#Visible Trunks

[malfnction-54]

right after the sun set

[galewindstudios]

Tiffany wishes everyone a Happy Trans Day of Visibility!! :D

They are eating fries they found in a random parking lot :]

[pokemonkidsdaily]

day 293

torterra #389

[duskwingmoth]

They definitely think they're cute for calling their thing Gotenks, and they are kinda disappointed that only Bulma has commented on it

[cirrussly-drawing]

pls enjoy this painting i did based on a photo my fiance sent me in 2020 of him tenderly bathing his disgruntled norwegian forest cat, beaker, bc he (the cat) likely shat himself

i call it "bathing the beast"

[entangledwitch]

ugh some stupid teenager yelled something homo/transphobic and sexually threatening at me on my walk home last night and now i'm practicing with my knife again

[conkreetmonkey]

Red Dead Redemption 2 was so real for creating the most in-depth, realistic clothing system I've ever seen in any game, and exclusively using it on burly, unhygienic men.

You choose every layer, every accessory, with dozens to hundreds of each to choose from. You can go in and fine-tune minute details like whether or not to roll up the shirt sleeves, or button the collar, or whether to wear your pants under your boots. These clothes get dirty in real time depending on what you do in the game. Mud, dust and blood linger unless washed off. Every garment has a warmth rating based on its material, and the game calculates what temperatures an outfit is suitable for based on the combined total. Dressing too cold or warm for the weather causes health debuffs.

You can choose which way he parts his hair, and whether he gels it. If you eat too much he gets bulkier and gains a double chin, and if you eat too little he can go underweight and get all bony and sallow. Both of these states come with stat changes. His hair and beard grow in real game time, and you need to routinely style and shave his facial hair if you want any style other than a full Santa. You need to bathe him regularly or people will start commenting on his BO, and he'll start visibly appearing filthy long before that. He sunburns in the sun, and in the heat he becomes slick and glossy with sweat.

This shit is IN DEPTH. It blows the customization systems of actual fashion-centric games like tf2, Monster Hunter and Splatoon out of the water in every regard. They honestly look basic in comparison. It's a paradigm shift for sure once you experience RDR2's level of customization. Everything else starts to feel smaller.

The player character all this customization is applied to, and I simply cannot stress this enough, is a 36 year old, 6'3" smoker weighing well over 200 pounds, with facial hair thicker than a sheepdogs, forearms like gnarled tree trunks and a dark, dense forest of body hair covering every reasonable surface. His skin is pocked and marred with scars from a rugged, nomadic lifestyle, and his teeth are the colour of cornbread. He has a thick southern accent, is a known mean drunk and knows how to skin pretty much any North American animal. He has never worn deodorant, flossed or moisturized. He eats canned beans, fruit and the like by simply pouring them into his mouth and gulping, often while walking or riding a horse at full gallop.

I can think of NO better use case for such customization. Not some fresh-faced little twink, not some busty anime babe. Just a gross, hairy, unwashed homeless dude with crippling self esteem issues and a chest broader than a barrel laid lengthwise. A non fashion-centric game, certainly a non-fashion centric character, but for some reason the best clothing and customization system ever concieved, bar none. What the fuck.

[batchsncookies]

Happy Trans Day of Visibility from me and this guy!

we’re both having a rough week

[phantomrose96]

God's Favorite

Lucy wakes to the soft tapping of rain against her window, and she is God’s favorite. She knows this in the absent sound of her alarm, and she knows this in the yawning rumbles of thunder, and she knows this before she touches her phone alight to the notification screen.

8:43 am. Far from the 4:30 am alarm she’d needed to heed to make it to her flight. Her screen is awash with airline notifications.

She scrambles from bed. Her urgency is an apology. Lucy skips the shower and skips the hair washing and paints on deodorant before stowing it back in her carryon and calling her uber.

“Crazy weather,” her driver with the big mustache remarks. His windshield wipers swish through a river of rain.

“Yeah,” Lucy answers. She glances at her rumbling phone. She glances at the rumbling clouds. The road is clear. It shouldn’t be, not this route and not at this hour. A gas main broke somewhere up the highway that feeds this street. A freak accident. 2 injuries. It’s kept this road clear for just the locals since it happened. Lucy encounters no traffic enroute to the airport.

There are pockets of planes grounded across the runways, barely visible behind the sheets of downpour. They look like herding animals, herbivores, standing stock-still in brace against the weather. Lucy stares at them only a moment while the driver pulls her carryon out of the trunk. She grabs her jacket closed against the wind, and grabs her carryon handle, and thanks her driver. The rain does not reach her here, though the wind does.

Inside Lucy drags her bag past the help desks swarming with the orderly filings of people in disarray. Parents leaning too hard on help counters with kids pulling on bag handles. Hurried conversations and requests and arguments. The electronic boards are awash with deeply red DELAYED and CANCELED. The airport is choking. Lucy, who God loves, glides through security unimpeded.

At gate-side, Lucy finally looks to the large red board of DELAYED and CANCELED etchings to confirm what she knew without even checking her phone notifications. Gate A14. Her carryon wheels pitter and patter across tile as she walks, striding quickly, with apology.

When Gate A14 comes into view it is smothered with the weight of two or possibly three flights worth of people. There are people asleep clutching backpacks and curled on the floor. There is a four-year-old girl with her face buried in an iPad and a mother having a phone call whose clipped urgency infects Lucy. There is a man leaning over the counter to talk to the gate agent, and his hands pulse with each tensing of his fingers. “…to the hospital before she…” Lucy makes out, or thinks she makes out. She doesn’t hear the gate agent’s response, but she can read the defeated shake of her head.

Lucy’s carryon wheels clunk where the smooth tile of the terminal shifts to carpeting. She doesn’t think to grab a seat because there are no open seats. So she positions herself in a way to unmistakably say she is at the gate, threading between stagnant suitcases and kids splayed on the floor. Lucy approaches the rain-splattered windows, and like a conversation shy upon being overheard, the thunder recedes from her advance. The rain draws to a polite close. The clouds split along a seam and pull away, as if they were only ever a wave that had transiently crashed to shore. The sky is beautifully blue.

There is a stirring hopefulness in the air. Other passengers have pushed past Lucy to stand closer to the window and peer outside, as if their confirmation of the changing weather can convince the airline of what to do next.

The gate agent puts down the phone receiver of a one-sided call. She pulls the microphone close and with grainy clarity she announces, “Boarding for Flight A1874 to Detroit will begin in 10 minutes.”

On the walkway, through the gap between the throughway and plane, Lucy sees the puddles rising with steam. They throw the iridescent spectrum of a rainbow up into the sky.

In a backlog of hundreds of flights, Lucy’s is the first out across the runway. This is because God loves her. She only wishes It loved her in a way to fix her broken phone alarm.

…

In childhood Lucy had heard “God loves you” and “Jesus loves you” in the placative ways that Sunday School teaches its children. With jingles and crayon-drawings of sheep and shepherds and a decorated ornament, crafted each Christmas Eve.

Lucy had long since fallen out of it and had thought very little of her parents’ tepid god for the last 10 or 15 years.

It was last spring, 27-years-old, that Lucy had found her way out into the marsh. Mud sucking her boots and gnats plicking in swarm against her skin. Where she sat her tailbone in the muck and folded her arms over her knees and buried her face in her legs to cry. And cry. And cry. And there with the mugginess sopping her skin and the humidity coiling her hair, God decided It loved her.

It loved her with a parting of canopy for the robin-blue sky. It loved her with the chirp of cicadas. It loved her in the way a dog circles its owner and nudges a wet snout to palm, because It was here, and It would make her feel better.

Lucy’s seat is the window seat beside the man with the tensing fingers. He fiddles with a phone in his clutch until he locks it in airplane mode and stows it, to look at no more. Lucy wonders who this man knows in the hospital, and she wonders why God doesn’t love him more than It loves her.

