#and know next to nothing compared to most

[sargebarnesx]

Long Distance ✈️

Pairing: Bob Floyd x female reader

Rating: 18+ ONLY, NSFW, MDNI

Warnings: Once again, smut with plot. Solo masturbation, mutual masturbation, FaceTime Sex, language. Bob has a filthy mouth.

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: Bob Floyd is in a long distance relationship and can’t stand it. One night, something snaps.

Author's Note: Just a little something I wrote and edited today. Also, I know next to nothing about the inner workings of the military/Navy so please suspend your beliefs for a bit here 😂 Hope y'all enjoy! (Banner photos are from Pinterest)

FaceTime was a lifesaver when it came to long-distance relationships.

Bob Floyd had always told himself he would never do long distance - he didn’t think he could handle it. He wasn’t clingy, necessarily, but he preferred to see his girl multiple times a week (okay, okay, every day if possible).

Long distance just didn’t appeal to him. But when he fell for a fellow aviator, he knew it would be inevitable.

Their romance was a whirlwind. Shy at first, but once he finally kissed her, they didn’t hold back. She was at his apartment more often than her own. Sneaking around wasn’t ideal (not that they had to, they just wanted to keep things private), but that was the last thing on his mind when she was curled against him on his couch after a long day. He had never realized how nice it would be to have someone to come home to - someone who understood the weight of the responsibilities the mission carried - until he was with her.

She was one hell of a pilot: sharp as a tack and quick on her feet, a force to be reckoned with. But what really impressed Bob was the person she was outside of work. They quickly became a duo, a team - a picture of domesticity. She felt like home to him.

But, like clockwork, she was reassigned once their mission was complete, along with a handful of their other colleagues.

Two different coasts. Two different time zones. One couple slowly turning into two completely different people.

She was stationed in Pensacola while he stayed in San Diego, his orders extended rather than changed completely. They were beautiful areas with perfect beaches, and the Navy roots ran deep. But neither could quite sow seeds without the other.

Bob knew she was adjusting well after the move. She loved Florida - but she hated the time difference. Two hours might not seem like much to most people, but to them, it was challenging. She’d already been at work for several hours by the time he was waking up, which meant no good morning chats. He was usually able to catch her in the evening, when he was eating dinner and she was in the middle of her nighttime routine. But Bob didn’t always want to say goodnight at 7:30 p.m.

He wouldn’t admit it to her, but he was struggling.

He hadn’t seen her in months. Hadn’t kissed her. Hadn’t felt her skin beneath his hands. He was going crazy.

Sure, he had photos of her - videos, too - but nothing compared to the real thing. Waking up wrapped around her pillow instead of her left him disappointed every morning. And he didn’t even want to begin to try to compare her hands to his.

Around noon that day, just as he sat down with a sandwich for lunch, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

Baby ✈️🩵

Unexpected day off tomorrow. FaceTime tonight?

Bob stared at his phone screen. An unexpected day off meant she could stay up later with him. She was usually very disciplined during the week, which he respected, but he hated the quiet of the night after they ended their call and she went to bed. At this point, though, he’d take what he could get.

He typed back a quick of course, baby before turning back to his lunch.

**********

That evening, when Bob trudged into his apartment, he was extremely tense. A lot of things had gone wrong for him today, which was unusual. He couldn’t concentrate on the tasks at hand - he was tripping over his own feet. He was so wired, it felt like he had jet fuel pumping through his veins.

He knew why he was like this. And he knew there was nothing he could do about it - at least, not yet.

She was all he’d been able to think about. He kept daydreaming about her, imagining seeing her in the hangar, her hair flowing free and her flight suit half unzipped.

It didn’t help his current state that, in his daydream, she was wearing absolutely nothing under her flight suit - and she ripped the zipper open as soon as she saw him.

He’d fantasized about bending her over, right then and there, and railing her like they had no other cares in the world. About how good her perfect pussy (one he hadn’t had in months) would feel wrapped around him. He was going insane.

After he washed up in the shower, he stared at the row of products she’d left behind when she shipped out: shampoo, conditioner, cream body wash, face wash, a body scrub. He grabbed the bottle of body wash and squeezed a dollop into his palm. He lathered it up, closed his eyes, and held his hands up to his nose.

It was like she was there with him - the overwhelming scent of coconut and vanilla enveloping him, affecting all of his senses. He could see her standing under the spray of water, her hair plastered to her body as soap streamed down her curves.

He wrapped his soapy hand around his cock, dragging it from base to tip over and over, his eyes scrunched so tightly shut he saw stars. Just as he was about to cum, his phone rang on the counter and snapped him out of his daze.

It had to be her. How long had he even been in here, wasting their time together? He quickly rinsed off and wrapped a towel around himself before reaching for his phone.

Her name lit up the screen - Missed FaceTime Call. He tapped her name to call back. The phone rang only once before she picked up.

“Hi,” she called out.

His phone was still facing the ceiling as he dried off. “Hi, baby. Sorry, I was in the shower. Let me pull on some shorts real quick.”

Bob hung up his towel and pulled on a pair of soft sweat shorts. He grabbed his phone and settled onto his bed, forgoing his glasses on the nightstand.

She was also on her bed, dressed in a light gray cropped tank and matching shorts. Her hair was damp, like she’d just finished a shower too. The sight of her made his chest ache.

She smiled when she saw him. “Hi,” she said again, laying back on her pillows. From this angle, he could see a flash of her stomach. He wanted nothing more than to have his hands on her.

“Hey, baby. You look cozy,” he replied, propping his phone against a pillow.

She nodded, leaning onto her fist. “Just wish you were here.”

Bob sighed. He didn’t mean to sound so dissatisfied. Just knowing they both longed to be together… he couldn’t wait until things were easier. He stretched an arm behind his head, his bicep flexing.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he admitted.

Her eyes flicked up to meet his through the screen. “Yeah?” she asked. “What about?”

He pressed his lips together, debating whether to tell her about his daydreams—his fantasies.

“Just all the things I miss about you. Having you in my bed. Seeing you on base. Coming home to you…” He paused. “And God, baby, I miss that perfect body underneath me.”

She watched him, then adjusted her phone again. His breath hitched when he noticed her hard nipples pressing against her thin tank top. He stretched his right hand down and palmed himself over his shorts.

“What would you do if I was there right now?” she asked, her fingers ghosting over her breast. “Please tell me.”

Bob groaned as he gripped his half-hard cock through his shorts. “Well, first,” he began, “I’d have my hands all over you. Gripping that ass. Pinching your nipples.” His hips bucked against his hand.

She nodded, and he could see her chest rising and falling as he spoke. “What else?” she asked.

“I’d kiss you. All over. I’d start with your lips, then your neck, then your chest. Then I’d suck on your nipples - I know how much you love that, baby. I’d kiss down your stomach, all the way down to-” He squeezed his cock, stifling a groan. “Fuck, I’d have my mouth on that pretty pussy so fast.”

“I’ve missed your mouth,” she whispered, her hand trailing down her body and out of frame.

“Are you about to touch yourself, baby?” Bob asked.

“Aren’t you?” she countered. Bob smirked.

“I am. Wanna see?”

She nodded, and he pushed his shorts down his legs, tossing them to the side. His dick was practically begging for her, and he fisted it before turning the camera around. He watched her face as she bit her lip, her own arm moving rhythmically.

“Fuck, Bobby. I need you. I miss the way you fill me up. Wish you could feel how wet you’ve made me.”

He stroked himself for her, slowly. She let out a soft moan, her eyes never leaving the screen.

“Take off your clothes, baby. Please,” Bob begged, his heart pounding.

She sat up, propping her phone against the headboard. When she came back into frame, he could see her whole body. She peeled her tank top off slowly, and he couldn’t help the whimper that escaped his throat when her tits were finally on display. She squeezed her breasts, groaning as she pinched and pulled at her nipples.

“Feels so much better when it’s your hands,” she whined. He stroked himself faster at that. She got on all fours before turning her back to the camera. Then she pushed her shorts down, arching her back as her glistening pussy filled his screen.

“Oh my-fucking…” His voice sounded strangled as he gripped his cock. He was a mess - moaning, whimpering, whining. But he couldn’t help it. He wanted her so bad.

She turned back around to face the camera, spreading her legs so he had a full view. Her fingers found her clit, pressing circles into it with one hand as she pinched her nipple with the other.

“Bobby, I miss you. Miss that cock. I can’t wait until you can fill me up again.” She plunged her fingers into her soaking wet hole. Bob could see just how wet she was - her slick pussy glistening in the low light of her bedroom.

“Next time I see you, I’m gonna be inside you before we even leave the airport.” Bob was fucking his hand now, his hips snapping up. “Gonna have you dripping for me again by the time we make it home. Then I’m gonna spend all night with my cock buried inside you… fucking made for me.”

His hips stuttered, and every sound she made sent a jolt of electricity through him. She adjusted her position, lying back so he could see her fully spread, her back arching off the bed. All for him.

“I’ve thought about you like this so many times,” she murmured, glancing over to watch him as she touched herself. “Thought about your cock in my hands, in my mouth… God, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve touched myself thinking about you fucking me, baby. Nothing compares to you.”

He could tell she was close by the way her thighs tensed. He clenched his fist around his length, gasping at the thought of her pussy squeezing him as he brought her to her orgasm.

“Just a little bit longer, baby,” he begged with a groan. “I’m so close - please, let’s cum together.”

He watched her eyes roll back as she adjusted her pressure. “I’m not sure how much longer I can-fuck!” She threw her head back with the most desperate whine Bob had ever heard.

“Oh, baby,” he panted. “I’m about to… I’m about to cum, baby. All for you, all for you, all for you.”

His hips continued to buck up into his fist as he shot his load all over his stomach. She was fully watching him now, biting her lip like she was remembering the last time she got to taste him - the last time she made him come undone like that.

Both of their chests were heaving, and for a while, the only sounds they could hear were deep, shallow breaths.

“I needed that,” he murmured finally. “God, I needed that.”

“Me too,” she agreed softly. “Definitely made a big mess, though.” When she picked up her phone, he could see the wet spot where she’d been before.

He chuckled, looking down at his own body. “We both did. Let’s get cleaned up.”

They did so in silence. Bob pulled on a clean pair of shorts, and he noticed she had changed into an oversized T-shirt - one of his. Once they were both back in their beds, Bob sighed.

“I miss you so much,” he said.

“I miss you too,” she replied. “And I love you. So much.”

Bob nodded, that familiar ache spreading in his chest. “I love you too.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I hope we can see each other soon.”

She was silent for a while. He just watched her - how she snuggled into her pillows under her plush comforter. “We will,” she reassured him. He wasn’t sure that was true, but he stayed silent anyway.

“Wanna stay on until we fall asleep?” she asked. Bob nodded, rolling onto his side. Her breathing had evened out - deep, slow, soft. His eyes felt heavy.

“Sweet dreams, Bobby,” was the last thing he heard before he drifted off to sleep.

[melobballin]

OMG WE NEED MORE JUJUUUUUUU

like enemies to lovers type beat, with loads of tension and breaking points, where they finally get together and it’s just confessions after confessions while they’re kissing etc

heat check. juju watkins

✶ warnings ✶ 3k words count. black!fem reader. enemies to lovers. rivalry. trackstar!reader. Juju is messy af. hater!juju. reader hates juju to her guts. kissing. crashout!reader. petty ig lives. wlw.

hope you’ll like it baby ! 🤍

“YOU’RE GONNA HAVE TO BE BETTER THAN HER IF YOU WANT THAT ENDORSEMENT.”

Your dad didn’t even look up from his reports containing your last records as he said it, like it was the most obvious fact in the universe. No “good job”, no “I’m proud of you”—just that cold-ass line hitting you like a punch to the ribs.

You’re standing in the gym locker room, still soaked in sweat, legs still trembling from the last race you ran, and you swore your heart dropped every time he said her name : juju watkins.

“She plays basketball, Dad,” you said low, voice tired, the frustration bubbling just under your skin. “She’s not even in track world.”

“You’re not listening,” His eyes finally met yours, sharp and serious. “I don’t have time for excuses. This school, this program—nobody cares what sport you play. It’s about who’s the face, who’s selling the image, who’s getting the endorsements. And right now ? She is.”

You wanted to argue, wanted to tell him it wasn’t about juju or endorsements or all this noise. You wanted to tell him you ran for you.

But the words stuck in your throat.

“Be better than her,” he repeated, voice low but heavy like a verdict. “Or get used to watching her take everything you worked for.”

You hated that you wanted to scream.

You hated that tears pricked your eyes.

You hated that he was right.

YOU DIDN’T EVEN TALK TO JUJU LIKE THAT. But you saw her. Everywhere. She was the golden girl on campus. Basketball star. The one who drew the crowds. The one who got the interviews, the likes, the clout.

