with Women

Idia: I heard the King of the Underworld was good at dealing with women... Idia: Some still talk about how he'd coax the goddesses into giving him info he wanted. Idia: Plus, he even had a beautiful lady working for him, too. Almost like a normie! Idia: I mean, like whenever I'm playing a dating sim... Idia: I usually can figure out how the algorithm works and just do a speedrun clear. Idia: [sigh] ...Saying that out loud just made me feel lame.

A Little Too Generous? (New!)

Idia: There's a story about how the King of the Underworld encouraged a hardworking young man to take a nice break from it all... Idia: He'll let others rest while continuing to do all the hard work himself, isn't that a little too generous? Idia: Although, speaking of breaks, there's a ton of guys in my dorm who'll skip class a bunch. Idia: But it's not like they're just skiving off just 'cause they can. They're all just super focused on their own interests. Idia: You know how it is, you get into the groove of some kind of research or task and you just don't want to drop everything... Idia: So it's OK by me if classes get skipped. That's why our dorm embodies the spirit of diligence, 'cause we do whatever needs done.

The Underworld was a Gloomy Place

Ortho: Nii-san, wanna go to an amusement park on our next day off? Ortho: I bet it'd be more fun than just sitting in a dark room all day! Idia: Ortho... The Underworld was a gloomy place with no sun, and definitely no amusement parks. Idia: But even then, the King of the Underworld never forgot his sense of humor or his ability to laugh. Idia: It's all about what's in your mind. Idia: So, just because I'm holed up in my dark and cramped room it doesn't mean my life is boring. Ortho: If you say so... Then, we'll go to an amusement park when you're feeling up to it more... Idia: .........If you're okay with a VR amusement park, I can program something up over the weekend. Ortho: C'mon, that just defeats the purpose～!

Consume Content of my Faves (New!)

Idia: Yaaawn... I couldn't stop re-watching Premo vids on a loop last night and ended up staying awake too late. Idia: Ortho told me to go to sleep earlier, but I can't life means nothing if I can't consume content of my faves. Idia: But lately, whenever Premo says they have some kind of "big announcement," I can feel my heart leap up my throat in anxiety... Azul: I see. It would make sense that any sort of "big announcement" nowadays could mean the group is breaki... Idia: Azul-shi, don't say anything else! If it's spoken aloud, it could really happen! Idia: Like you know how they say the Thorn Fairy's curse on the spinning wheel was so strong... Idia: That the curse cheat code could be activated just by touching it? Idia: Just like that spinning wheel, there are some topics you should just never ever ever touch! Azul: How cumbersome... Yes, it does seem that I've touched on something that should not have been disturbed, in more ways than one.

Guess the Truth just Slipped Out, LOL (New!)

Azul: Idia-san, you may currently be winning, but I doubt you can still afford to be looking away from the board and reading the game box. Idia: Oh no, oh my, how could I? Boredom was just creeping in 'cause of how long you're making me wait. Idia: Looks to me like you're stuck and I'm p. sure a comeback's near impossible, so why don'tcha just suck it up and give in? Azul: Impossible? The outcome is still unknown. I shall never surrender. Idia: They say that a beautiful girl with skin as white as snow once wished upon a well. Idia: How 'bout you go and wish upon the courtyard well, begging it to let you win against me? Idia: Maybe then, by some miracle, you'll be able to pull a win out of nowhere! Idia: Whoops, shouldn't've called you winning a miracle, huh! Guess the truth just slipped out, LOL. Azul: Once you start talking, you just won't stop, do you...? Azul: Please go back to staring at the box and silencing yourself forever.

Requested by @monavitty

[bunny-jpeg]

kink-o-ween - day twenty-one

toto wolff - degradation kink

cw: smut/pwp, dom/sub, age gap (20/50), bratty!reader, groping, dirty talk/degrading language, doggy style, hair pulling

kink-o-ween master-list

toto tapped his foot as he watched you by your joyful self. while another man would find it endearing, but not the older, wiser toto wolff. he had over two decades over you, he could see the tricks of a dumb little girl.

"treasure." he said, standing up a little straighter. so you'll look away from your flirty interaction with the mechanic next to you and towards your lover. but when you didn't he whistled to your like you were a dog.

and like an obedient puppy, you looked over. you perked up with shock and toto just grinned.

you were on your stomach in the your hotel room with your shirt (toto's shirt) pulled up and exposed your round ass to the older man. your panties were still on but pulled past the cheeks to give toto a lot of room to grope and feel. toto wasn't a gentle lover, it wasn't in him to do so. the years made him yearn for a squirming younger lover who he could twist to his liking.

and you in turn loved when older men spoke down to you and bullied you and your cunt into an absolute submission. to be marked and in away owned by an older man. especially a man like him. his words were often filthy, degrading you until you were a whimpering mess. your words of defense died on your tongue which only spurred him on.