…

In March, Marco breaks up with her over a plate of fish that is too dry. In the moment, Lucy wonders if it’s her fault, because of the fish. But that’s not it. The signs were there, in all the subtle and stuttering moments Marco had pulled away. Each little moment like a slightly missed step, on a staircase growing ricketier each month.

Marco leaves and everything is so quiet, to the point that Lucy thinks her own sounds are pretty stupid, and pretty embarrassing while she’s coiled snail-like and snottily-sobbing into her pillowcase. She thinks absently of how she has to wash the pillowcase now, and that’s fine, because she was going to wash her linens this weekend anyway. She sobs so hard she’s almost screaming. Oh, and kitchen towels. She’ll wash the kitchen towels too.

She’s alive enough the next morning to throw all her linens and her kitchen towels on the floor of the laundry room. And maybe Marco breaking up with her is fine, because his birthday is December 25th and who wants a husband whose birthday is the same day as Christmas?

Her doorbell rings. And somehow it’s Marco again. She opens it to him, and he smells like a wildfire.

“Sorry, Lucy, this is awkward,” and Lucy believes he means it. He’s clutching a jacket around himself for what looks like security more than warmth. His apartment burned down last night. A resident fell asleep with a cigarette lit and dangling from her fingertips. Unit right below him. All his stuff burned, or filled with smoke, or is now logged up with water. He’s been sitting outside on the cobblestone for the last few hours, watching the blaze, on the phone with insurance. His landlord hasn’t responded to him yet. He’s cold, and he’s smokey, and can he shower here maybe? Can he stay for just a day or two, maybe? Sorry. This is awkward. He has no family on this coast. He really has nowhere else to go.

“Sure.” Lucy lets in Marco who smells like a wildfire. She adds the towels to her laundry list because they will smell like a wildfire too once Marco has used them. When he is clean, Lucy asks him nice questions. He asks her nice questions back. She helps him figure out something strange on the insurance form. He starts cooking dinner before Lucy realizes he’d entered the kitchen, because she was busy with the linens and the towels.

Marco takes the couch and clean linens. “Thanks, again, really. I can pay you a few days rent, when I get the insurance payout.” It’s no problem. Lucy goes to her room and shuts the door. It’s warmer here with Marco again. She wonders how long he’ll stay. She wonders if it will be for as long as she thinks the sound of him breathing in the other room is a comfort.

Something twists in Lucy’s chest. She wonders why God loves her more than It loves Marco. Lucy wonders why God didn’t love the woman with the lit cigarette who did not make it out of the building.

…

In June Lucy is desperately throwing together the haphazard makings of a financial report. She meant to stay up late to finish it, and get up early to make it beautiful, but she’s had a cold for a whole week now and the new bottle of decongestant she grabbed wasn’t “non-drowsy” like she thought.

Her heart is beating, and she nearly twists her ankle with a misstep in high heels, and she almost loses her grip on the shoddy makings of a too-light financial report still warm from the printer. She can spin it, maybe, that it’s intentionally light and she’d simply wanted the esteemed and respected input from the executives in the room before she produces the truly polished report this evening. And when the eyebrows are raised and she is told the report is due now, maybe they will refrain from firing her on the spot since she is still the only one who can produce the report they need.

She pulls open the meeting room door as if she is not out of breath, as if her nose isn’t red from a thousand tissues. She takes her seat so hastily that she does not notice, until she looks up properly, and sees the CEO’s seat is empty.

No one speaks. No one acknowledges her entrance. Lucy hugs the warm binder to her chest.

The door latch clicks open, but Lucy knows it will not be the CEO. She heard the click of heels before the doorknob turned.

It’s his assistant with the lovely auburn hair that curls around her shoulders. Her suit is red and her eyes are red and she stands just behind the CEO’s chair. Everyone notices her in the way they did not notice Lucy.

She speaks. The CEO’s wife and daughter were in a head-on collision with a drunk driver 42 minutes ago. They’re in critical condition, and the CEO has gone to be with them. He asks everyone’s forgiveness and grace in this time. The meeting is rescheduled for tomorrow, same time, and he humbly requests if everyone in attendance can adjust their calendar to accommodate this. This is a big ask, he knows. The board will have questions, he knows. But these are extenuating circumstances. The assistant will help with any necessary reworking of everyone’s calendars. And Lucy, can you please deliver the report tomorrow? The assistant has a sympathy card, which she lays on the table along with a black pen, and she asks if anyone would care to sign it.

Lucy signs it. The card paper is so cold, compared to the warmth of the half-finished report squeezed tight against her chest. The half-finished report should have cooled by now, but God must know she’s cold and ashen-faced, and God loves her so much.

…

In July, Lucy is a perfectionist. Her mother swears she wasn’t always like this. Her high school best friend is surprised, when in town for a weekend and meeting up for coffee, by the way Lucy triple-confirms the time, and the place, and the way she wears two watches. Why two watches? he asks. Because the alarm on one watch might fail. What about your phone? The watches are the backup, if the phone dies.

There’s something off-putting in the way she talks, and the way she asks questions of him, and the way she exclaims in joy at every piece of good news he shares. Josiah glances behind himself, more and more, and it’s because Lucy stares back there like she knows someone else at the next table.

It’s all weird, and Josiah can’t help but pull away. But Lucy pulls away first, retroactively. She can always pull away retroactively, and declare to her four walls of her room how much she didn’t need that friend, like she doesn’t need Marco, or anyone else who God may drop at her doorstep like the dead bird bounty of a cat, happy to share with the person It loves.

Lucy finishes her reports early. She wiles away the sun at her office even in the summer finishing reports far before anyone could need them. She double-checks, every time. She triple-checks. Her boss pulls her into a meeting room and with hands folded on the desk, he asks if maybe she needs to take some time off. And instantly she declares to the four walls that no-one at the company is doing this to her. “I wasn’t implying that…” but she’s not looking at him when he answers.

In July Lucy returns to the marsh. She returns with stones she’s horded up and gathered in the trunk of her car. She walks through the boot-suckling mud and she weighs stones in her arms while she hurls them, and throws, and screams, and hopes one of them might strike God in Its snout.

“I HATE YOU!” she screams. She throws all her weight into a stone whose sharp edge nicks bark. She hurls one through the bushes and another into the leafy canopy above. She is sopping wet and the cicadas chirp at her. “I HATE YOU!! GO AWAY!! LEAVE ME ALONE!!!” She chucks a stone which lands in the sucking muck, capsizing like a ship beneath the algae.

She throws, and her gravity heaves forward, and her boots stay stuck in the mud. So she topples elbow-deep in the mud, spattered, soaking into her chin and her shirt and her jeans and her hair. She parts her lips and tastes the earthy wetness on her skin, coppery blood, split lip. The stones are all under her. She laughs. Lucy tilts her head to the sky screaming with laughter. Joyous to tears, with the wetness drawing rivulets down the mud on her cheeks. She laughs because sopping-in-mud-and-muck is NOT the state of something God loves. This wouldn’t happen to something God loves.

Lucy goes home. Lucy showers. Lucy does her laundry. And It crawls back into bed with her. Perhaps like a scolded animal, but perhaps It did not even know It was being scolded. Lucy cannot tell.

The wine stains came out of her linens today because God loves her.

[kashverse]

can i request a vacation with the kuna fam?

vacation for the kuna family is a non-negotiable, just like tax evasion for the rich and sukuna’s right to always be right. even if it's peak vacation season and the prices make you feel like you should start an anti-capitalist uprising, sukuna still takes his family on a trip. “this is highway robbery,” you mutter, staring at the obscene total on the hotel bill.