You were the track princess who ran hard and kept herself humble but somehow always felt like running in her shadow.

Social media feeds made it worse. Always comparing. Always pitting you two against each other like some game.

But no matter what you did—her name was always sitting in your mentions.

“Track princess vs Juju again 👀”

“The nike add ate. But I don’t know who I want more, juju, or ✶.”

“They def got beef and I’m here for it.”

“Juju def the type to bag shorty just to mess up her race day 😭”

You hated it. You hated that it followed you everywhere.

You hated that sometimes… you click on her page.

You scroll through her posts at night when you can’t sleep. You rewatch the press clips. Her voice. Her smile. The way she runs her tongue across her teeth before answering a question. Her highlights. That game where she crossed two girls and then acted like nothing happened.

You saw it.

Went through the comments.

You fucking hated that.

YOU WERE CHILLING AT YOUR BEST FRIEND EVY’S PLACE. You were trying to decompress after yet another brutal practice.

Evy had been teasing you all day about your big-framed, black-rimmed glasses—the ones you wore to hide from the world sometimes, or maybe because you lowkey loved how they made you look like the serious, mysterious track star no one can mess with.

You threw them on after practice while Evy filmed you lip syncing to ‘whim whamiee’. You were feeling yourself. The gloss on your lips, the way the sun caught your braids. It was the first time you really let yourself just be, no pressure, no expectations.

Next thing you knew, Evy was groaning next to you. “Tell me why juju is on live and people are mentioning your name.”

You took her phone and scrolled to the live and there was juju, glasses on too and hooded up, looking all casual but somehow cute, scrolling through the comments.

#IG!LIVE COMMENTS

that girl from track wearing glasses too 😭😭😭 copying her ?

not juju having her glasses on too

just ask for her @ atp

u coming to kim’s party on friday ?

She squinted at the phone. Smirks.

“Can’t lie,” she said into the camera. “Shorty fine. I’m finer thought.”

You blinked.

Evy side-eyeded you, smirking.

“She wants you so bad,” she whispered, almost laughing. “Y’all are so disgusting.”

You rolled your eyes but your head was pounding hard.

You knew what the fuck she was doing. She wanted them to talk. Because see, the thing with juju was that, there always was this back and forth thing where she would throw jabs, or shades but then compliment and smirk when press mentioned you. It was almost as if she liked the rivalry.

JUJU COULD BE SO MESSY AT TIMES. And each time the press would eat her shit up, like they couldn’t tell she was doing this on purpose to indeed make them talk.

She just scored 29 and made a last-second three.

As usual the press was all over it. When asked her if there was any athlete on campus she felt “pushed by,” she only tilted her head and said :

“There’s this track girl, maybe her. She doesn’t scare me though, I know she doesn’t compare. Or so the streets are saying.”

And listen. You blacked out a little.

Safe to say— you showed up to her dorm an hour later, hoodie up, fists balled, rage vibrating through your chest. Because what the hell was that ?

She opened the door almost like she was expecting you.

“Oh,” she said, one brow raised. “Came to congratulate me ? Nice coming from you.”

“Say that shit to my face, judea.” you snapped.

“I already did.”

You stepped forward. “Juju, you don’t know me, I’ll dig through your bitch ass on your fucking doorstep. I don’t care anymore for your bullshit.”

She only looked you up and down. Smirked.

“Bro,” she said, voice low, “I’m not fighting you.”

You blinked, one of your eyelids shaking under the pressure.

She stepped closer. Close enough for you to see the gold flecks in her eyes. She liked this shit. “I won’t be fighting you,” she repeated. “I’m trying to stop fighting with you.”

You only stared.

She reached out. Fingers brushing your wrist, as if she was trying to calm you down. But she was full of shit, and you knew it.

“Go fuck yourself, juju.” You say, swatting her hand away. Your finger went in her face, pointing at her. “Don’t mention my name unless you can handle the smoke that comes with it. Stop fucking playing with me.”

She smiled a little as she watched you stand back and go back to your dorm.

You looked good mad.

THE PARTY WAS LOUD AS HELL. Hot. Sticky. Shoulder-to-shoulder kind of packed. The music was so loud your heart synced with the bass. It smelled like weed, sweat, and sugar-rimmed solo cups. The lights were low, flickering in red and blue, and the house was packed—wall to wall with athletes, campus regulars, people you ain’t seen since syllabus week—everyone was here.

And you ? You looked dangerous tonight.

Tucked near the kitchen with your teammates, frames sliding low on your nose, lemon drop in hand. That baby pink tank top was fighting for its life on your chest, and you’d swapped your usual braids for a slick high pony that had your whole face snatched. Edges crisp. Lips glossy. Skin glowing.

You hadn’t even planning to stay that long—you just came to roll with Evy and maybe do a little two-step before dipping. But then they played “Bartier Cardi” and your homegirls pulled you into the corner like it was a video shoot. Suddenly, you were mouthing every word, fingers moving, drink in hand, laughing like you didn’t have practice at 7 a.m. sharp.

And that’s when the air shifted.

Like the music didn’t just drop—a vibe did.

She walked in.

Of course she did. Because where you were ? Juju always followed. Or maybe she just knew how to find you.

Black boyfriend jeans slung low on her hips, oversized crop tee, teasing just enough skin to be criminal. Her braid swung behind her like punctuation, crisp and cocky, the same way she walked. Chains stacked on her collarbone, diamond studs catching every bit of the light like they were in on the plan. She moved like she knew people were watching—and like she didn’t give a single fuck about any of them.

Except you.

You didn’t even notice her at first. Too busy shining, posing, lip-syncing cardi like it was your job and somebody’s phone was about to catch the magic for their story.

But then someone yelled her name—and everything paused.

Your head turned, slow. Your eyes trying to find her.

But she was already looking.

Already staring.

Already smiling.

Your phone buzzed.

From : (bitch ass) judea

Glasses again ? aren’t you tired of copying me ?

To : (bitch ass) judea

judea why are you in my phone again ?

From : (bitch ass) judea

wow

can’t even compliment you

To : (bitch ass) judea

told you to come say shit to my face

or you can’t handle the smoke ?

From : (bitch ass) judea

Turn around

You turned.

And she was there.

Two feet behind you. Looking too good for you to admit it, her lips glossed. She tilted her head like she was studying you.

You opened your mouth to speak—but Evy dragged you away before you got the chance.

IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE YOUR MOMENT. All season long, you’d been grinding—up at 5am, lungs burning through intervals, legs screaming on hills, phone on dnd. You had stopped going out, skipped parties, blocked distractions, everything—because this race ? This was the one.

The scouts were here. The brand reps. The photographers. Your dad.

“Remember, be better than that damn kid,” he said to you the night before. Didn’t even say her name. Just her—like juju was the final boss you hadn’t beaten yet.

And for a second, you believed you could.

Believed you could make him proud.

You had the fastest prelim time. The best start of your season. You looked good. Felt even better. Kinda.

But when the gun went off—

Something… slipped.

Maybe it was the pressure. Maybe it was the thousand thoughts screaming in your head. Maybe it was the way you saw juju’s name trending on twitter right before you warmed up.

But you clipped a hurdle.

Just one. Just enough.

You didn’t fall, but it wrecked your rhythm. Your arms flailed, your stride staggered, and suddenly you were in second place, fighting like hell to catch the girl in lane four.

And you didn’t.

You crossed the line second.

Not even a close second. Just… not first.

Not who you were supposed to be.

The crowd still cheered, but it felt like background static. Your coach tried to say something—you didn’t hear it. Your dad was somewhere in the bleachers. Silent.

Almost disappointed.

Your chest heaved. Your vision blurred. Your legs trembled as you stumbled past the finish line and dropped to your knees near the fence. Hands on your thighs. Gutted.

The cameras were still flashing. You could feel people watching.

And then you heard it.

Her voice.

Soft. Close.

“Hey.”

You didn’t even have to look. You knew. “Don’t talk to me, please not now juju.”

Your fists curled, throat tight. You dragged your head up anyway, cheeks wet and jaw clenched. As you went straight towards the lockers, not wanting to crash in front of everyone, she followed you.

“Go ahead,” you said, stopping in your tracks to turn and look at her. “Laugh, juju.”

She blinked.

“What ?”

You walked up to her fast, heart pounding in your ears. “That’s what you do, right? You win, you gloat. You throw lil jabs in interviews and act like you’re above everybody else. So just say it. Say something slick so I can finally pop your shit.”

She didn’t.

She stepped closer, her brows furrowed—not smug, not playful. Just… soft. “What’s wrong with you ? I already told you I wasn’t gonna fight you.”

you kept your fists clenched.

“I’m not gonna laugh at you,” she said, voice low.

Your lip trembled. “Why not ? That’s what you’ve been dying to do ever since we met.”

“Because you’re allowed to have a bad day,” she said, like it was obvious. “And because second place doesn’t mean you’re not her. And first of all, that last part is not true at all.”

You swallowed hard, looking away, trying to blink the tears back. But they kept spilling over.

She stepped in again, real close this time, until her hand gently gripped your shoulders.

“Look at me.”

You didn’t want to. But you did.

Juju was surprisingly looking at you like you were something fragile and precious—not weak, not pitiful. Real. Her thumbs brushed over your shoulders.

“You don’t have to be perfect for me to see you,” she murmured.

That broke you.

A sob cracked in your chest, and you buried your face in her shoulder before you could stop yourself.

She caught you. Held you. Let you cry.

And for once you didn’t want to slap her across the face.

IT HAPPENED AFTER A GAME. One of hers, this time.

She dropped 31. Broke a record. Everybody was screaming her name, chanting M-V-P while camera flashes went off like she was a damn movie star. You were there, of course—hood up, sitting in the bleachers with some of your teammates, hands in your jacket, trying not to stare too hard. Trying not to look like you came for her.

But you kinda did.

That’s what you did now.

You stayed through the whole thing. Watched her shine like she was built for it. Like the court had always belonged to her. And yeah, you even cheered a little. Quietly. Just to yourself.

And when it was over, when the crowd filtered out and the team disappeared into the locker room, you left.

No text. No “good game.”

Just… left.

And she wasn’t having it. Didn’t want to let it end there.

At 12am, you got a text.

From : (dumb ass) judea

u at home ?

To : (dumb ass) judea

yea why ?

From : (dumb ass) judea

come outside

need to see u

Your stomach flipped. You sat up in bed, pulse thudding. The house was quiet—Evy was knocked out, your other roommate’s light turned off an hour ago, and your body still sore from practice.

But you were up.

You were slipping on your pink slides, tugging on a hoodie, sneaking downstairs like you were sixteen again and doing something you swore you wouldn’t.

She was outside leaning against her car, black hoodie on, curls up in a messy bun and still a little damp from her post-game shower, chain glinting under the porch light like punctuation.

“Hey,” she said, voice soft.

You squinted at her. “You good?”

She shruged. “I just… I wanted to see you.”

Your heart skipped.

She wasn’t playing tonight. She wasn’t smirking or being slick. She looked tired. Vulnerable, almost. Like the weight of the court was still sitting on her shoulders.

You shifted, crossing your arms. “You could’ve said that in a text.”

“I know,” she said, and leaning forward. “But I wanted to say it to your face, for once.”

Silence fell between you.

The wind brushed against your ankles. Her eyes searched yours.

“I saw you tonight,” she said. “You were in the back row, right ?”

You swallowed. “I didn’t think you noticed.”

“I always notice.”

You looked away. Your throat felt tight.

Juju exhaled. “I used to get hype off crowds. The noise, the pressure. I liked it. But now, after every game, I’m checking the stands for you.”

You blinked.

She turned to you. She was now close enough for you to see the curve of her lip, the sweat still shining on her cheekbone.

“I don’t care what people say anymore,” she said. “About us. This rivalry thing. The drama. None of it.”

You stayed still. You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.

“I care about you showing up,” she continued. “I care about you watching me. I care about you thinking I’m good enough.”

“Juju…”

Her name tasted shaky on your tongue.

She licked her lips, nervous. Her voice dropped.

“I think about you all the damn time. After games. After practice. Before sleep. Before interviews. You’re just—there. Stuck in my head. And I hate it.”

You sucked in a breath. “Why are you telling me this now ?”

“Because I can’t hold this shit in anymore.”

She reached out, fingers brushing against your arm.

“I never meant what said during all those press conferences. That slick shit. I was trying to look unbothered. But the truth is… you bother the hell out of me.”

You almost laughed. “That’s not helping your case, dummy.”

“I mean you got fucked me up,” she said. “Like, I’ll be running plays and suddenly I’m thinking about the way your lips looked when you were mouthing that cardi song at that party.”