"you are a bad girl." he looked at you like you were a piece of meat. "nothing but a whore, but i guessed i'm not wrong about that. you only care about cock. you are cock hungry." he grabbed your cheek roughly and your back arched.

you replied, "no, no." you tried to squirm out of his grasp, but he kept you onto the bed. toto wouldn't let you get that far away from him.

"yes, yes, schatzi." you are a little slut. you love the attention of older men. any man who'll look at you." his voice was a growl and you felt the reverberations through your body.

you whimpered at his words and you were forced to tilted your head to the side to let him kiss your neck. it made you shiver.

"but, it's okay." he said before he laid a smack on your ass. he was in an undershirt and his dark briefs. and you were just in the shirt and panties. near naked on the lavish bed. he pressed more kisses against you before he took the shirt off of your body. his lips trailed down your back, "it's okay that you're a whore. because you're my slut. beautiful little slut."

you squirmed, but when toto let go of you, you didn't move away. he stripped himself of his clothes. you felt his hungry gaze on you as you raised your hips a little higher. he made a soft groaning noise.

you reached behinf yourself and got your panties down your ass and exposed your slick, sweet pussy to him.

"so well behaved. maybe too well behaved." he said which made you moan, "maybe it's time to put my treasure on a tighter leash." and he lined his cock with your pussy and sank down into you to the base. he felt perfectly, after all the times, he had to work your pussy to accommodate him. you were made perfect for his heavy cock now.

now he could get into you with ease.

"no one else could fuck you right, not like me." he said his volume was a little lower, but the tone was stern. it made your toes curl.

toto yanked your hair to pull your head away from the soft pillows. he asked, "now, schatzi. wirst du dich benehmen? you'll be a good girl for me?" you knew enough german to understand the question.

you nodded, "yes, i will be good for you." you whined, then he grasped your hair a little tighter. you whined, "fuck, honey."

"word words are music to my ears. i know you enjoy when i touch you like this. when i call you named, when i'm mean. i bet you tell all your friends about how spoiled you are."

your head was dropped back towards the covers while toto fucked you with a feverish pace. he was in control and you loved it. the domineering presence of his movements made you feel hot.

he continued to rut up inside of you. he was pulled in by your sweet noises, to egg him on. your sweet noises and sweeter cunt.

"schatzi." he said, a voice like honey as he hit the deepest parts of you. his cock bullied up into you. he saw you try to grasp the covers. the next time he'd bind your arms behind your back.

the pleasure bled into your core and it left you breathless. your were near drooling on the sheets. your back arched further as you felt the wetness between your legs grow.

"i need you, i want you. and i don't want anyone else to have you. you're mine. to sink my teeth into you. i have to find a way to keep me from flirting with you. a ring, maybe? a collar? maybe the scent of my cum on your breath."

his words only turned you on further and you pathetically gasped into the sheets. the pleasure was all so much and you loved it.

"please, toto." you whined. you very being yearned for him. you moaned and the pleasure overrode everything else in your head. you could feel the throb in your core, maybe toto's words were true. that you were a slut, but you were only toto's slut. no one else's.

"perfect for me." he said, "beyond words." it only sent you over the head. pleasure gripped you and you climaxed.

"please, toto!" you moaned loudly as you felt the pleasure grip you and radiate through your body.

toto was further aroused and pushed further into you. he got you to an angle that made you see stars. he fucked you until he got every inch inside of you with a final thrust. he finished inside of you. he panted heavily through his nose and he moved you up and down on his cock a few more times.

he curled over you and kissed your sweaty back while you basked in the after shivers of sex. when he finished kissing you, he laid out beside you on the bed. you grabbed him by the face to kiss him while you both laid in bed together. he draped an arm around your waist.

"am i a slut?" you asked.

he pushed your hair and kissed your forehead, "mmm, schatzi. you may be something. but i know regardless of how much you flirt. you will always end up in my bed at the end of the day. because you are mine." <3

[emma-ofnormandy]

#lust at first sight My Lady Jane 1.01- 'Who'll Be Next in Line'

[rubysunnday]

MY LADY JANE 101 - Who'll Be The Next In Line? 104 - Bluebird Is Dead