“highway robbery is when i force a company into bankruptcy,” sukuna corrects, signing the check without blinking. “this is just capitalism.”

and, of course, matching outfits are a must—including beachwear. you in a breezy cover-up, babykuna in an adorable one-piece, and sukuna in his beach trunks and absolutely nothing else, because the man has zero shame and an ego the size of the sun.

which is exactly why you’re currently holding yourself back from strangling a passing woman with your beach towel as she blatantly ogles your shirtless, tattooed husband. she’s staring so hard you’re convinced she’s mentally printing out a 4K poster of him for her bedroom wall. you narrow your eyes. “excuse me?” 

the woman blinks, clearly not expecting to be called out. "huh?" 

"do you need a picture or should i just let you borrow him for a second?" you say, voice dripping with deadly sweetness. sukuna, utterly entertained, casually drapes an arm over your chair. “babe, be nice.” 

you scoff, flipping your hair. "please. i am being nice."

meanwhile, on the other side of the beach, sukuna finds himself struggling. some random man is shamelessly staring at you sunbathing, sunglasses perched low on his nose like he’s about to write a dissertation on your beauty. sukuna’s left eye twitches.  “the fuck is he looking at?” he growls under his breath. 

"maybe my incredible fashion sense," you hum, stretching lazily under the sun. "i’ll bury him in the sand if he doesn’t stop," sukuna mutters, cracking his knuckles. 

"aww, babe," you coo, grinning. "you sound jealous."

"damn right i am," he grumbles.

but the final straw? some snot-nosed six-year-old punk is staring at his baby girl. 

babykuna. his pride. his joy. his perfect little princess.

the kid is standing awkwardly a few feet away, clutching a plastic shovel like he’s about to write a love confession in the sand. babykuna, blissfully unaware, is humming as she sculpts a perfect sandcastle. the boy swallows hard, gathering all his courage. he takes a deep breath. steps forward.

"hi," he says, small but brave.

sukuna immediately sits up.

"NO."

the kid freezes. babykuna frowns up at her dad. "papa, what?"

sukuna glares daggers at the boy. "what do you want?"

the poor child visibly shrinks. "uh—i just—"

"no. go away."

babykuna huffs, punching sukuna’s rock-solid thigh. "papa! stop being scary!"

"yeah, suku," you say, barely holding back laughter. “he’s just a kid.” 

sukuna scoffs. "yeah? so was genghis khan once."

but before babykuna can argue, an even worse situation unfolds. mr pickles, is currently stumbling around with his entire head stuck in a sand bucket. the miserable yeowling that follows is so dramatic it sounds like a victorian-era orphan mourning his dead parents. babykuna gasps. "mr pickles!"

the cat thrashes. trips over a sand mold. collapses like he’s been shot. babykuna immediately rushes over to save him, while you and sukuna watch, completely unfazed.

“should we help?” you ask. sukuna takes a sip of his cocktail. "nah. he’ll figure it out."

it’s chaotic. it’s stupidly expensive. it’s a test of patience. but, honestly? it’s perfect.

[musclejedi-tameem]

Jack had just moved into a new house and while unpacking he found a couple of boxes left by the previous owner who he actually hadn’t met. The house had been vacant for a while and he had bought it and was starting to fix it up so he could live there. One of the boxes seemed to be filled with costumes of some kind. Maybe the previous owner was a cos player or something? Jack thought. The one on top of the box seemed to be a police outfit or something but as soon as his hand touched the badge on top he felt an electric shock! Wincing he jumped back but he felt the sensation travel all over his body! Then all of a sudden he felt himself starting to grow. He groaned as he grew taller and his body began to fill it with muscle. He’s never been a big guy so feeling his pecs and arms expand was a new experience fit him. His clothes quickly tore off as his muscles grew bigger and bigger. Getting thick and plump with veins becoming visible on his big biceps. He grunted as his neck expanded and his voice deepened to a sexy low growl. Between his massive tree trunk legs his cock and balls grew too. His balls swelled up and dropped low as they filled with testosterone which cause his body to break out in hair as well, covering his arms and chest in a sexy pelt and giving him a nice beard to frame his new handsome face. His cock also grew, getting longer and thicker until it was almost 11 inches long! His butt grew into a sexy muscled bubble but behind him as his back widened and tapered nicely. When it was all over Jack looked in the mirror saw himself as a totally new man! He was huge and muscled and furry and then the mental changes hit him. His name was Jake and he was the most popular stripper at the gay club down the street. It was almost time for his show so he put on the sexy cop costume and flexed cockily in the mirror. Even dressed his cock was visible in his pants and he was ready to tease the boys with it until they paid him enough to show them it in all its glory. And probably get at least one of them to come home with him too. He chuckled in his deep voice as the huge horny man left fir his night of fun.

[applejarjar]

Augh I have to go get MORE GROCERIES from the car

[jo-speaks]

SPORTS CAR

~ INSPIRED BY TATE MCRAE'S 'SPORTS CAR'~

overview: a loss doesn't always lead to a bad night.

warnings: MDNI. semi-public sex, oral (fem! receiving), orgasm denial, p in v, etc.

~

note: i apologize for my absence in the month :( i got surgery for my acl and just got over the flu. but i really really hope this makes up for it!

You leaned against Quinn’s car, a new Porsche Cayenne he had gotten a few days ago. It was a silly purchase in your opinion, his old car being only months old. 

The parking lot in Rogers Arena was surprisingly quiet, only a few scattered security guards and players heading to their cars filling the space. Quinn was always one of the last people to leave the building, most likely talking to coaches and his teammates, making sure they’re okay. Tonight’s game had ended in a loss, but he knew better than anyone of those silent battles that can come after a night like this.

The thought alone had your stomach filling with butterflies. Quinn knew how to take care of his team, his family, and especially you. He knew where to touch you, where to kiss you, where to-

“Sweetheart?” Quinn’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts, his hand resting on the small of your back.

You blinked, looking up at him. “Hey.”

He smiled. “You alright? You looked lost in thought.”

“I'm great, just a bit tired after tonight.”

Quinn nodded, taking his keys out of his pocket and unlocking the trunk, throwing his hockey bag mindlessly before making his way back to you and opening your door. You got settled in as he rounded the car, joining you inside. 

He started the car up immediately, rolling the windows down slightly. Instead of driving straight out of the lot, he let out an exhausted sigh, his head falling back on his headrest. His body slumped visibly, stress lingering in his muscles regardless. 

“Q?” You asked, your tone light and soft. “Do you want me to drive?”

His eyes blinked open, his head tilting to look over at you. “No, I just need a minute. M’ exhausted. 

You nodded, reaching over his body to recline his seat back. The positioning was closer than you had intended, your cheek pressed to the zipper of his dress pants, the warmth of his closed cock seeping through. Quinn’s breath hitched, his hand coming up to stop you from sending his seat back any further. You peeked up at him through your lashes, warmth coursing through your body. 

“Get in the back.” He mumbled, his voice barely audible as he pushed your shoulder gently, shutting off the engine.

Your mind barely processed his words, but it reacted regardless. Before you could even think about it, you were lifting yourself up, crawling quickly into the back, Quinn following suit. No words were spoken before he pulled you into his lap, his lips finding yours immediately. A moan slipped past your lips, the shift in mood catching you off guard.

His kisses trailed down your skin, his hand coming up to move the collar of your jersey so he could leave less visible marks. The warmth of his mouth on your bare skin had your mind reeling, the only thought roaming your head being how much you needed him. 

You rutted your hips against his, the warmth of his cock seeping through his dress pants. He let out a soft groan against your mouth, allowing your tongue to slip in, starting a battle for dominance he would never let you win. At least not tonight. 

“Q,” You mumbled against his lips, “Take me home.”

His hand came up to grip your hair, pulling you away from his face. His eyes were hooded as he looked up at you, a gleam in them that told you exactly what he was thinking. “No. We’re doing this here.”

The tint on his windows wasn’t dark at all, leaving no place to hide if someone randomly decided to walk past his car. With the windows down slightly, being caught was a huge risk.

But Quinn didn’t care. Why would he?

With you on his lap, your hips mindlessly grinding against his clothed cock was the only thing he was thinking about. If someone saw… then they’d be getting a hell of a show. 