Your eyes widened.

She smirked. “Yeah. You know I saw it.”

You shook your head. “You’re dumb as fuck.”

“And you’re fine,” she said. “And I’m tired of pretending I don’t want you.”

She stepped even closer. Now you were toe-to-toe next to her car, hearts thudding in sync.

You were quiet for a long beat.

Then you whispered, “I thought you hated me. And I wished you did because I kinda hated you too.”

“I did, at some point.” she said. “But not really. I hated how much I wanted you.”

And that’s it. That was the unraveling.

Your eyes stung. Your chest tightened. You reached for her before you could think twice, hands sliding around her shoulders, fingertips brushing the warm skin of her neck.

“What the hell are we doing ?” you said, voice warm.

She grabbed your jaw. “You tell me, baby.”

You leaned in, forehead pressed to hers.

“I thought if I didn’t loose to you,” you whispered, “my dad would stop looking at me like I was a waste. Like all this work was for nothing. But when I lost that race, you didn’t laugh—you held me, that felt nice.”

She kissed you.

Soft, slow, with the kind of patience that said she had been waiting for it.

You sighed into her mouth, fists curling into her hoodie, her arms tightening around your waist. The world faded out. There was only her. Only this.

When you pulled back, breathless, you whispered, “What do we do now ?”

Juju smiled.

“You can start by stopping pretending you want to dig into me each time you see me and accept that I’m fine as fuck,” she said.

And she kissed you again.

This time like a promise.

© written by melobballin | inspo is free, but copying is lazy. keep it cute y’all

[straytravelor]

dbf!actor!Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

First fic I'm publishing here🫶🏼

Word count: 4.4k

Warnings: SMUT MDNI, age gap, older Bucky, daddy kink, oral (m!receiving)

Summary: Holding a watch party for the newest movie your favorite actor stars in, who happens to be your neighbor....and your dad's friend

    When your dad told you that Bucky's new movie was coming out, you planned the watch party. You set up the inflatable projector, layed out all the comforters and blankets in the yard, put down piles of pillows, and prepped food. It was worth it to celebrate Bucky.

    Bucky had moved in next door about 2 years ago. You could tell he was quite a bit older than you, but that didn't make him any less attractive. You were the first to greet him, face burning with heat as he shook your hand and simply said, "Call me Bucky," before your dad came out of the house and introduced himself to the new face, who then said his name was James.

    He was quick to get along with your dad, always talking about football or the latest war movie. Which was how the two of you found out that your neighbor was actually an actor for some of those war movies. Bucky had served in the army and was honorably discharged after losing his arm and got recruited into movies because they wanted someone who had seen the front lines. "Easier to replicate the feeling of being in war when you really have been there," Bucky had explained to you.

    Happy to support the gentleman's career, you watched all of his movies. You always said you watched them for the plot, but the plot to you was the 6 foot tall soldier always on screen in shirts a size too small. The directors knew what they were doing, and you always made a mental note to thank them for it if you ever met them.

    Sure, he looked incredible in the movies, but it didn't compare to staring into his warm eyes while that soft smile shined your way. Especially when up close, you got to see the grey patches peaking through the hair of his beard. They always covered that up for his characters. What a shame.

    You gave the setup one last look and nodded with pride. Maybe it seemed a little feminine when the only people coming over were a few of your dad's friends, but you knew they wouldn't care. Most of them would fall asleep before the movie was halfway done. And if they did mind, you could just bribe them with your snacks. Nobody was immune to your baking.

    Once the sun started to set, you sat out brownies, chocolate chip cookies, popcorn, and drinks for everyone to help themselves to as they came in. In the midst of organizing the drinks, your dad stuck his head out of the back door, "Look who's here!" When he opened the door all the way, Bucky stepped from behind him and out into the yard.

    Your smile reached ear to ear as you opened your arms for the man, "Buck!" Your dad went back in, presumably waiting on his friends to show up, as you wrapped your arms around the man's neck. When his hands glided over your waist to reciprocate, you had to step back, knowing it would cloud your mind the rest of the night if you didn't. "He didn't tell me you were joining. You wanna watch your own movie that bad," you joked.

    He let out a gentle laugh, "No, nothing like that. I just wanted to see how my favorite girl would like the movie." His eyes roamed down to your lips and back up to your eyes, but you were both interrupted by your dad stepping out with two of his friends and a few beers, laughing away as they joined.

    Your eyes lingered on Bucky longer than necessary. He would be the death of you, and you knew it. Yet you gathered your thoughts, swallowed them down, and willed yourself to say hello to the other approaching men and pointed them to the snacks as you turned on the projector to bring up the movie.

    Bucky didn't leave your side. Instead, he leaned in and lowered his voice, "Where are you sitting, Doll? I'll make sure our spot is reserved." The closeness sent a shiver down your spine that you tried to hide. You really had it bad, and he wasn't helping. Our spot? What you wouldn't give for that to mean you were sat on his lap.

    "Uhm, probably far right, you know I always sit at the end," and he did know. He had most of your quirks and preferences memorized. Despite his claims that it's just because he wanted to make friends comfortable, you knew he didn't know shit like that about your dad.

    "James! You want a beer?"

    He started towards the other guys, but you could still hear him respond with, "Nah, I'm good, maybe later," before grabbing two sodas you had set out. Bucky was the first to sit in the picnic area you created as the title of the movie popped up. The others filed in, plopping down to his left. It set a fire in your stomach, knowing he guarded the spot you wanted.

    You pressed play and stepped to the empty spot next to Bucky. Your spot. The chatter from the other men dulled down as the beginning of the film boomed out. A soda being held out to you caught your eye. When you turned and smiled, Buck nudged your side a little, "Didn't think you'd get something for yourself, so I grabbed one for you," he whispered. What a man he was. Heat rose to your cheeks, a familiar feeling around him, so you avoided his gaze by suddenly focusing awful hard on the screen.

    It couldn't have been more than 15 minutes before your posture started to get to you, so you laid back against the pillows you had set out. The movie was just starting to focus on Bucky's character, building a backstory to get you attached to him. But you didn't care about the fictional man when you were sat beside the real one.

    Your eyes left the screen to admire the muscles that strained against his shirt. Briefly, you wondered if he had ever worn a shirt his actual size, but you placed the thought aside, silently thanking him for never checking the label. Or at least not caring what it said. Bicep the size of your head, chest like a brick wall, legs that could crush a man's skull, Bucky wasn't small by any means, and it just made him that much more attractive. Hell, if you looked like him, you'd show off, too. Fuck, he was a sight to see though.

    When one of the other guys moved to lay back as well, you fixed your eyes back on the screen. You didn't want the others seeing you eye-fucking their buddy like he was a piece of meat for you to devour. That was your little secret. A moment of wanting for only you to know about.

    Bucky laid down soon after, and the only two still sitting up copied. You giggled to yourself at the dad grunts that sounded from the men as they readjusted to get comfortable. It caught Bucky's attention, making him turn his head and whisper, "What?"

    "Just silly old man noises is all," you whispered back, trying your best not to go into another fit of laughter.

    "Old man noises? Cmon, we're not that old," he quipped back.

    "Okay, grandpa, time to get you back to the nursing home," you giggled and covered your mouth, desperately trying to keep it together.

    "Grandpa?! Now that's just mean, doll," he fake sniffled and crossed his arms, "How could you?"

    You indulged his little show and rolled to your side, hugging to his torso and resting your head on his arm, "I'm sorry, Buck, I'm sure you're still young in spirit."

    He cackled, breaking the silence of the group. You moved to take your arm back when the others looked, but he grabbed to you with one of his hands, keeping you where you were. The others went back to watching the movie as he calmed down, oblivious to anything being out of the ordinary.

    Even when he stopped laughing, his smile still made his eyes and nose crinkle. That smile lived in your mind and heart. It gave you butterflies. It set a fire in your soul, a want to never see that smile fade. He looked so peaceful like this. You wanted to stay there forever. You analyzed every soft but chiseled feature of his, trying desperately to memorize this moment. Years of yearning was only made a little easier by memories like this, so you tried to make the most of it.

    When you realized you were staring, you broke eye contact and rolled back to where you had been before and continued watching the film. Though you didn't know what was happening anymore, you fixated every atom in your body on not looking back at Bucky. You didn't want him to see right through you and find out how much you really wanted him. Of course, he always joked around and threw in the occasional sly comment, but that was just his personality. You knew he didn't want you the way you wanted him, so you just took what he would give you.

    The movie was barely halfway before a few scattered snores echoed from the other end of the blankets. They weren't loud, so had you been really invested in the movie, you might not have even noticed. You smiled to yourself, knowing it was likely your dad. Yet, soon enough, a second set of snores started. In their defense, they weren't used to staying out this late. It was beyond their bedtime. So you didn't say anything when the third of the group joined the symphony of sleep.

    Your will broke down, and you turned to look at Bucky, curious to see if he was next of the bunch. He was still wide awake, watching the movie. You couldn't help but admire. Bucky was unlike any man you had ever seen before. You needed him in ways you had never needed anyone. He was a forbidden fruit in your mind, though. Much older than you and friends with your dad. You could never see him wanting you.

    That didn't stop your brain from turning into mush when he was around, or your skin from feeling like it was on fire every time he touched you. Bucky was a good man, though. Kind and giving and joyous, even when he tried to portray himself as a grump. Every bit of it attracted you more to him, but it stung, knowing he was too good of a man to see how he affected you and assume it was because of him.

    He turned his head and looked at you, but you didn't look away, "I can feel you staring," he said, louder than you had spoken before since everyone else was asleep. You gave a quiet apology, but he continued, "You're looking at me like you want something from me."

    You gave a small smile, thinking it was funny how right he was, "Maybe I do." The two of you always joked like this, making passes at each other and laughing it off. But his expression was less playful this time. He seemed to be searching your face for answers.

    "What could you possibly want from me, doll?"

    "Alot," you answered vaguely, still trying to be funny. You turned on your side to face him.

    "Hit me with it, you know there's nothing I wouldn't provide for you," his sweetness made your heart twist.

    You loved it when he doted on you. It fueled your fantasies of being his. Occasionally made you feel like a sugar baby that didn't have to do anything but exist. It warmed your heart and between your legs. "It's not that easy sometimes, Buck," you gave back lamely.

    He knew you were holding something back, and he was going to find out what. He turned to his side to mirror your own position, "Doll, you gotta talk to me. What is it you want? I'll do everything in my power to make sure you have it."

    How do you explain that it was him you wanted? Where do you even begin a confession like that? What would he even say? You sighed as a sad smile flashed across your face for a moment, "I don't think this is something you'd be able to give me, Buck. It's not something money can buy."

    Bring a hand up to pet through your hair, he pushed again for an answer, "You'll never know if you don't ask. Try."

    A knot formed in your throat that you couldn't swallow down. You couldn't handle staring into his hypnotizing eyes while you tried to keep yourself together. Maybe it was those same eyes that coaxed you into talking because you found yourself looking down at his shirt that suddenly became really interesting and mumbling, "You," quieter than even you could hear.

    "What was that, doll?"

    You licked your lips and closed your eyes, "You." When it was silent for a beat, you opened your eyes to find his jaw slack and eyebrows shot up in shock, "Don't look at me like that, I know it's crazy."

    "It's not that I think you're crazy I just- doll, I'm twice your age. You said yourself I'm an old man, you'd be better off with someone your age," sadness swept across his expression as he said it. To you, it was pity. Pity for the young girl he didn't want but didn't know how to say it.

    "I don't want boys, I want you," you shook your head, assuming explaining yourself would be a waste of time, and went to sit up, "I'm sorry, I'll go-"

    His metal hand landed on your chest and pushed you back down, "Wait a minute now, I didn't say you could leave yet, doll, I was talking to you," his eyes held a hint of danger that you had never seen and made your core squeeze around nothing. "I never said I didn't see you the same way, I just said I might not be the right candidate for your active lifestyle."

    Your breaths became heavier under his touch. You were certain that if it wasn't his metal hand on your chest, he'd be able to feel your heart pounding like it was trying to escape through your chest, "You're perfect. I couldn't see myself enjoying time with anyone the way I enjoy my time with you," you paused a moment to lick your lips before continuing, "Let me prove it to you."

    "Oh, yeah? How do you plan on doing that?" The smile that spread across his face was dark, as if he was the one now hiding something. He was prepared to call you on your bluff.

    Your stomach did flips under his watchful eye, "I'll do anything you want me to, just please let me have you, even if its just for a night. Please."

    He leaned over you and whispered in your ear, "You're real pretty when you beg," before getting up on his knees and lifting you up bridal style. You squealed at the sudden movement into the air, but stayed quiet after he shushed you, warning you not to wake up the men around you.

    While carrying you as if you weighed nothing, he let himself into your house through the back door and then out through the front, making sure to kick both closed as he passed. He shamelessly walked next door to his own and carried you inside to his bed, "You deserve nothing less than perfection and comfort," he explained while carefully laying you on his own bed.

    The room smelled abundantly of him, sending sparks of heat directly between your legs that you tried to dull by squeezing your thighs together. You rushed forward and caught his lips with your own, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him in closer. He took no time to respond, hands finding your waist to hold as he moved in sync with your mouth.

    He separated, staring down at you with that same dangerous glint in his eyes that he had before. Taking his hands from your waist, he put his long hair in a ponytail with a holder from his wrist to keep it out of the way, "You gonna keep that promise of yours, sweetheart?"

    You nodded, not trusting your voice to stay steady when his eyes were roaming you like you were his prey. His hand gently grabbed to your chin, "Use your words or I won't go any further, babydoll."

    "Yes, sir," it was automatic. You weren't sure how he'd feel about it, but your mind didn't give you the chance to ask.

    "There's my girl. Such a good listener," he rubbed his against your cheek where he still held you, "Now, remind me, how exactly did you plan to prove that I'm all you wanted? Must've slipped my mind on the travel here."

    Unable to find words, you grabbed to his hips and dropped to your knees on the floor, licking a slow stripe up the obvious bulge in his jeans and placed a kiss near the top of the zipper, keeping your eyes on his the entire time. "Is that right, sweet girl? Go ahead then, baby, keep your promise."

    You wasted no time in undoing his pants and bringing them down just enough to let his dick spring free. You stared a moment, processing what you were getting yourself into, but started again when you could feel the saliva pooling in your mouth. Grabbing to his tip, you spat on it and rubbed it down his girthy length, quickly following your hand with your mouth by wrapping your lips around the head of his cock.

    Bucky let out a low moan as you swirled your tongue and started bobbing your head cautiously. He brought the hand on your face up to your hair and pet through it, "Atta girl, just like that." The praise made you moan around his dick and yet again had your core squeezing around nothing, desperate for him, "Oh fuck, doll, that's perfect."

    He grabbed a handful of your hair and gently guided you, doing his best to avoid snapping his hips against your mouth. But the way you were taking your mouth off him just to lick and worship his length before taking him in your mouth again was driving him mad.

    Using the handful of hair in his hand, he pulled you away from him, making you let out a whine of disappointment. He laughed, "I'll let you stay down there another time but I'd much rather fuck you right about now," his words made you moan and adjust your hips to try and give yourself any relief, "My pretty girl is so eager, come back up here to the bed."

    You clamored to listen to his direction, unable to think about anything but him and his words. All of your senses were filled with Bucky. You felt high off of him, like you were floating even when he had barely touched you yet. Yearning to see all of him, you reached for his shirt while he was kicking his pants the rest of the way off. You tugged at it and whined and he smiled down at you, "I told you baby, you gotta use your words."

    You pleaded with your eyes, "Wanna see you. Please, sir."

    "Good girl. So cock drunk and I've barely even started, how sweet," he said and tossed his shirt over his head. "Your turn," he gave you a smile before hovering over you on the bed, making you lay down while he grabbed to your shirt and tugged it off your body. You felt his hand run slowly up your back and stop at the clasp of your bra, carefully twisting and unlatching it in one motion.

    Tossing it aside, he stared for a second, taking you in and committing every curve to memory in case he never got the same chance again. He kissed you again, much more intense than before. It was no longer a want to have you, it was a need. A need that he couldn't ignore when you were layed out all pretty for him. Without breaking the kiss, he pulled your shorts and underwear down to your knees before bringing your legs up to pull them all the way off.

    Separating from your lips, he kisses and nipped at your neck while wrapping your legs around his hips. He earned gentle moans back in response as you bucked your hips upward, searching for friction. He sucked marks along your collarbones and shoulders, claiming his territory, "What is it, doll?"

    You gave him the most pitiful whine you could muster, "I need you, Bucky, please!"

    He smirked and rubbed his dick against your slick warmth, "Beg for it then, doll."

    "Fuck, please! I'll do anything, I just need you, daddy, please!"

    You didn't even notice the slip, but he sure did. "That's right, doll," he said while lining himself up and slowly starting to push into you.

    You shifted beneath him, not used to the stretch, "Big."

    Bucky shushed you and cupped your face, "I know, baby, just a little bit more, okay?"

    You squirmed as his hips met yours, searching for more and less at the same time. It ached in a way that only made you want him more, "Please move, I need you."

    He carefully rocked his hips back and forth, teasing you more than actually prepping you. Pulling out slowly, he whispered, "Taking me so well, doll. So perfect for daddy," when his words clicked, he snapped his hips up against yours. Starting a steady pace but drilling into you, Bucky didn't give you time to dwell on the title you gave him.

    The movement of his hips was sharp, precise in a way that had your legs trembling around him. Every thrust rocked your whole body. "Still think I'm an old man?" He meant it as a joke but groaned as he felt you squeeze around him, "Oh, I see. My baby likes that, huh? She likes that daddy's older, is that right?"

    All you could give back was a moan as his pace quickened. He reached his metal hand between your bodies and rubbed your clit in circles matching the speed of his hips. The unexpected metal sent you moaning again, the cold doubling your pleasure as he pounded into you. "Fuck, you're so gorgeous. All for me, all mine," he moaned out and latched back on to the skin of your chest, leaving more marks and love bites.

    You were quickly being driven to the edge. Between him splitting you open, the friction on your clit, and the marks he was leaving, you weren't gonna last much longer. "Gonna- oh fuck- I'm-"

    "I know, doll, I've got you. Daddy's got you, baby, let go," he said, not letting up or slowing down. The wave of pleasure completely overtook you, making your back arch and eyes roll back as you chanted, "Bucky," like it was the only word you knew. His own hips stuttered as you gripped him through your orgasm. Your legs started to tremble as you gushed on him, sending him over the edge.

    With a final harsh thrust, he stayed buried in you and stilled all his movements. You could feel him twitching inside you as he came. He rested his head in the crook of your neck, groaning as he twitched again. He pulled out slowly and just lay there for a bit, enjoying you being there with him. You both took the time to catch your breath before he finally stirred, pushing himself up with his arms and starting to get up.

    "No!" You held your arms out for him in protest, making him chuckle. Bucky came back to plant a gentle kiss on your lips before explaining, "I'm just getting a cloth to clean you with and both of us some fresh clothes, promise I'm not leaving you here, doll," he gave you another kiss and stood, "Daddy wouldn't do that to you," he sent you a wink and walked out, leaving you flushed like he always did.

    When he came back, he had boxers on, and a few items were draped over his shoulder. He was careful about putting the washcloth against your skin, treating every motion with a delicacy you had never received from someone. Each swipe felt like a worship of sorts with how attentive he was. "I brought you one of my shirts and a pair of boxer shorts I thought might fit you," you inspected the items he handed over, smiling when you noticed they smelled of him.

    Slipping the t-shirt on and standing to add the shorts to the outfit, you smiled up at the soldier. He huffed out a laugh, "You're staring at me like you want something from me again."

    Your smile widened, and you stepped to Bucky, hugging him and looking up at him from his chest, "I couldn't ask for more than you've already given me."

    "You could. And I'd let you have it."

    Confused by what he meant, your eyebrows furrowed as you tilted your head, "Let me have what?"

    "Forever like this. Us two against the world."

    Out of pure excitement, you leaned up to kiss him, adding, "I'd love that," as you separated.

    "For now, though," he started pulling you back toward the bed, "It's me against sleep, and sleep is winning," you giggled at his antics and hopped back up, moving all the way to the top of the bed this time.

    "Okay, old man, is it past your bedtime?" You laughed as he crawled in beside you and gave your neck a playful nip.

    "Don't pretend you don't like it, that pretty pussy of yours don't lie, doll," he pointed out, making you hide your face in his chest, "Awh poor baby." Bucky wrapped his arms around you and cradled your head. He placed a small kiss into your hair and let himself relax, "You're my baby, now. All mine," he whispered as you both closed your eyes and allowed sleep to take over your bodies, happy knowing it would be like this forever.

[p1tterp4tter]

“Think about it.”

Chapter 1.5 (Joel) — “EXODUS”

Series Masterlist

Pairing: QZ!Joel x Reader, Jackson!Joel x Reader

Summary: How did it all go down that night for Joel, anyways? Had he really just abandoned you to run away with Tess?

WC: 1.2k

Warnings: 18+, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, Infidelity, marriage of convenience/loveless marriages, explicit sexual content, angst, previously established relationship, age gap (20s/50s), abandonment, slow burn, female reader, no use of y/n, Joel doesn’t know how to express his feelings until it’s too late, brief mentions of physical violence, non-canon timeline, some canon characters have been written out of this story, I’m so nervous posting this please be nice to me

A/N: there’s tornados outside rn so I have nothing better to do that whip out a little novella chapter! hope this gives an idea of what really happened in chapter one. For the purposes of this story, Tess and Joel are not and have not been involved romantically. He loves YOU instead <3

Dividers by @saradika

Images featured and characters mentioned in this story do not belong to me!

JOEL

Mornings. Something that could start off so… peaceful, and turn into something so miserable within minutes.

Maybe that’s why he allowed himself these moments. Get it in while he could.

Joel’s calloused hands, so strong and yet so delicate, traced the features of your face like he was afraid of breaking you.

Vulnerability was a weakness if you asked Joel. That’s why he only acted on these impulses when no one else was around to witness it— not even you, or so he thought.

Your eyes would be closed, and his eyes would be on you.

Watching.

Admiring.

Taking in the way your breath sounded as it quietly came out of your nose, soaking in the warmth of your body pressed against his underneath the sheets.

Only for a moment.

Then, he’d drag himself out of your warm embrace, even though the idea of another hour of sleep next to you called to him like a siren’s song.

He’d get started the same way he did every day.

Pants.

Shirt.

Shoes.

Snap out of the trance he fell into whenever he was with you— build his wall back up and get ready to face reality, to face the day.

Knees creaking as he knelt, he’d plant one last kiss on your temple, lips lingering as if his body was begging him to give in to his desires and just stay here with you.

This was his life in Boston.

Wake up next to you.

Pretend it didn’t kill him to leave you in bed alone.

Meet up with Tess. Run whatever supply drop had been scheduled for that day.

He kept you out of his ‘work’ as much as possible.

He didn’t want you worrying about it, or about him, though he knew you would anyway.

That’s just who you were.

Caring. Kind. Gentle.

Things most of the world had unfortunately long forgotten by now.

Four Years Earlier

You’d come into Joel’s life unexpectedly.

Just a girl compared to him— wide-eyed with a hope for humanity.

He’d been leaned back against a wall in the QZ market area, waiting for a contact of Tess’ to show up when he’d seen you for the first time.

Adorably flustered, voice raised in what he figured was meant to be an ‘intimidating’ tone after a merchant in a stall ripped you off.

Joel didn’t know what possessed him— why he pulled out of us shadows and walked up to stand beside you, staring down the man on the other side of the table.

“Give the lady what she’s due, Ben.” Voice gruff, strong arms coming to cross against his broad chest.

He made everyone around him seem small, both with the physical space he occupied and with the respect his presence seemed to demand.

Your eyes flicked up to his briefly, not recognizing the stranger who was suddenly seeking justice on your behalf. You didn’t question him, though.

The merchant, Ben, caved quickly after Joel’s arrival. Ration cards were shoved back into your hands by the almost-thief, and Joel turned to walk away without any further conversation.

A hand— so much smaller and softer than his own, quickly grabbed his arm.

“Wait!” The voice came, quick and impulsive.

He turned, looking down and making eye contact with the owner of said hand and voice.

The girl from the stall.

‘Pretty’ was the first thought that crossed his mind before he could stop himself. You wore a sweater that hugged you perfectly, jeans low on your hips, and you still had a light in your eyes that made your whole face glow.

The type of girl an old dog like him didn’t stand a chance with, not anymore. Someone he would’ve taken on a proper date in the old world.

The type he would’ve spun around at old dance halls and cleaned his truck up for.

Your hand felt like it burned into his arm, despite the layers of clothing between his bicep and your palm.

It lingered there for a moment, before dropping back down by your side.

He found himself missing the touch.

Just when he thought it couldn’t have gotten any worse— you smiled at him. It made his jaw clench.

“Thank you.” Your saccharine voice came again.

You extended a hand to him, the same one that had just been on his arm, and introduced yourself. He looked at you quizzically for a moment before reciprocating your movements, his large hand covering yours easily as he shared his name with you as well.

He didn’t know when the lines started blurring.