His hands came up to hold your hips, shifting you off his lap and laying you down across the seats. He was in no rush, taking his sweet time unbuttoning your pants and sliding them down your legs. Quinn knew you normally didn’t care to put much thought into what you wore to his games, but he also knew he could always count on finding a surprise underneath whenever it came off. 

Tonight was no different. Your navy sweatpants, matching the navy lace panties that hid behind them caused a smirk to grow on your boyfriend’s face. He pulled them all the way off before readjusting you to sit up in the seat, finding himself on his knees in front of you faster than your head could process.

You looked up, your eyes wandering to what was going on outside the car. People were beginning to stream out of the building now, many recognizable faces making their way to their parked cars. 

A soft yelp slipped past your lips as you felt a nibble on your clothed clit, your worried eyes coming down to meet Quinn’s.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart.” He whispered, tongue slipping out to lick over the damp cloth. 

Your hand instinctively came to hold his hair, water droplets coating your hand as you felt the aftermath of his quick locker room shower. The feeling of his tongue against you was heavenly, your eyes fluttering shut.

Quinn sighed as he felt your body slowly relaxing, his fingers coming up to move the barrier out from in between his mouth and your pussy. He didn’t waste a second, his previous soft kisses turning into messy movements that filled the car with wet sounds. You brought your free hand up to your mouth in a pathetic attempt to contain your moans, trying your hardest to keep from being too loud. 

He wasn’t having any of this. Without stopping his movements, he reached up, tugging at your wrist. Shifting your hand, he intertwined his fingers with yours, giving you a reassuring squeeze. 

“I’ve got you, baby. Let me hear you.” He spoke, the feeling of him speaking against you sending all your worries out the partially cracked window.

Noises spilt out of you left and right, your grip on his hair encouraging him to speed up. Quinn had never been the best at giving head, but the enthusiasm he never failed to have when given the opportunity made it something you always desired. 

The feeling of his nose rubbing against your clit as he tongue licked anywhere it could find had your orgasm creeping up on you, the tight feeling in your stomach slowly becoming overwhelming. 

You rocked your hips against his face, squeezing his hand every time you felt the tip of his tongue prodding at your entrance. “Quinn…”

He didn’t pull away to speak, his non-verbal answer being giving you that relief and slipping his tongue inside of you, the bridge of his nose pressing against your bud. 

The moan that escaped you was sinful, your thighs trapping his head in between your legs as you pushed his face closer to your core. Quinn let out a noise, the vibrations coursing though you like you’d been shocked. 

“Shit, Q!” You cried, fingers tugging at his curls, “M’so close.”

You could feel the grin appear on his face, pride soaring through the roof. His mouth moved impossibly faster, the speed overwhelming your body as you felt the knot in your stomach about to snap.

Quinn knew the signs. The way your legs tensed, the way your hand squeezed his, and your fingers tightened their grip. He knew. 

He knew, yet he still pulled away, denying you of that feeling of pure bliss and denying himself the feeling of your mess all over his face. 

Your eyes snapped open, eyebrows knitting together as your mouth fell open. Quinn’s eyes met yours, a look of utter distraught on your face almost making him regret his decision. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the tears pooling in your eyes, a whimper escaping you as you looked down at him.

“I’ve got you, baby. Don’t worry.” He soothed, bringing himself up to sit in the middle of the back seats.

You watched him attentively as he undid his pants, pulling them and his boxers down to his ankles. He shifted his attention back to you, sliding your panties off completely before pulling you up on his lap.

He slapped his length against you briefly before lining up with you, slowly bringing you down inch by inch. Your jaw fell slack, the feeling of him inside you almost making you cum instantly. Quinn was no different; his gaze entranced on the way you took him so well, soft noises coming from his throat.  

“You’re so big, Q.” You moaned, your body being the first to move as you lifted your hips slowly. 

The feeling made Quinn snap out of his daze, his grip pulling you back down, wanton moans spilling out of both of you. You could feel every ridge and vein dragging inside of you, your walls instinctively tightening around him. 

“Don’t.” He groaned, “Don’t squeeze me like that. Gonna make me cum.”

Quinn took full control of your movements, the tips of his fingers digging into your soft flesh as he moved your hips up and down, his own thrusting up to meet you halfway. Any thought of being seen became non-existent; the only thing you could both think of was how neither of you wanted this to end. 

Your throat felt sore as your nosies became increasingly louder, your head dropping to Quinn’s shoulder, your teeth getting a grip on his dress shirt, effectively soaking the fabric. 

He threw his head back, his eyes slowly shutting as he let himself become embraced in the moment. He could feel himself getting close, his movement becoming more and more pointed as he drilled into you. It was overwhelming the way you felt around him. Like you were made to take him this well.

You were dazed, your grip slightly loosening on his hair. Your brain felt melted, body becoming so overwhelmed with pleasure as if this was the only thing you were meant to do. The only things you could process were the sounds of pleasure filling the car – both yours and his – and the wet sound of his cock pounding into you. Quinn could tell your mind was slipping away from you, but he could feel how close you were, and he needed to make sure you were one hundred percent with him before he could let that happen.

He turned his head, his lips close to your ear. “Baby, stay with me. Need you to let go for me, yeah?”

That alone was enough to bring you back. Suddenly, the pleasure you were feeling increased so much that you were squealing, your fingers tugging harshly at his hair, causing a loud groan to come from him. 

“Please, Q.” You sobbed, “Please can I cum?”

The desperation in your voice had Quinn digging his fingers into your thighs, nodding his head frantically before finding your lips, “Give it to me, sweet girl. Cum with me.”

His hips lifted off the leather, a loud groan echoing within the car as his cum spurted into you, filling you to the brim. With one harsh final thrust, your vision went spotty, your release coating Quinn’s thighs as you did your best to keep your whimper as quiet as it could be without screaming.

You were both panting into each other’s mouths, sweat thinly covering your foreheads. You composed yourself first, pulling your mind in enough to kiss him. He followed shortly after, your lips moving in tandem as you both came to.

He pulled away first, not going far, but just enough to speak. “Is that my reward for losing tonight?”

A soft laugh slipped past you, a warm smile rising on your face. “It could be. Or…” Your finger came around to tuck a loose strand of hair out of his eyes. “You could get a little something more at home.”

Quinn’s eyes widened. “Yeah? And what would that be?”

You smirked. “Let’s go find out, hm?”

[oaksgrove]

The Neighbour Next Door

pairing: Neighbour!Simon x Reader

synopsis: Simon wasn’t used to having neighbors. He was used to silence, to keeping to himself, to a life where people came and went without getting too close. Then you moved in next door—bright, determined, and a little chaotic. And somehow, without him realizing, you became a part of his routine. A part of his life.

warnings: Fluff, Simon being awkward but soft, single parent character (not Reader), a bit of humor

word count: 1507

Simon wasn’t used to having neighbors.

The flat next to Simon’s had been vacant for months, Its silence was a comforting reminder that he could come and go as he pleased, an unassuming space that matched his preference for anonymity.  But all that changed the day he returned from deployment, battered but intact.

Simon stepped into the familiar confines of his apartment, his shoulders heavy with the strain of another mission. His duffel bag hit the floor with a dull thud, and he glanced toward the window. That’s when he saw you.

You were outside, unloading boxes from the trunk of a beat-up car. Arms stacked high with mismatched bags, you struggled to balance them, wobbling slightly on the icy pavement. You laughed at yourself when one bag nearly toppled, the sound light and genuine.

For a moment, Simon just watched, his expression unreadable behind his balaclava. You were a stark contrast to the quiet he’d grown used to—bright, determined, and just a little chaotic.

He didn’t think much of it at first. Neighbors came and went. He’d nod in passing, keep to himself, and life would carry on.

But two nights later, his routine was interrupted.