Couldn’t remember when you went from someone he didn’t know to someone he did.

There was before you, and then there was suddenly with you.

Bumping into you here and there throughout the QZ turned into two apartments becoming one.

He didn’t show appreciation as often as he should, he knew. But you changed his life for the better. Made waking up easier— made still living easier.

Part of him thought though, that if he didn’t say it out loud… maybe it would hurt less when this inevitably all came crashing down around him, just like everything else had in this life.

He’d already lost so much. He couldn’t stand to lose you, too.

Shit with Robert had gone south fast that day. The adrenaline, pumping so loudly through his ears, had finally died down. The echo of Robert’s broken elbow still haunted him as Marlene came around the corner.

Tess and the firefly matriarch went back and forth over the guns Robert had stolen from underneath the both of them, it seemed.

“Blank checks,” Tess had said.

His gut warned him before anything— something was about to go wrong. Really wrong.

Marlene finally managed to lead him and Tess to the hideaway she’d identified, gunshot wound in her abdomen still bleeding— that’s when Joel saw the girl.

She couldn’t have been much older than…

‘Stop it.’ He’d commanded himself internally.

Sarah.

What the hell was a little girl doing here?

As if reading his mind, Marlene laid out the deal, conveniently with as little detail or context possible.

Smuggle the girl to the capitol building, and she’d give back the guns that Robert had stolen.

Joel’s jaw ticked, eyes darting between the three women in the room. His mind only thought of one.

You.

He hadn’t left a note for you. Didn’t think he’d need to. He knew you’d be worried now if he wasn’t home before nightfall, and if Tess was as hell-bent on getting back that weapon loadout as she seemed, there was no way he’d be back in bed with you for the next two days, let alone tonight.

Ellie, the cargo he and Tess had been tasked with delivering, was less than the ideal partner to wait out nightfall with. They holed up in Tess’ apartment while she confirmed the stash with Marlene— making sure this was all going to be worth it.

He thought about how he’d make it up to you.

You’d been using your ration cards on necessities, and when you did have extras, his shirts would magically be mended and the soles of his boots refurbished.

Maybe he’d get you that soap he’d seen you eyeing at the market.

He thought about how it would smell on your skin, in your hair. A ghost of a smile appeared on his face.

When the time came, after Tess confirmed the stash was in good order, the three of them took to the tunnels.

Joel, Tess, and their cargo— Ellie.

The capitol building was only a few hours hike away, but something… something was off.

That gut feeling in his stomach never went away.

If only Joel had known how right he’d end up being.

He wouldn’t be home tonight.

Nor tomorrow.

After everything unfolded— there soldiers at the wall, the fireflies at the capitol, Tess, the promise he made… he knew what he had to do.

He had to protect Ellie.

He knew he had to get her to Tommy. That wasn’t a journey he wanted to risk your life on, nor did he think he could get him and the girl back into the QZ in one piece by himself.

He just hoped you could forgive him for it— if he ever saw you again, at least.

That first night alone, where it was just him and Ellie under the stars, he stared up at the sky.

Somehow, knowing you were under the same moon comforted him.

Even after losing Tess and having to fight like hell to still be alive at the end of an incredibly shitty day.

Even if he never saw you again, even if you hated him forever for leaving without a warning.

You were under that same moon.

You were safe at home.

He couldn’t take any more loss, not after today, and now— he’d never lose you.

Because you’d lost him.

[joejhang]

can you elaborate on why you think jeremy is nora's best written character? i'm having a bit of a hard time appreciating his pov so i'm curious what you like about it 👀

ok i've already written a couple of posts about why i love his characterisation and pov so much but i'm always happy to yap about jeremy and aftg so i'll sorta summarise my thoughts here:

jeremy is such a unique narrator and character in aftg bc he just stands so separately from all the other characters we know and love (including characters we don't have povs for i.e. andrew, kevin). he doesn't have the same category of "traumatic past" as jean, neil, kevin and andrew bc his own backstory is so ostensibly ordinary (this is NOT me invalidating his struggles in any way i just mean it's can't be "classified" the same way the others' can bc theirs is a lot more extreme involving crime, murder, cults and the literal mafia). he's also a very stereotypically "sunshine" character and at first glance very obviously fits into that archetype of character, but nora subverts the expectations and stereotype so well by making him so layered and honestly really fucking mysterious. despite him seeming like a super happy-go-lucky, sunshine character, this perception of him externally is juxtaposed by a generally pretty depressing internal monologue. especially in tgr, jeremy's thoughts and narration has pretty strong undertones of self-loathing, regret, guilt, shame and avoidance. and it's not even in a way that's like, he's a sunshine character that puts on a facade so others won't see what's going on. while it is somewhat like that, it's also a lot deeper, because he doesn't even seem to be consciously faking it. his bright smiles and sunny disposition are so clinically separate from what's going on in his own head it's very interesting and psychological.

to me at least, jeremy is the most REAL out of nora's pov characters. this is a very high bar, bc i think nora is very good at writing realistic, complex characters, but to me jeremy is just so fucking tangible. like bc of the way he narrates (very avoidant, very secretive and mysterious, refuses to give context/explanations for things that happen) he feels very distant from the reader. i've described reading his pov like standing next to someone and experiencing everything they experience without knowing what they know and feel. whereas w neil and jean we're very much in their heads, w jeremy it feels like there's a layer of separation there which makes him feel like a real person that you can never fully know bc you're not in the heads of real life people. also because of his avoidant and mysterious as fuck narration, when he does do things that we don't anticipate or expect bc he hasn't told us about it (e.g. hooking up w leo/faser, his fight w bryson), it adds more engagement and interest bc it makes the reader want to know more, want to see more, because he's been holding out on us this whole time. if that makes sense.

jeremy is honestly just so complex and layered. this is nothing new for nora, bc she's so fucking good at writing characters, but i think she rlly hit a peak w jeremy. and this is because neil and jean are very easily paralleled and compared as characters and narrators, bc of similarish experiences and their preexisting links to each other, whereas jeremy is like a character that's entirely separate from the world of the moriyamas and the foxes. he's a completely new character that we only ever see once in the og trilogy and never get any background info on. he's also ostensibly a lot more "normal" than any of the other characters we've come to know, at least considerably better adjusted, but he also has sm unresolved issues in his own head for the reader to unpack. he's a character with a naturally sunshiney personality combined with a pretty devastating backstory which has created lingering issues (i.e. unresolved guilt, grief, tension w family, and more) that he doesn't really deal with properly. throughout tsc and tgr, nora peels away more and more of the layers that hide and conceal and make up jeremy knox and reveal more and more about him, so he's gone from a glossy, perfectly sunny, idealistic, archetypal character, to a character that feels like a real person, with complex and realistic struggles and weaknesses and failures.

anyway idk if this has convinced u to like/enjoy jeremy more but hopefully it's given u some food for thought. maybe i overcompensated i just love yapping about jeremy he's my baby.

[housemdork]

house md rewatch: 1x18, "babies and bathwater"

everybody say THANK YOU, DR. LISA CUDDY, for saving the day!

doctor lisa cuddy is a superhero. she is the final hour "i need a hero" montage. she is the patron deity that answers a cleric's "divine intervention" feat in d&d. unlike the rest of the characters, who fall victim to 1x18's central problem, she rises above it; while everyone else makes decisions in a vacuum, despite knowing better, cuddy resists this temptation and saves 4 people's jobs in the process. she also defeats the BBEG like it's fucking nothing.

FUCKKKKK this guy.

1x18 is a strong example of house md's pervasive trend of pairing a very traumatic patient story with a highly personal main-cast story line that always ends up privileging the latter lol. so what if a husband lost his wife in a freak cancer onset on the operating table, after making hard decision after harder decision, and now he has to be a single father? we're much more interested in PPTH taking a $100 million hit to keep house, wilson, foreman, and chase on board, right?

yes lol. absolutely. but the patient plot leaves us with the question, regarding the hospital and the doctors within it: who is the baby, and what is the bathwater? i'll argue that, in our big trifecta's case (house/wilson/cuddy), the answer to this question varies based on who you asks, and it drives some of the conflict. bear with me through the silly language lol.

in being so certain that at least one person will prevent him from being fired, house considers himself to be the baby. the hospital bureaucracy just needs to clear out its dirty bathwater. it seems like, despite his guilt over cameron's decision, house is back to feeling confident that he can't/won't be taken out. people are willing to take falls for him, even when wilson firmly warns against this.

1x18 keeps wilson's answer to the baby/bathwater equation concealed for now. in the first half of the episode, he's just there to level with house and futilely try to convince him not to screw everything up, if such a thing is possible atp. in light of their later scene together, he's shockingly collected here, which begs the question of what his plan was going into the board meeting, if he had one at all.

cuddy, meanwhile, sees the forest for the trees. that is by far her greatest strength, while also the source of a lot of her pain/strife in the show. especially when working so closely to someone like house who, on the wrong day, sees himself as basically every tree in the entire forest. when she votes to keep vogler's money at the expense of house, i think season 1 has done enough work thus far to make it a believable decision on her part. and, boldly, she explains to house that he "is not worth a hundred million dollars." he really isn't.

this notably comes after she did him an important yet hilariously understated favor to keep vogler off his ass, should he find out that house was okay-ing seemingly abusive parents to take their kid home. if we're comparing wilson and cuddy here, then, wilson seems like the most neutral with the least clear intentions. but come the final board meeting scene, where she realizes just how much vogler has bought and gagged the rest of the hospital, cuddy makes the choice to discard the entire baby/bathwater problem. start fresh. without $100 million dollars. cheers!

what cuddy and wilson both agree on in 1x18 above all else is that house is the crux of the baby/bathwater problem, and it would be facetious to claim that cuddy's attachment to house didn't motivate her at all. she's just intelligent enough to, again, see the greater picture in conjunction with her feelings.

this guy can't do that, though. and he will never be able to.

in a scene immediately preceding the revelation that wilson was fired off the board and asked to resign, house makes an assertion about human's biological tendencies re: the mother's choice to die to save her child: "the needs of the next generation are more important." uh. then explain wilson's choice here!

the entire boardroom knew that wilson would vote to keep house on; vogler was so sure of this that he hoped wilson would have missed the meeting altogether. and wilson so flagrantly does just that, without a second thought, that it catches viewers off guard (at least, it did for me the first time i watched the episode). in strictly season 1 terms, we still don't know much about these guys' friendship. we know that they've known each other for a while, wilson gets how house ticks more than most, and the sense that something a bit deeper is there, but without any specifics or sincere textual evidence.

and, for all of wilson's warnings to house about vogler, he was naive enough to think he'd be spared. voting to keep house was so knee-jerk that it cost him a lot (for about 15 minutes of in-episode time). local stupid dumb naive compassionate idiot learns that sometimes caring about someone doesn't always win out in the end:

what i like about the resulting scene between house and wilson is how much it stands apart from how most conversations in house md have gone so far. mired in metaphors/similes (for comedic effect), people speaking around each other, miscommunication abound, house leaving the room at the pivotal moment - none of that is here. for example, while cameron has tried for weeks to squeeze something out of house, dress her feelings up to circumvent his walls, wilson is just angry, and says so outright:

"i got no kids. my marriage sucks. i only had 2 things that worked for me: this job and this stupid, screwed up friendship, and neither mattered enough to you to give one lousy speech."

"they matter."

house is, time and time again, wilson's entire forest, even when he tries to blame house for the fact that wilson holds him in that regard. this is just the first time we see that side of these 2. and house's expression above is the same he gives to cameron after she tries to appeal to him once more, just dialed up to 10. we get the first inkling of how they are each other's respective constants in their lives, too, which is a damning plot line, indeed.

there's even more honesty abound here, too, because wilson cuts through house's uncharacteristic attempt at an apology. house lies and says that if he could do it all over again, he'd change. uh, greg! people don't/can't change, apropos your own philosophy! wilson knows that he wouldn't do it differently, that the result would be the same. looking ahead, the foundation of their friendship being so one-sided, only for wilson to pull You Know What in season 4, blows me away.

i adore this trait of wilson's - his short-sightedness - because it is SO dangerous for house md. it's alienating, self-sabotaging, externally sabotaging, and very much full of love, all the time. wilson wasn't even considering any conditions at all when voting to keep house - their friendship, by nature of it being "screwed up," is unconditional, though it wouldn't have to be if wilson would just Get Up Off The Floor.

speaking of - he immediately flips on a dime and agrees to help house with the patient via his connections as a successful and prominent oncologist. okay. and once the crisis is over, he's drinking champagne out of house's red mug. okay!

this is a good preview into what my recaps will look like when wilson makes himself especially known. it's easy to point your moral compass at the immoveable, endlessly needy northern star that is house, but don't bitch and moan when you get burned for it.

[messitydepressity]

Banger TLOU fics that I’ve read recently.

No real rhyme or reason to this list, just a handful of fics that have grabbed my attention lately and I’m not always best at articulating my adoration for them.

Most are newer and some are throw backs, but they all deserve a little love. 🖤🖤

Hope you find one you like .

—

Hold Back The River - by sporadicallyceaseless (unsure of tumblr handle)

"Maria's gonna be a little late tonight, she’s busy yelling at some kids that got caught jumping off the dam.”

Stunned, Joel eyes the puddle slowly forming under her feet with quiet horror. “But you were smarter than that, right?”

“Or faster?” Tommy cuts in hopefully.

“Both,” Ellie agrees. Then, with a wince, “But also…neither.”

A dangerous dare and a nasty sickness rock the Miller household on an already emotional week. Joel and Ellie learn that something always lurks deeper than the surface

Frayed Cords - by @bumblepony

What does she do? She doesn’t know what to do.

“What-what do I do? Hey, hey…” Ellie turns to the girl, her eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling, and begs, “What do I do now? Please, I don’t know what to do.”

She doesn’t know how to do this. She’s alone, and she doesn’t know what she’s doing. She hears voices and looks up as Tommy and Jesse come into view.

“Oh god.” Tommy breathes.

“Jesus… what…” Jesse stammers.

“I don’t know what to do,” Ellie pleads, holding up the still, blue baby, “Help, please, I don’t know what to do.”

IE: What if Ellie actually did what Mel asked her to do. Or Ellie and crew accidentally acquire a newborn.

The shirt off his back - by @barlowstreet

“Your clothes,” she says. “I don’t mind them.”

“Well, they’re all yours,” he says. “Whenever you want.”

In the moment, he’d carve out his actual heart and give it to her if it made her feel better. His clothes are nothing compared to that.

Or: 5 times someone stole Joel's shirt + 1 time they didn't

Or honey, hope (even on this side of the grave) again - by @captainredspade

While on a FEDRA mandated job, Ellie is paired with a grumpy old man who doesn't talk. Not a single word spoken aloud. No one seems to get exactly what his deal is, but Ellie, she spends one day with the dude and understands him just fine.

Next of Kin - by @ketchupchipsaregross

“Wow,” Ellie breathed, her face turned up to the triceratops skeleton, “It’s super big.”

“His name is Cliff,” Tess read off from the plaque, “He’s 65 million years old.”

“That’s not as old as sharks,” She said.

“Not quite,” She agreed, “But it’s still cool.”

Ellie nodded, still transfixed, “Super mega cool.”

-

(gender equality dictates that sometimes Tess has to be the semi-unwilling foster parent)

These Violent Delights - by @hypnotisedfireflies

It’s 2006. Tess, Joel and Tommy face threats in the open country and grapple with the moral chasm opening between them. Survival must be earned. Evolution cannot be walked back.

Or: Everything wants to kill them and the brothers want to kill each other.

Joel dove off the bridge.

He was enveloped with a sharp, sudden slap. The water was shockingly cold. Murky sunlight streamed through the surface and lit upon rusting cars and mossy debris. Joel pumped his legs and thrust up to fresh air like a cork. He sucked in a breath. Tried to orient himself. The river was moving faster than it looked and the bridge was already shrinking. He needed to find Tommy, but before he could do that he had to get control of his own body because right now, the current was in charge. If he didn’t figure it out, he was going to break an arm.

Or he might drown, too.

Copper - by @two-birds-alone-together

"What do you mean, ‘usual headache’? How often does that happen?" She’d never mentioned having headaches, but he supposed that years of having ‘minor’ illnesses and injuries overlooked in favor of toughening up child soldiers had trained minor complaints out of her.

Her eyebrows furrowed. "I dunno, man. It’s like your knee. Always hurts but once you get used to it you don’t even feel it any more."

(Ellie and Joel have been in Jackson for a few months when Ellie develops migraines.)

—

If y’all have any recs of your own, throw ‘em at me.

[gracieo]

long distance means I spend minecraft nights flirting and pulling cheesy shit with my minecraft wife as much as fucking possible . long distance gay deprived fruits stand up and rejoice for online gaming

[volfoss]

i cant even like post about the horrors that are going on currently because im gonna get too mad but oh my god. like i would give her really good credit for writing a character like marius that has 0 self awareness about his insanely disgusting behavior bc like. that CAN work. you can make the reader feel disgust and see things through the eyes of someone who is horrible while not romanticizing the behavior. clearly anne did not get the memo for this one.

[heavencasteel420]

I am probably getting way too amused at the mounting stress of the lady who is using the dressing room stall next to the one where Nancy and Carol are trying on winter formal dresses. Carol's just real fucking mad about the pastel tyranny of the Misses Formals selection this year!!!

[mostlykind]

these bald white men at work all look the same I just realised I’ve thought these 2 dudes were the same person for the past year

[tkbrokkoli]

weird times weurd times wird times

[classyrbf]

SHE SAID IT'S HER FIRST TIME! — NANAMI KENTO

SYNOPSIS...older bf!nanami finds out he’s your first time and he intends to make it very special

INFO...older bf!nanami x virgin fem!reader, age gap (earlier 20s, early 30s), virginity loss, consent checks, praise, nipple sucking, fingering, pussy eating, penetration, slight blood, slight crying, creampie, nanami grows kinda feral, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

Having Nanami as an older boyfriend was such a joy. The maturity, thoughtfulness, communication, love, commitment, and patience you received from him was more than you could have ever asked for. You were always so open with him, telling him everything and just being the annoying girl friend you were. But, there is one thing that you’ve kept hidden for the last six months of your relationship.

Every time things got heated between you Nanami while making out or getting handsy, you always backed out last minute telling him that you “weren’t ready” and he always understood and respected your boundaries. Though, you are ready. If you were to lose your virginity to anyone you’d want it to be your sweet loving boyfriend. But voices in the back of your head start to make you overthink, wonder if he’ll even want you anymore if you confess to him.

It isn’t until you’re here on his bed, hands tangled in his hair while kiss him slowly, passionately. His hands are roaming all over your body, still careful to be respectful. You’re pushing into him, smiling in between kisses. “Have I ever told you how much of an amazing kisser you are?” He chuckles, peppering kisses along your jawline.

A blissful sigh escapes your lips before you answer, “no.” You shake your head, his lips traveling lower down to your neck. Your bottom lip tucks between your teeth, enjoying the moment. His tongue glides along the skin of your neck, gently sucking and kissing, earning little whimpers from you as a reward. His hand grabs at your leg, hooking in over his waist as he pushes his hips into you.

Your breathing grows shallow, heart beating frantically against your ribcage. You gulp, feeling things grow more intense with each passing second before you push Nanami away. “I’m sorry, Kento, I just—”

“It’s alright, sweetheart. I understand you want to take your time with this kind of thing.” He gently grabs your hand, the pad of his thumb rubbing over your knuckles. His brows furrowed as he studies your features, eyes wandering every where else but into his. “What’s wrong, hm? You know you can talk to me,” he says in the most smooth voice, one that makes you wanna spill every secret. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes out. “Sweetheart?” He draws out the pet name, he knows something is on your mind.

“Ken, I feel bad for keeping this from you for so long, but,” you sigh, fidgeting with the hem of your t-shirt, “I’m a…virgin.” You finally look in his eyes, clenching your jaw. Your entire body feels like it’s on fire, ears ringing loudly it almost drowns out your heart beat.

His lips part, eyes widening at your words. Deafening silence falls upon you like a tidal wave and you feel the embarrassment rush in. “Fuck,” you whisper, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything I…I’m just gonna go.” You quickly scramble to your feet, grabbing your sweater from off of his bedroom floor. Maybe those voices in your head were right. Why would a man like Kento want anything to do with an inexperienced girl like you, compared to a woman who would know how to please him, give him a what he wants.

Just as you were about to walk out his bedroom, you feel a tug at your arm pulling you back until you hit his broad chest. “Where are you going?” He asked, looking at you. “I never said to leave, sweetheart.” He walks you back over to the bed, taking your sweater from your hands and placing it on the back of his chair. You sit on the edge of the bed, anxiously waiting for the next words to leave his mouth. Eyes follow his every movement, watching the way he walks over to you and kneels down in front you, grabbing your hands in his. “Look at me.” And you do, eventually, meet his gaze. “What’s wrong?”

You find it hard to speak, to even get a peep out. Nerves are shot and it feels like your stomach is twisting in knots. “I just thought that—”

“That I’d be upset you’re a virgin?” He asked, putting it all out there. You nodded your head, biting the inside of your cheek. “Sweetheart,” he chuckles, flashing a smile at you, “you’re too cute for your own good.” He caresses your cheek. “No wonder you’ve been so nervous each time we’ve made out.” He licks his lips, taking a deep breath in before speaking again, “listen, we don’t have to rush into anything. You should’ve just told me, but I understand your feelings.”

You blink a couple of times, your heart rate finally drops, feeling more comfortable with the situation. It felt like a huge weight was lifted off of your shoulders, and even more importantly, you were glad Nanami took it so well. “But, I am ready.” You look away from him.

“What?” His brows furrowed, confusion written on his face.

“I’ve been ready, just been scared, nervous…I don’t know.” You shrug, your voice getting quieter with each word you say.

His hand comes up to your cheek, gently cupping it as he directs your gaze back towards him for the millionth time. “Are you asking me to be your first?” He asks in such a gentle tone, eyes carrying a look of adoration in them. Sheepishly, you nod.

“Always wanted it to be you, Ken. You’re so kind to me, and so patient,” you admit.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he coos, “I’d love nothing more than to be your first.” He kisses the top of your hand, soft lip pressing against your skin as he stares into your eyes. “We’ll go at your pace, yeah?” He smirks.

Everything in you is telling you to pounce on this man and go at it like animals with how he was treating you. It only made him a hundred more times attractive than he already was. Your lips find his as you both fall back onto the bed, resuming the make out session from minutes ago, only this time it’ll actually lead somewhere. The kisses felt more feverish, more passionate, something that’d you been craving this entire time.

“Can I take your clothes off?” He asked, placing a kiss to your jaw. “I’ll take mine off too.”

“Yeah.” You nod, feeling his hands tug at the hem of your shirt. The fabric slipped over your head, your first instinct was to cover your chest, feeling completely vulnerable in this position. His hands carefully undid your pants, pulling them down along with your panties, discarding the items of clothing on the wood floor. You covered yourself up, shutting your legs and holding your chest.

As you watched him get undressed, your eyes landed upon the obvious tent in his shorts, leaving you turned on. His body seemed liked it was carved from the gods, toned biceps, shredded six pack. He looked like he could just easily toss you around, put in whatever position he wanted. Not to mention, you could see how big he was through his boxers, your nerves starting to wrack up again as you began to wonder if it’d even fit. And once he pulled them down, your eyes widened and worry flooded your face.

Nanami let out a light laugh at the look on your face. “What’s the matter?” He asked, rubbing his hands over your thighs.

“Do you think it’ll fit? It’s just…really big, Ken.” Your eyes couldn’t help but wander. He was thick, and slightly long, which is reasonable excuse for your worry.

“It might hurt a little, sweetheart, but that’s why I need to prepare you, yeah? Make it feel good for my sweet girl. Now, don’t hide yourself from me, okay? I wanna see all of you, praise all of you.” He leaned over, kissing your lips again, trailing down further with each one. His hands replaced yours, gently groping your tits, squeezing them in his hands. “Such soft and pretty tits.” He kissed each one. “Can I suck on them? I promise you it’ll feel good.”

Once he gets your approval, he wastes no time, his lips latching onto your hard nipple, hot tongue swirling around the bud. His eyes fluttered shut, a muffled moan escaping his lips. Your hands find themselves in his hair, little pants and whimpers leaving your lips at the foreign sensation. His other hand pulls at your nipple, rolling it between his fingers as he gets lost in thought. He pulls his head up, hazy eyes staring back at you. “Doing okay, baby?” He asks.

“Yes, please keep going.” You bite down on your bottom lip, earning a smile from his as he moves over to your other nipple, tip of his tongue circling over the sensitive skin before taking it in his mouth, suckling on it. “Mmm, Ken,” you whimper, tugging at his hair.

“Feeling good?” He places kisses all over your tits, his touches so gentle. You buck your hips up towards him, grinding against him. “I’ll take that as a yes. You’re feeling needy, aren’t you, baby? Go on, you can tell me.” The flat of his tongue lays against your nipple again, slowly licking, teasing you.