The knock at his door startled Simon out of his thoughts. He’d been cleaning his gear at the kitchen table, the rhythmic motion grounding him after weeks of chaos in the field. No one ever knocked on his door.

He considered ignoring it. Whoever it was would leave eventually. But then the knock came again, soft but insistent.

Curiosity won out. Simon stood, the floorboards creaking under his boots, and approached the door. He opened it just enough to see who was there.

You stood on the other side, clutching a plate covered in foil. Your smile was nervous but kind, your breath visible in the cold air.

“Hi,” you greeted, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Sorry to bother you. I’m your new neighbor. I, uh… I made too much dinner and thought you might want some?”

Simon blinked, his mind blanking for a moment. It wasn’t often people spoke to him, let alone offered him food. His instinct was to refuse, to keep things simple. But the scent hit him—chicken, rice, and spices that made his stomach grumble despite himself.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he finally said, his voice low and rough.

“I know,” you replied, your smile widening a fraction. “But I wanted to. I live just next door if you ever need anything.”

Simon hesitated, then reached out and took the plate. His gloved hand brushed yours briefly, and you didn’t flinch. “Thanks,” he said simply.

“No problem!” you chirped, rocking back on your heels. “Enjoy!”

He watched you retreat to your flat, the door closing softly behind you. Simon stood there for a moment longer, staring at the plate in his hands.

It became a routine after that. Every few days, you’d knock on his door with leftovers or baked goods, always with that same bright smile. At first, Simon thought it was some sort of neighborly obligation, but you didn’t seem like you were forcing it. If anything, you seemed genuinely happy to share, Simon wasn’t sure why you bothered—he was hardly welcoming, often answering the door with minimal conversation, his face hidden behind his mask.

But you didn’t seem to mind.

One afternoon, Simon found you struggling at the bottom of the stairs, your arms laden with grocery bags that were clearly too heavy for one trip.

“You’re going to hurt yourself,” he said, his voice cutting through the quiet.

You jumped, startled by his sudden appearance. “Oh my God,” you said, laughing nervously. “You scared me.”

Simon approached, already taking two of the heavier bags from your grasp. “Need help?”

You blinked at him, surprised. “You don’t have to—”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said gruffly, already heading up the stairs.

You followed, trying to keep up. “Thank you. I wasn’t expecting that. You’re usually so…”

“Quiet?” he offered, a faint smirk tugging at his lips beneath the mask.

“Yeah,” you said with a sheepish laugh. “But apparently, you’re also helpful.”

When he reached your door, Simon set the bags down and turned to leave.

“Wait,” you called after him. He paused, looking back over his shoulder. “Come by for dinner tonight? As a thank you?”

He hesitated. “You don’t need to thank me.”

“But I want to,” you insisted.

Simon studied you for a moment, then nodded once. “Alright.”

Something in your tone made him pause. He nodded once, then disappeared into his flat.

Dinner became a regular occurrence after that. At first, Simon would linger awkwardly in your kitchen, responding to your chatter with short, gruff answers. But over time, he softened, his quiet presence becoming a fixture in your home. He found himself at your door more often than he’d like to admit. Whether it was helping you carry groceries, fixing a squeaky cabinet, or just sharing the meals you so kindly prepared, he became a quiet but constant presence in your life. You welcomed him in without question, even when he remained stoic and distant. 

He learned about your brother, a single dad with two young kids you adored. He heard about your struggles with work, your favorite movies, and the little things that made you happy. And you, in turn, learned about Simon—his dry humor, his sharp intelligence, and the way he always seemed to be looking out for you.

One night, you were in the middle of setting the table when the knock on the door came.

Before you could react—

"I’ll get it!" James, your six-year-old nephew, called.

Your stomach dropped.

"James, wait—!"

Too late. You barely had time to put down the plates before you saw the door swing open, revealing Simon’s imposing frame. Clad in his usual dark hoodie and cargo pants, hands tucked in his pockets, he looked every bit the intimidating stranger to a child who had no idea who he was.

James, fearless as ever, squinted up at him. "Who’s the big guy?" he asked, pointing a small finger.

James barely had time to finish his question before you turned to him with a stern look.

"That’s my neighbor, Simon," you said firmly, stepping forward. "And what did I tell you about answering the door alone?"

The little boy shrank slightly under your gaze, toeing the floor guiltily. "Not to do it," he mumbled.

"And did you listen?"

"No…"

"What if it wasn't Simon at the door? What if it was a stranger?"

James pouted, glancing at Simon, who still stood silently in the doorway, hands in his pockets. "But he looks nice."

Simon huffed a quiet laugh at that, shaking his head.

"That’s not the point, bub," you sighed, softening just a little. "You have to be careful, okay?"

"Okay… sorry."

"Good," you said, ruffling his hair before looking up at your older brother, who had been silently observing the exchange.

Marianne, oblivious to the entire exchange, made a soft gurgling noise, shifting against your shoulder. Simon’s eyes flickered to her, something unreadable passing through them.

"And this," you continued, bouncing her slightly, "is Marianne. She drools a lot but has the best laugh in the world."

"Ah, so she takes after you then?" Peter teased.

You shot him a glare before turning back to Simon, who, to your surprise, was still watching the baby with quiet curiosity.

"Simon, this is my brother, Peter. Peter, my neighbor, Simon."

Peter stepped forward, offering a handshake. "Nice to meet you, mate. Thanks for not being an actual serial killer at the door."

Simon gave a small, amused nod and took his hand, his grip firm. "Glad to hear I don’t give off that vibe."

"Mmm, jury’s still out," Peter joked, eyeing Simon up and down before smirking. "So, you're the one who's been eating my sister’s cooking all the time?"

You groaned. "Peter."

Simon, to your surprise, didn’t shy away. Instead, he tilted his head slightly. "Good food. Wouldn’t turn it down."

"That’s because she spoils everyone," Peter said, crossing his arms. "Bet you get your meals hand-delivered too."

"Sometimes," Simon admitted, glancing at you.

Peter chuckled. "She’s been like this since we were kids. Takes care of everyone but herself."

Simon’s gaze flickered to you. Yeah, he thought. I noticed. 

You rolled your eyes. "I am standing right here, you know."

Peter ignored you, watching Simon closely. "So, do you just lurk around or are you actually sticking around for dinner?"

Simon hesitated for only a second before nodding. "Sticking around."

Peter grinned. "Good. You can help set the table."

James gasped dramatically. "Are you gonna be my new uncle?"

Simon choked. Peter outright laughed.

You buried your face in your hands. "James, oh my God—"

taglist: @honestlymassivetrash @pythonmoth @kittygonap @rainyjellybear

[jeonginsleftcheek]

Among the trees

pairing: hyunjin x afab!reader

genre: smut

wc: 1.2k

warnings: manipulative hyune, innocent reader, free use, unprotected sex, public sex, creampie, praise, lots of nicknames, mentions of breeding

a/n: i took a walk in the forest today and it rained so this came to my mind🫠 enjoy😏💚 also i'm sleep deprived, excuse any mistakes!

masterlist

You were currently enjoying the fresh air and the smell of petrichor as you strolled along the forest path with your boyfriend.

Hand in hand, Hyunjin led you deeper into the forest and you followed him without question, you'd always follow him anywhere. Hyunjin took such good care of you, he loved you very much and you always wanted him to be happy, make him feel good, make him proud of you. He was your first serious boyfriend and you trusted everything he told you.

You trusted him with your life blindly.

Hyunjin kept glancing at you, your wondrous gaze set on the trees and the flowers around you, his jacket draped over your smaller frame, your pretty legs on display for him in the dress he asked you to wear today. You were so adorable, so innocent, so doe like.

You always listened to him intently, nodding your cute little head, even when he told you that you always have to be ready to give into him and please him. The thought of having you whenever he wants, your body compliant to him, never asking any questions or looking for explanations drove him even more crazy for you.