You bring your hand up to your face, covering it, too embarrassed to look at him, to let him hear you. But with each flick of his tongue more whimpers spill out of you, overflowing. His warm lips press kisses to your sternum, traveling down towards your stomach, getting lower and lower until you jolt up. “What…what are you doing?” You ask, dumbly. It was clear what his intentions were with his mouth just inches away from your cunt.

“Just sit back and relax.” He caresses your side. “Open up for me, wanna get a taste,” he murmurs. He gently pushes your thighs open, scooting lower on the bed. His mouth slightly parts, eyes gravitating towards your wet cunt. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re already so wet,” he chuckles, looking up at you. He rests his head against your thighs, lips kissing your skin, worshipping you, savoring you. He plans to tease you as much as possible, he wants you ready.

You body twitches when you feel his fingers ghost over your throbbing cunt, light touches making you yearn for something you’ve never even had before. He kisses down your thighs and towards your pussy, pausing when he finally reaches. He looks up at you for approval and when you scoot your hips closer towards him with the cutest whimper, he dips his head down between your legs and presses the slowest kisses on your clit. The way you gasp makes him smirk, he wonders how you’ll sound when he uses his tongue.

Finally, you feel the flat of his hot tongue dip between your soaked folds, pushing its way up your slit and finding your clit. You sit up on your elbows, brows furrowing in pleasure as Nanami wraps your his arms around your thighs, holding your hips in place. He moans against you, pulling you closer towards him as he starves for more of your taste.

He flicks his tongue across your clit, his chin coated in your juices before he moves his tongue lower, tongue fucking you. You bite down on your plump lower lip, quietly moaning while your eyes watch his every movement, like you were studying him. His tongue slithers back to your clit, circling it before he gently sucks on it. “Hah, fuck,” you gasp, your hand instinctively reaching for his blonde locks of hair.

He lifts his head, licking his lips to not waste any drop of you. “Hey, pretty girl, can we try something?” His voice is gentle, a sense of security in it. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” The pad of his thumb rubs your clit in circles, his other hand caresses your thigh. “Wanna try fingering you while I eat this pretty pussy, get you ready for me,” he explains.

You gulp, nervously looking down at his hands. “Will it hurt as much?” You ask.

“Might hurt a little, but it’ll help. I’ll make you feel good, baby. I never wanna hurt you.” He sits up, moving closer towards you.

You nod slowly, “okay,” you meekly say. Nanami, wraps his arms around your waist, hoisting your leg around him as you both lay on your sides.

“You ready?” He asks, kissing your cheek, his fingers rubbing your slick over your entrance and back over your clit, trying to get you prepared. “Just gonna do one finger for now until you want more,” he whispers into your ear. Slowly, he slides his thick digit into your entrance and you immediately let out a pained sigh. He removes his finger, pressing another kiss to you cheek. “Take your time, baby. You’re okay. Hold on to me if it gets too much.” He continues rubbing your clit in slow circles until you give him the nod of approval to try again.

He pushes his finger past your folds, feeling your walls clench around him as he goes inch by inch. “Mmm.” Your eyes screw shut as you cling onto his broad shoulders, feeling the sting of the stretch. He finally gets it all the way through and you’re panting, clawing at his skin.

“You’re alright, sweetheart,” he reassures. “Hey, look at me,” he grabs your face in his direction, “it’s okay.” He kisses your lips as you whimper against his. “I’m gonna start moving my hand now.” You hold onto him tighter, the burn making you wince as he pulls his hand back and pushes his finger back in, slightly gaining in speed.

You can’t seem to look away from him, melting into his touch as the pain slowly turned to pleasure, feeling your body accept him just like you wanted this entire time. He presses his forehead against yours, bodies pressed up against one another as you fight back the urge to kiss him until you’re breathless. Your hips rock into his hand, following his movements. “Want more,” you whimper, nodding at him.

“Want more, pretty? Yeah?” He pecks your lips, carefully sliding his ring finger into your entrance. You whine at the stretch, taking in a deep breath when you feel his fingers curl up, repeatedly hitting your g-spot. Your cunt squelches around his fingers, sucking them in. “You’re doing such a good job,” he whispers, working fingers faster until you’re a moaning mess.

Wet kisses make their way down your neck, moving lower down to your chest as he repositions himself at the end up of the bed, fingers still curling inside you. He pushes one of your legs back, eyes intently watching the way your pussy takes his fingers so well. Without warning, the flat of his tongue presses down your swollen clit. “Oh fuck!” You gasp, gripping at the sheets below you. Your body shivers with pleasure, the sensation of his tongue and fingers sending you to cloud nine.

Your head falls back on the pillow, eyes rolling back, legs threatening to close around his head. He slurps your pussy, tongue working its way through your folds to get every last drop. He’s moaning at your taste, breathing heavily through his nose. His hand pushes your leg back farther, nearly up to your chest, as he works hard to drive that orgasm out of you. “Ah! Oh my gosh!” You cry out, clutching at his hair, pushing his head down when he sucks on your sensitive clit once more. “Ken, baby, I think—fuck!” You squeal, rocking your hips on his face. Your legs close around his head as your orgasm arrives, body quivering, and every touch is heightened. That doesn’t stop Nanami, low eyes watching how prettily your back arches off the bed, your walls squeezing his fingers. “Hah! Ah! Yes!” You moan.

Nanami finally lifts his head, chest heaving up and down as he looks at you with the most love in his eyes. “Fuck, baby, you did so good. Come here.” He rushes to plant his lips on yours, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. His dick is throbbing, oozing pre from the tip just from watching you cum. “You alright?” He asks, petting your cheek.

“I’m okay.” You nod. “Thank you.” The sweetest smile spreads across your face, one that makes his chest fill with warmth. “But, I think I’m finally ready.” You look down towards where you two meet, only inches away from one another.

“You sure? We don’t have to if you don’t want to. I want you to be comfortable,” he says softly.

“I promise I am. Just…go slow,” anxiousness riddled your tone.

“Of course. Let me know at any time if you wanna stop.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. The nerves build in your chest, and your stomach fills with butterflies. He repositions his hips, rubbing his length through your folds, smearing his precum. He lightly groans, slowly moving up and down, nudging your clit with each thrust. Nanami notices you watching, he can see you’re still nervous. “Baby, look at me, okay. It’s gonna be fine.” He gently grabs your face, staring into your eyes before his fat tip pushes its way through your folds. Your eyebrows raise in surprise before furrowing. He goes as slow as possible before removing himself, letting you take a breather.

You spread your legs further before another attempt, wrapping your arms around his neck. He pushes into you again, inch by inch you feel the stretch, the stinging sensation making you grit your teeth. “Ah!” You bury your face in his neck, when you feel his hips finally meet with yours.

Tears fall down your cheeks, and he’s quick to kiss them away. “I know it hurts, sweetheart. Let’s stay like this for a minute.” He wipes your tears, massaging your thighs as you try to accustom to his size. “Gonna start moving now.” He pulls his hips back, his length coated in a mix of your juices and slight blood. “Oh, your bleeding baby.” He looks at you with the most empathetic expression.

“Mmmph, sorry, I’m sorry.” A wave of embarrassment washes over you as it came to mind that it was most likely on his sheets.

“There’s nothing to apologize for. It’s completely normal.” He kisses your lips as he pushes his hips against your again, the head of his cock grazing over a sweet spot deep inside you that you didn’t even know existed. “I’m so proud of you, you know that?Hah, my sweet, sweet girl—fuck,” he breathily chuckles. And now he’s moving faster, wrapping your legs around his waist, clinging onto him like you never want to let go. “So fucking tight,” he grunts.

You feel so full of him, like he was made for you. His dick dragging along your walls, his hands holding you close, wrapping around you as he whispers praises in your ear in the most sweetest voice. Your eyes roll back, nails leaving marks on his skin, your toes pointed. He’s fucking you into the mattress, but being oh so gentle about it. “It feels so good,” you mewl as he fucks you deep, his balls slapping against your ass with each thrust.

“This pussy was made for me baby—oh shit—taking me so fucking well. You feel so fucking good,” he moans. He presses into you, each thrust sending your mind spiraling as shivers run down your spine, your body covered in sweat. Nanami squeezes you tightly, kissing your neck, and nibbling at the skin.

“Ah! Ah! Ah!” It feels like your breath is being sucked out of you, your heart beating rapidly against your ribcage. “Gonna cum!” You cry out. “Hah—yes, yes!” He keeps the same rhythm, tip of his dick kissing your cervix before your shaking under him.

He holds you tightly, pressing his sweaty forehead against yours, staring into your eyes as you cum around his dick. Your hands cup his face, searching his eyes. “That’s my girl, let it all out,” he says. He can feel you clenching down on him, the feeling making his dick throb harder. “Always be my good girl, right baby?” He asks. And all you can do is nod, when he starts fucking you faster, almost like he’s grown feral. “It’s good that you know because I’m about to fuck you like you aren’t.” He pushes your knees to your chest, lifting your hips slightly so that he reaches the deepest parts of you. “Nngh, fuck!” He grunts.

“Ken! Oh fuck, fuck!” You squeeze your eyes shut, the bed rocking and creaking with each other his hard thrusts. A hand clasps over your mouth in a weak attempt to muffle your screams of pleasure.

“Pussy feels so good, sweetheart. Can’t get enough—fuck—I’m sorry,” he heavily pants. Strands of blonde hair cling to his forehead, eyes fixated on watching his dick disappears in and out of you, your pussy creaming around him, leaving a white ring around the base. He can feel you clenching down on him again, your nails leaving crescent marks in his forearms as you’re cumming for a third time tonight, barely able to form words. “Atta girl. Look so pretty cumming on my cock,” he smirks.

Your back arches into him, legs quivering as he thrusts grow sloppier and sloppier. “Nnngh, shit,” he moans. “Gonna make me cum—ah!” His brows furrow as he fucks you harder, a primal feeling rises in him as he thinks of cumming inside of you for the first time ever. “Baby,” he says with desperation, “baby, let me cum inside you.” A rosy red spreads across his cheeks as he stares into your eyes.

Your arms reach out to him, dragging him down for kiss, legs locking around his waist as you push him closer to you. Nanami groans into the kiss and you swallow every last one as his seed fills you up, coating your walls. He slowly fucks you, making sure to get every last drop of his cum in you before pulling out.

“Oh my god, sweetheart,” he chuckles, a glint in his eyes. You laugh with him before he rolls both of you over, you now on top of him. He caresses your cheek and you melt into his hand, a blissful sigh leaving your lips. “You did absolutely amazing.” He smiles. “You doing okay, though?” He wonders, fingertips tracing patters on the small of your back.

“Yeah,” you nod, closing your eyes shut, “I’m doing great actually.” You smile. You rest your head on his chest. “Thank you, Ken.”

“No, thank you. I’m glad that you trusted me to be your first, honestly. It means a lot to me.” He kisses the crown of your head. “You’ll always be my girl.” He continues tracing your skin.

“Really?” You ask, lifting your head to look at him. “Promise me?” You pout, batting your lashes.

“I promise.” A smile tugs at the corner of his lips, his thumb rubbing over your bottom lips before you press a kiss to it. He chuckles at the small gesture. “Let’s get in the shower, together, yeah? Maybe order some food? You deserve it.”