You were so giving. And Hyunjin couldn't contain himself anymore, his cock already hardening and twitching in his pants at the thought of your cute confused face when he tells you to be a good girl and let him fuck you right here, among all the trees, not caring about other people who might pass by on the trail.

He tugged your hand lightly, leading you away from the path and into the thicker part of the forest.

"W-where are we going?" you asked cutely, your brows lifting up. He liked that you were always curious despite being an obedient little thing.

"Right here, my angel." he pulled you closer behind one of the trees.

You looked around and Hyunjin chuckled at your cluelessness. He looked up, noticing that the trail was still somewhat visible and if someone were to walk there, they might see the two of you.

"Turn around." he told you when you looked back at him, not understanding why he brought you here.

"Are we playing a game?" you wondered but obeyed, turning your back to him.

"Sort of. Brace yourself against the tree, princess." Hyunjin said and you placed your palms on the damp tree trunk. Hyunjin slid his jacket off of you, making you shiver as he threw it aside carelessly.

You heard the sound of his belt unbuckling and you knew then just what the game was.

You strained your neck to look back at him and saw him smirking deeply at you, his eyes dark under his bangs. You felt his hand on the back of your thigh, traveling up before he touched the fabric of your panties and then cupped your pussy, fingertips pressing into your little clit.

You gasped as your legs trembled and you faced forwards, nails already digging into the tree.

"Always so warm and wet for me. Ready to let me come home, aren't you princess?" he asked, caressing your pussy and you whimpered.

"Y-yes, Jinnie." you leaned into his touch and he smirked, pushing your panties aside and sliding his fingertips on your wet folds as he stroked his length with his other hand and got closer to you.

"My angel. Such a good girl." he praised you, pressing the head of his hard cock against you.

"Mm." you moaned, spreading your legs more.

"I-Isn't someone gonna see?" you remembered suddenly, shivering a little as you felt a droplet of rain hit your arm.

"They'll see who you belong to, princess." Hyunjin smirked and slowly pushed in without prepping you and you took all of him in easily, your pussy used to the stretch of his length and girth.

"Ah!" you let out a moan when Hyunjin bottomed out inside you.

"That's my good girl." he praised you again, making you clench around him as he started fucking into you. "I couldn't wait to come home and fuck you. I wanted you now. And you took me so well, princess. Always so good for me."

"Mm, Hyunjinnie!" you whimpered as he sped up immediately, deciding not to go easy on you since he knew you could take it. You'd take anything he gives you, he knows this because he trained you to do so.

You kept whimpering and gasping, scratching at the tree trunk as Hyunjin pounded you from behind, his hips slapping into your ass, the sound echoing around you as the rain started to drizzle more.

"Mm, fuck!" Hyunjin's eyes rolled back with the way you kept clenching around him like you never wanted him to pull out.

You were so addicted to him and he was obsessed with you.

"I want you to cum all over my cock, angel. Let me see how good I'm making you feel." Hyunjin reached between your legs and started playing with your clit, the tip of his cock hitting your sweet spot constantly.

"Mm, yes Hyunjin!" you moaned and exploded around him, coating his cock in your arousal and he pushed in impossibly deeper, twitching as he gripped at your hips.

Suddenly, you heard voices nearing from a distance and Hyunjin pulled you flush against him, his cock still throbbing inside you as he pressed his palm against your lips.

"Be quiet." he whispered and kept fucking into you, chasing his high. Your heart started beating out of your chest and your eyes widened as you saw a family walking down the path with their dog.

You felt so filthy in that moment but you loved it, the thought you might be seen all fucked out on your boyfriend's cock aroused you even more now that there were people closer to you.

The cold rain clung to your hair and skin, the droplets now bigger and sliding down into your cleavage and down your arms. The people luckily hurried up, running away from the rain as Hyunjin mercilessly pounded into you, a smirk on his face.

You came again, making him groan as he released your mouth when he deemed the people were far enough and his hands came up to grip and massage your breasts.

"Gonna fill up this sweet pussy." he groaned, biting down on your shoulder as he pushed in deep and exploded inside you, ropes of warm cum filling you up completely.

"That's it, princess, milk me dry. Take everything I give you." he growled, riding his high until he was spent.

He pulled out and quickly put your panties back over your pussy, tapping the wet fabric with his fingers as you moaned.

"Keep it inside you." he turned you around, holding your waist and you looked up at him as you grabbed at his arms, both of you getting soaked with the rain. "I want it to stick so you're mine forever, angel."

"Hyunjin." you whined, hugging him as his words suddenly made you feel embarrassed while you were sobering up from your high.

He let out a deep chuckle before gently lifting your chin up.

"I love you, my little doe." he looked into your eyes and you shivered from the intensity he carried.

"I love you too, Jinnie." you answered and he leaned in to kiss you as the rain started pouring suddenly.

"Let's get home quickly, I'm not done with you yet." Hyunjin grabbed your hand and his jacket, covering you up as much as he could, his arms wrapping around you as he led you back to the path.

You followed him obediently just like you always will.

taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @porangporangmeong @laylasbunbunny @laughatdanger @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @painterhyunjin @moon-ttokki-x @saintcosette @ooshyana @frehyun @scarlet789 @skzdust @schniti-is-in-the-house @hwangjoanna @sona1800 @channiesrightasscheek @justwonder113 @yvettemint @inaribu00 @httpdwaekki @possum-playground @ria-april @yn-x-them @mariahxrrera @0omillo0 @halfwinterhalfuniverse @cooldeermagazine @delulkpopstan143 @todorokiskitten @compersian @azxulskz @stayp1eceposts @minniesverse @skzdreamer13 @0325ale @j-ji-jia @shannthewriter @mhluvie @my-neurodivergent-world @hyyunjinnn @spookybuttsstuff-blog

[pretty-little-mind33]

James Potter x fem!reader

Summary: Your brother's best friend teaches you pleasures you've never experienced before.

Genre: SMUT (nsfm)

Warnings: dark themes (kinda?), james is kinda morally grey in this, james is nineteen, reader is eighteen, reader is sirius's little sister (no physical descriptions!!), innocent!reader - she has never had an orgasm, sub!reader, virgin!reader, mean dom!james, swearing, corruption, penetrative sex, fingering, nipple play, oral sex (m receiving), degradation, praise, spanking, slapping (sexual), choking, exhibitionism, almost getting caught, crying from sexual overstimulation, reader is hesitant in the beginning but not unwilling, bleeding from loss of virginity.

~ this is absolutely filthy. enjoy. 😩🫶 ~

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

"Siri?" you ask as you adjust the hem of your dress.

Your brother's attention leaves his friends and he looks at you, his eyes narrowing, "What are you wearing?" he asks and crosses his arms, surprise obvious in his tone.

You smooth a hand over the silk, "A dress. I-I have a date," you explain.

"A date?" James Potter, Sirius's best friend, interrupts as he turns around. You see a glimmer in his hazel eyes as your eyes find his and take him in; how his hair is damp from a shower, the way his shirt hugs his shoulders, and the round, black-framed, glasses on his nose.

James sends you a smirk, "I didn't know you went on dates, Y/n/n," he teases.

Embarrassment flushes your cheeks and Sirius slaps his hand backwards to hit James's chest and push him away a little, "Shut up," He hisses. Then, he looks you dead in the eyes, "Who is it?"

"Huh?" 

"Your date? Who. Is. It?"

"William. You know, my friend? You've met him," you explain, a little surprised at Sirius's worry. William is kind, he's funny and he's safe.

You know loving him wouldn't hurt you like other boys would. 

Unconsciously, you glance at James and when he sees you looking at him he asks, "The super skinny one?" He is obviously suppressing a smile, and Sirius's shoulders visibly relax.

"Oh," your brother sounds reassured, "He's fucking harmless." 

"Harmless?" you ask but Sirius must have lost interest in your conversation because he just shoos you with his hand and starts a conversation with another one of his friends. 

You want to scream.

"Hey," James senses your annoyance, "What's up?" 

You tilt your head up at him, a little embarrassed to ask him. James has always made you a little nervous but these last months have been simply torturous and you don't understand why, "I don't have any cute jackets to match with my dress and I wanted to ask Sirius if he has one I could borrow." 

James chuckles, "You can borrow one of mine," he hovers a hand over the small of your back and turns you to the stairs that lead to the dorms. You nod and allow him to guide you up the stairs. You sit on the end of James's bed, watching, as he rummages inside his trunk. 

James pulls out a burgundy bomber jacket, and holds it up to you for approval. "You know, usually you'd ask your date for his jacket," he mentions with a smile. You stand and with a small smile, take the jacket from his hands. 

"Oh?" 

"At least that's what happens when I go on dates," he winks and your heart sinks at the mention of him dating someone. You nervously play with the sleeve of James's jacket and avoid his gaze. 

"I mean, I wouldn't know—"

James pauses and frowns, "What was that?" 

"I said, I wouldn't know," you say less quietly, "I mean, I've never been on a date."

You look up and James looks you up and down and then slowly makes his way to your eyes again. "But you have done other things, haven't you?" Your heart pounds and he clarifies boldly, "You have been kissed? You must have—I mean a girl like you. You can tell me, I'm not Sirius." 

You turn your head, embarrassment pricking at your skin, until you feel his hand tilt your chin up at him again. When you look at him, his eyes, even while accompanied by the tenderness of his tone, look dark.

"Do you even know how to kiss someone, Y/n? Where your hands go? How much pressure to use? Where to touch?" 

You shake your head slowly but you can't tear your eyes away.  

"Oh, you sweet thing, you don't know a thing do you?" 

Your cheeks burn and your skin tingles but James soothes you with a soft sound and a warm palm resting on your cheek. "Shush, that's just fine, love. Do'you want me to show you? So you don't embarrass yourself tonight?" James asks kindly, but a shiver runs up your arm. 

You're frozen. James pushes some hair behind your ear and his face is so close to yours now. "I-" you whisper, "I don't know."

James smiles a little and his hands move down your arms to capture your wrists. He brings them up to his cheeks, "Here," his voice is smooth as honey as he allows you to touch him. "Good girl," he mutters when he slides your palm over his mouth and kisses it. 

"James," you practically whimper, confused but not disliking what's happening.

"Shhh," he interrupts you by leaning in and kissing your cheek and the skin around your ear.

You let out a breathy sound when James's hand wraps around your nape and he holds you just over his lips. Your hands fall from his face to rest at your sides as James looks into your eyes and after a moment, he turns his head and looks to the door, mutters a spell underneath his breath and you hear the latch lock. 

Then, almost instantly, his lips crash onto yours.

You're too surprised to push him away, not that you would, but you don't kiss him back until James reprimands you sweetly. "You have to work with me here, darling."

You nod, moving your lips against his, cautiously—unsure—and his hand returns to your nape as he holds you against him. His nose bumps into yours a few times and you feel clumsy as you mutter apologies in between your kisses.

James pulls away and stares at you, his pupils dilated and he smirks. "Open your mouth for me," he demands a little harshly as he tips your head back, "Come on. Wider."

You do as you're told and squeeze your eyes shut when he practically shoves his tongue in your mouth and kisses you again.

There isn't any tenderness in this kiss and you shift your hand to clutch at his shirt. You kind of want him to stop, but a bigger part of you wants him to continue.

To have him claim you as his.

You whimper as the back of your knees hit his bed and James almost falls into you. He disconnects your lips, admiring how swollen yours look, and spins your bodies around. 

James sits on the end of his bed and tugs your hips forwards, having your thighs straddle him. "This is how you kiss someone probably, Y/n." One of his hands runs into your hair as the other hooks around your back as he holds you against him.

He kisses you quickly, "Just like this," he murmurs and then slides a hand down to your neck and trails his index in between your breasts. 

"Go ahead, kiss me. Show me what you learned, my love."

You hold onto his shoulders, breath uneven as he looks at you expectantly. You shake your head. 

James fakes a pout and says, "What's wrong, are you embarrassed?" He starts to move your hips and your dress rides up. James slowly spreads his legs and with a soft moan, you land on one of his thighs only. He continues to move your hips in small circles as your panties rub against his jeans.

You shut your eyes as your insides twist, "James, I- I feel weird," you mutter and instinctively bury your head in his shoulder.

James is still your older brother's best friend. He's someone you trust and as your stomach tightens again you can't help but turn to him for some reassurance.

He cups the back of your head but starts to bounce his knee. "What feels weird?" he coos and presses his cheek in your hair, inhaling your scent. "You can tell me, darling," he reassures.

You squeeze your legs around his thigh and let out another whimper. "It feels weird. D-down there," you feel a little helpless as you cry quietly.

"Since you kissed me?" 

James suddenly pauses his movements and he holds you closer. He caresses a hand in your hair. "You're okay. Is this the first time your pussy feels like this?" he mumbles the question hoarsely in your ear and you cry a little harder. 

No one has ever asked you a question like that, or mentioned something so private in such an obscene manner.

You don't know what to think or say. 

"N-no?" you hiccup.

James kisses your temple. "Can you be more specific for me, darling? I wanna know how I can help you," he teases you.  

"I- mean - It happens sometimes. When I'm alone or sometimes w-when you're around," you admit in a whisper, "But it's so much worse now."

James just chuckles darkly and asks, "What do you usually do when this happens? Do you touch yourself?" 

You squeal when he bounces you on his thigh again. "N-no! I just let it pass. It usually passes," you sound desperate and when you hear his little sound of disappointment, you bite your lip to prevent yourself from bursting into more tears.

James groans.

Fuck, he shouldn't like this as much as he does but you're just so cute.

You feel James's hand wander up your sides until he reaches your dress straps and without hesitation, he snaps them. The top of your dress starts to slip and instinctively you sit up and cover your chest. 

Your eyes shimmer with tears, "James?"

James pulls your hands away. "Shh, I want to see something," he explains, his eyes never leaving your chest as he tugs your dress down so it bunches at your waist. Then, his fingers move around the skin on your back as he unclips your creamy-white bra and it falls to the ground.

You gasp when James cups your breasts in his hands and slowly teases his thumbs over your nipples. Your entire body shivers as the sensation moves to your core. You cry out and try to move away from him.

"This is so much worse than I imagined," James shakes his head and pinches your nipples until you moan in pain, "Poor thing, just relax and let me help you," he says, his voice sickeningly gentle as he moves you from his thigh to kneel in between his legs. 

You squirm as James quickly unbuckles his jeans and you look at him. "W-what are you doing?"

"Helping you," he fists a hand in your hair and moves you to him until his cock hits your cheek. James groans and instinctively, you open your mouth to take him. "Suck on that, my darling, you'll feel much better."

You do as he says, tears sliding down your cheeks every time he pushes in further and his cock hits deeper in your throat. You cough and struggle but James doesn’t relent. Instead, he fucks your throat with no mercy and as he coos praises in the midst of raspy moans, 

"Shit, you're doing so fucking good for me," he looks down at you through lidded eyelids and smirks, "You're making such a fucking mess," James points out the mixture of drool and pre-cum on the side of your mouth, almost dripping down your cheeks, and you flush with embarrassment. 

You want to defend yourself. Tell him it isn't your fault and that you're trying so hard to take him. You want to warn him that the pain in your middle hasn't disappeared and that it't much worse now. But you can't speak with his dick in your mouth. 

You start to tap on his thigh lightly, pleading with him through your teary eyes and James understands, "Rub your thighs together. Yeah, there you go," he chuckles, rubbing your head soothingly, and when you do and taunts you, "Such a filthy thing, getting your thighs all sticky because I said so. What would Sirius say if he saw you like this, huh?"

You whimper and close your eyes. You don't want to think about that now. However, James's hand suddenly grips your chin and he pulls his cock out of your mouth. "Don't do that. Don't look away from me." He turns your head harshly and admires the dried tears on your face, "Fuck, Sirius would have my head for this," he whispers. 

"Stand up." James orders and you scramble to listen. Your legs feel shaky as you stand in front of him, his head level with your lower stomach.

James hooks his fingers in the remaining of your dress and tugs it over your hips until it falls at your feet. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you in, kissing your stomach. Sucking marks on your skin. 

He starts to play with the little bow in front of your panties and says mockingly, "How fucking adorable."

You stammer, "James, I don't know if w-we should."

"Shh," he says as his hand moves to cup your pussy, "You're okay. Just relax. You don't need to worry, sweetheart, let me take care of you."

You cover your mouth to suppress a moan as your eyelids flutter. This feels surreal, having him like this. You've wanted him for longer than you can remember, but it was only ever a fucked up fantasy. 

It definitely isn't a fantasy anymore.

James slides your panties down, leaving you completely bare in front of him. You feel insecure as his eyes roam around every curve and crease on your skin.

You have to bring your second hand to cover your mouth as well when James pushes his middle finger into your pussy. It hurts but when you squirm, he uses his other hand to steady your hips.

"Shit, you really are a virgin," he starts to move them in and out and you let him, the pain starting to feel like pleasure. 

After a few moments of James teasing you with his finger, you feel a weird sensation in your lower stomach. However, before it can come to a finish, your legs tremble and you almost fall over, "Woah," James sounds surprised as he catches you.

He pulls out his finger, feeling your hands squeeze around his shoulders, and looks up. He stands up and gently turns you around with him so he can lay you on his bed. He kneels in between your legs and spreads your thighs.

You look down with him and when you see the inside of your thighs absolutely soaked from your juices, you make a small whimper. 

In your mind you look obscene, dirty even, but James doesn't seem to mind, "You're so pretty."

He uses his hands to pull apart your folds and he presses a sloppy kiss to your clit. You moan and squirm.

When you hear him pull down his trousers and take himself out of his boxers again, you whimper. "Wait, please," you whisper and James stands over you, hooking his hands around your thighs and scooting you closer to his hips.

"Hush now," he lines himself up with your entrance, "I'm helping you so that when William fucks you, you're prepared for him." He chuckles but his thumb draws reassuring circles around your hips.

You gasp and feel tears slide down your cheeks, tasting the salt in your mouth, "I-I don't want William to fuck me," you say.

James pushes himself in and at the same time you squeal, he moans, "You're so fuckable though, baby. Shit, you're taking me so well I can barely control myself around you."

He squeezes his hand around your thighs, bruising your skin as he pushes into you. Your hands fist the sheet as James starts to pound into you with no mercy. 

"This okay?" he whispers, breaking the dominance for a crucial moment as he looks down at you with what can only be described as pure adoration in his eyes.

"Y-yes," you whimper, as overwhelmed as you are you feel so good.

"Where is my cock, hmm? Where is it?" He suddenly asks harshly as he brings a hand to your chin when you squirm, "Don't you move away from me."

James lightly slaps your cheek, "Answer the question," he snaps. You choke on your cries, barely recognizing the man looming above you. 

"Inside me?" You mutter.

"Where?"

"My p-pussy," you bite down on your lip as James thrusts harder and leans in to bury his face into your neck. You gasp as the pleasure intensifies.

"Good girl, fuck," he mutters and nuzzles his nose into your hair, "William might get your first date, but I'll always be the first one to have kissed your lips," James kisses you hungrily, "The first to touch you, to fuck you. And Merlin, you just love to be fucked, don't you? I can feel you clenching around me. You really are a filthy slut."

Suddenly, you hear the door handle rattle and your eyes widen. James pauses a moment but when he hears your brother's voice from behind the door, he forcefully crushes his hand over your mouth and sends you a dark look.

"Prongs? Open the door, I know you're in here!"

James looks down at you and smirks, "I'm fucking busy," he calls out to his friend, his voice strained as he slowly continues his thrusts. 

"Don't tell me you're wanking one out now?"

You blush when James laughs. Sirius tries the door again, "Is Y/n in there? I can't find her anywhere."

You squeeze your eyes shut. You're so scared your brother will find you like this. Naked on his best friend's bed. 

Merlin, what would he think of you?

"You just missed her. I think she left for her date," James answers with a smirk, still fucking you and hiding your moans and gasps behind his hand.

"Oh, alright," Sirius sighs and then, he slams his palm in the door as an indicator that he’s leaving, and you jump.

James looks down at his cock disappearing into you and waits a moment before groaning, "Come on, look at me inside you," he fists your hair and forces your chin down to look at your pussy. 

Your vision blurs as you see your juices mixed with a little bit of blood smeared on your inner thighs and under your ass. Your hands clutch at James shirt, legs trembling as you make small gasping sounds to his thrusts.

"Hush, you're okay baby. It's normal," James coos, pressing a kiss to your forehead, "It doesn't hurt anymore, yeah?"

You nod.

"Aren't you happy it's me and not William taking your virginity? Making you feel like this?" James says William's name with bitterness and punctuates his words with a harsh thrusts.

 He smirks, kneading your breasts and rubbing your nipples. "You look like such a brainless whore."

You moan uncontrollably when James pinches your sides as his hands travel to your pussy and he meanly slaps your clit.

"I've ruined you, baby. Made you so cock hungry for me, huh?" He rubs your clit harder and you start to sob and violently shake your head,

"James!" you plead, "It feels weird. I- something is h-happening."

James just smirks and wipes some drool from the side of your mouth with his thumb. "Aww, sweetheart, are y'gonna come for me?"

"I-w-what?" you mumble, embarrassed.

"You don't even know what that is, do you?" James groans, feeling you clench around him, "Shh, don't you worry. Just let it happen, okay? It’ll feel good. I promise.”

You moan when the pressure finally builds and your legs shake. James continues to fucks you through it until he feels you slip into full bliss and he finally comes inside you, leaving you a shaky blubbering mess from your second orgasm.

He leaves the bed and starts to dress.

You squeeze your thighs and move them around, feeling the stickiness from his cum, yours, and your blood. You shut your eyes and curl into yourself.

James turns to you and immediately shrugs off his shirt. He walks over and sits by your side, "Shhh, here," he pulls the shirt up and over your head, making sure to cover you up, and he kisses your cheek.

His hand runs circles around your thighs and when he spreads them again, his eyes soften when he sees your pussy. "Oh, my darling. What a filthy mess, hmm?" 

James walks to his drawer and takes out some tissues, which he uses to gently clean you. You flush with embarrassment as he touches your pussy again.

"William won't wanna fuck you if you're full of my cum," he says calmly

You stare at him with teary eyes. "I don't want William to fuck me. Please, James, don't let him," you feel so sore you can't even fathom someone else touching you.  

James's mouth opens but he only lets out a shaky breath. His hand comes to hold your cheeks and you subconsciously lean into his touch as he calms you down. "Okay, love. He won't touch a hair on your pretty head, ok? I promise."

You nod, eyes glossy and you lean into him—seeking his comfort after what happened. James hesitates a moment, his mind filled with guilt and fuzz and then he pulls you in closer to him.

"I- I'm sorry if I was rough on you, my lovely," he whispers into your hair, inhaling your scent and then kissing your hairline.

You hum, your eyes droopy from exhaustion and overstimulation. "It's okay, Jamie," you whisper, "I really liked it. You made me feel good," you say honestly and James smiles.

"Good," he kisses your nose, "You can nap now, love," he say calmly and pulls you into his lap, "I'll watch over you, I promise."

James knows you'll miss your date with William, but he doesn't care. You don't seem concerned either as your breathing calms and your eyelids flutter shut.

Yes, perhaps it is for the best you'll miss your date, James thinks, you're his now and he'll make damn sure he keeps you.

His darling girl.