[webism]

pornstar!nanami, who has a ritualistic approach to his job—go in, deliver a stellar performance, give his co-star a real orgasm, get paid. he gets a lot of action out of his job, and rarely seeks out... personal trysts.

but pornstar!nanami meets you in a bar, as cliche as it is, and whiskey-dick must be a myth because there's no way he could ever struggle to get it up when you look like that. and he's a gentleman, he swears it, but the sight of you in even the most simple of situations makes him want to be a bad man—do bad things.

pornstar!nanami who buys you a drink and somehow convinces you, in your heavenly stature, to come home with him. he feels like a virgin all over again, wracked with excitement and electric nerves all the same. he feels bad for being so forward with you, but he'll make you breakfast in the morning to make up for his degrading lust.

pornstar!nanami who just can't wait to get home, despite you agreeing to come spend the night. he's upset with the lewd forefront of his mind, but doesn't give himself long to lecture his own self before he's urging you into the dingy bathroom and attaching his lips to yours.

pornstar!nanami who wants to be a sweetheart, wants to swoon you, but his dick is just too hard and the noise you make when his hand swats your ass is too good to deny himself. he's so used to a camera crew being present when he's having sex that bending you over the sink and kneeling down to eat you out from behind feels more intimate than filthy.

pornstar!nanami who makes you cum on his tongue in record time: he has the practice after all. you're a shaking mess of moans when he finally stands straight to meet your gaze in the mirror. who smiles at the way you already look so fucked out, and he's hardly had his way with you yet.

pornstar!nanami who thinks your moans are made for porn when he turns you and pins you against the bathroom door—the one that doesn't lock—to catch your lips in a hot and messy kiss that has you dizzy already. before you can register his movements, he's hoisting your legs up to wrap around his waist and pushing into you with a torturous ease, like he's fucking made to fill you.

pornstar!nanami who, as he starts to thrust into you, letting your back hit the door with each snap of his hips, keeps thinking about how miserable taking his next job will be. how's he supposed to dramatise pleasure when he's felt something as perfect as you? clenching around him, each gasp you take from his breath as he fucks you to the edge of pleasure and back. nothing is going to compare.

pornstar!nanami who starts to ramble, his mind reeling with need and pleasure and want and everything on the path to infatuation. "you're so petty wrapped around my cock like this," he grunts, fucks into you faster, deeper. "fuck, i dont believe in fate but—shit—this... god i'm made for you. just for you."

pornstar!nanami whose words force you both over the edge, and you cum in blissful unison. eyes squeezed shut and kento's teeth sinking gently into the skin of your shoulder as he empties his balls. he debates telling you what he does, inviting you to film with him for a private shoot, something for him to keep and lock away for his eyes only.

pornstar!nanami who watches as you melt into his arms, eyes wide and watching every beautiful feature of his face as he stays seated inside of you. you're about to part your lips and admit that you know who he is, that you've seen him a hundred times before when the night is dark and your fingers slip into your panties at the sight of him on your phone screen, that you'd do anything to see him again, that you'd star for him, do anything he'd ask... when there's a knock on the bathroom door :)

[catboybiologist]

Today I just found out that the woman who's been the most supportive of me in my transition believes that trans women shouldn't be able to compete against cis women in sports. Do you happen to have any good peer reviewed resources on the effects of estrogenizing HRT on someone's athletic abilities. Said woman in question doesn't seem to believe there's been any research done, which I deeply doubt. Thank you so much for your continued advocacy for us transfems.

I know you're turning to me for scientific guidance, but I'm just so fucking done with this issue overall. To quote contrapoints: I have nothing left but rage.

I've been on this road before. I could give you some. In most ways, trans women match cis women of their height and weight. But there aren't a lot. Yeah, its a problem. But fucking NOBODY will even study it because of how hot this issue is right now.

But more importantly: There will never, EVER be a study that meets their standards. There's always SOME physical metric that has differences between trans women and cis women. It's become essentially an iteration of the multiple testing problem- if you keep on doing statistical tests, eventually something is going to land.

I don't fucking want to provide studies. I don't want to cut myself down. I don't want my defense of myself to be "oohhh look at me I'm just as weak and pathetic and infantile as cis women"

Is this fucking feminism? Really?

I'm fucking done. Call me the evil hysterical woman, but this entire conversation reeks of misogyny to its fucking core. Organized sports as we know them are made by men, for men, to celebrate male accomplishments and excellence. Cis women can and do equal or excel men in many, MANY physical metrics. But the arbitrary set of rules, the arbitrary set of bouncing balls and scoring systems, are all made to reward the physical abilities of men. We create spin offs and systems of score tracking and variations of the same things over, and over, and over again, to give the fragile little male ego more and more reasons to stroke itself.

Let's take a look at some whiny as piss men not being able to handle the thought that women could EVER be physically notable.

Olympic target shooting used to be mixed gender. A woman won one year. The next year, it was segregated. Not only was it segregated, but the scoring system changed so that the scores of men and women could never be directly compared again.

Last year, Donald Trump sat on stage with Riley Gaines, the transphobic swimmer who whipped up the vitriol about Lia Thomas, and bragged about how it wasn't fair she lost her competition because he, Donald Trump, a 78 year old out of shape wax sculpture of a man, was male. And that he could beat Riley. A trained D1 swimmer. And Riley took it, because it advanced her grift.

There's a now infamous poll that 1 in 8 men think they could beat Serena Williams in a tennis match. Its pretty old at this point, but I'm guessing that number is even higher now.

This entire conversation centers around "trans people crushing the dreams of female athletes" but oh my fucking god, are we not doing that as a society already? This entire fucking "debate" is just an excuse for more and more cis men to sit their, stroking their fucking egos on live television about how big and strong and powerful and fucking WHATEVER men are, and even the trace of maleness in trans women is enough to permanently make them some kind of ubermensch that destroys cis women by every metric imagineable.

I don't give two shits about saving sports, one way or another. I detested organized sports long before I transitioned. Ya wanna talk natural advantage, and how sports rewards exactly the kind of physical ability that a certain brand of cis man pushes themselves to? I have a very mild ankle deformity that means jogging for long periods of time is painful. My best mile time is over 11 minutes. And yet I don't see any of the fuckers that are "better" than me out there in the ocean, clinging to the bottom on a single breath for minutes, or up there with me on top of Whitney. Only one of those skills is celebrated.

Fuck me that was a tangent. My point is, I've long since realized that sports are a self propagating system for the egos of people with a very particular kind of physical prowess. The only exception to this is when its exploitative of people with that kind of extremely specific physical prowess, and leaves those it exploits in the fucking gutter. I don't need to start bringing up CTE, I know y'all know exactly what my take would be on that.

but what is sending me over the fucking edge is how I'm supposed to be the crazy one. I'm the delusional tranny for pointing out that we have lost the fucking plot entirely. This is recreation. Its entertainment. And we are using it to punish people. Fuck this.

I'm so sorry OP, but just don't engage in that game. If you need a calm, measured argument, try attacking the misogyny of it all. The only way to "fix" sports is to create more events that reward and celebrate the physical abilities of cis women: flexibility, extreme long term endurance, and fuck I'm not a sports person nor do I want to waste brainspace on more than that. We need a system for cis women, one that doesn't tell them "here, have this shittier, less viewed, less supported, less encouraged, less celebrated version of something a man is good at". Trans people would find some place in that and in theory, there would be nothing to complain about.

Jesus fucking christ, if I see one more male news pundit start talking about trans women in sports I'm going to straight up devolve into a misandrist.

[xprinceling]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ where enhypen would finish.

·˚ ༘𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑖𝑡

ׂ╰┈➤s. 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑐𝑢𝑚 wc. 1.4k w. 𝑠𝑚𝑢𝑡+ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑛𝑠 (18+ 𝑚𝑑𝑛𝑖!),𝑎𝑛𝑎𝑙 n. 𝑒𝑛𝑗𝑜𝑦!

heeseung - inside. to hee, there's nothing better than finishing inside you - the way your body tightens around him, the way your breath hitches, how he can feel every pulse of his release as he presses as deep as possible. it's more than pleasure - it's possession, it's devotion, it's the most intimate thing he can imagine.

that first shuddering moment when he spills inside you, your warmth surrounding him, thighs trembling against his hips. he lives for the way you gasp when you feel him, nails digging into his back like you never want him to leave.

there's also something primal about it - an instinctive need to claim, to fill you up so thoroughly that even after he pulls out, you're still his. heeseung loves the thought of you carrying his release inside you, even if just for a little while.

he swears you get tighter when he comes, like your body is milking every last drop from him. it's overwhelming, intoxicating, and he can't help but groan your name like a prayer when it happens.

you stay locked together, panting, his forehead pressed to yours as he rides out the aftershocks. he kisses you lazily, murmuring praise - "took me so well, baby." the possessive hand on your hip when he finally pulls out, watching his release drip from you.

"again" - because he's never satisfied just once. the second he catches his breath, he's already thinking about the next time he can fill you up.

jay - tits. there’s something electric about the moment he paints your chest - the way your skin flushes under his release, how your breath catches as warm streaks stripe your skin. it’s possessive, it’s filthy, and it drives him wild every damn time.

watching himself mark you - your tits glazed, nipples pebbled, his cum stark against your skin - it’s art to him. he’ll stare like he’s memorizing it, jaw clenched, pupils blown.

the way you arch into it, or gasp when the first hot stripe lands. maybe you even open your mouth without thinking, and fuck if that doesn’t make him throb.

his voice is rough when he says it, thumb swiping through the mess to smear it over your nipples - "made such a pretty fucking mess, baby."

he loves licking it off you - slow, deliberate strokes of his tongue, just to hear you whine. or maybe he makes you rub it in, his cum slicking your fingers as you play with yourself.

he’s already dreaming about the next time - maybe higher, maybe lower, maybe while you’re begging for it.

jake - ass. to him, nothing compares to the forbidden heat of finishing inside your ass - body clenching around him, audible whimpers when he fills you up, the way his release stays trapped deep inside where only he can reach. it's maddening, and so intoxicating he can't get enough.

that tight, searing heat - so much more intense than anywhere else. the second he pushes in deep and spills, he swears he sees stars, your body milking him dry with every damn pulse.

it’s animalistic - claiming you in the most forbidden way, leaving his mark where no one else can see. he loves knowing you'll feel it for hours after.

the choked gasp when he first pushes in, the broken moan when he comes, the way you beg "more" even as he's already giving you everything.

how you collapse together, his cock still buried inside you as he whispers filthy praise - "fuck, you take it so good." the way he lazily rubs your hips when he finally pulls out, watching his release leak from your well-used hole.

sunghoon - stomach. the deliciously primal feeling of coming on your stomach - how his release paints your skin, hot and claiming, as he watches with dark, satisfied eyes. it's not just about the pleasure, it's about seeing his desire spilled across you, marking you in the most visual way possible.

the way your chest rises and falls beneath him, stomach tensing as his release streaks across your skin - it's beautiful to him. he loves watching it, how stark and intimate it looks against your body.

if finishing inside you is about possession, this is about display - proof of what he's done to you, what you've drawn out of him. he gets off on the visual proof of your shared pleasure.

how you shiver when the first hot stripe hits your skin, the soft gasp you make when you see how much he's given you. he lives for the way you look up at him, lips parted, as he marks you.

and he's not gentle about it either - he wants it everywhere, smeared across your stomach, your hips, maybe even higher if he's feeling particularly possessive. the messier, the better, because it means you'll feel it on your skin long after.

"look at you” - the growl in his voice when he drags a thumb through it, spreading it further, marking you deliberately. "you’re mine".

sunoo - thighs. to him, it’s maddeningly erotic to come on your thighs - the way his release spills hot and thick against your skin, streaking down the sensitive inner flesh he'd just been teasing moments before.

your soft skin, flushed and trembling under his touch, now marked with him - it's a picture he'll never get tired of. the way his release glazes over your thighs, some dripping down toward your knees... fuck.

it’s so close to where you really want him, yet just out of reach - it's torture in the best way. the way you whine when he denies you, when he chooses to stripe your thighs instead of giving you what you begged for, only makes it hotter.

how your legs twitch when the first hot splash hits, how you bite your lip as you watch him coat your skin. he loves that shaky little gasp you make when it's more than you expected.

thighs are personal - close enough to be intimate, but not where you'd expect. it's a tease, a promise, a reminder that he could have had you anywhere he wanted... but he chose this.

"stay still" - the way his voice drops when he pins your hips down, making sure you take it, that every drop lands exactly where he wants it.

jungwon - face. your lashes flutter, lips part, breath hitches as he stains your face with his release. it's not just about pleasure, it's about worship and debauchery tangled together in the most maddening way.

the way you look up at him - submissive, trusting, wanting - makes his pulse roar. whether your gaze is hazy with pleasure or burning with defiance, the moment his cum streaks across your cheeks, he owns you.

your flushed skin, the heat of your mouth so close, how he stands out stark against you - it's obscene and he can't look away.

holding your chin, tilting your head back just so, watching you let him mark you like this - it's control at its peak. and if you lick your lips after? damn..

"you look perfect like this." - the growl in his voice when he smears a thumb through it, dragging his claim across your cheeks. he wants you to feel it, to remember it.

you blink up at him, sticky and spent, and he kisses you anyway, swallowing your gasp as he tastes himself on your tongue.

ni-ki - mouth. there's nothing more intimately dominant to him than finishing in your mouth - how your lips part for him, the heat of your tongue against him, the surrender in your eyes as you take everything he gives you. it's ownership at it’s peak, the ultimate act of trust between you two.

the way you look up at him, lashes fluttering, as he holds your head in place, knowing you're letting him use your mouth, that you want to swallow every drop. it's the hottest form of surrender he can imagine.

that first pulse against your wet warmth, the way your throat works instinctively to take him deeper. he loses it at the feeling, fingers tightening in your hair as he groans your name.

he should feel bad for how rough he gets, but the choked little noises you make when he pushes too deep? they just make him harder. he loves the mess of it - saliva-slick lips, teary eyes, the obscene drip if he pulls out too fast.

‘’swallow." - the command is guttural, desperate. he needs to watch your throat move as you obey, needs to see proof that you've taken all of him. the way you lick your lips after, still tasting him? fuck.

when he drags you up and licks into your mouth, savoring the bitter tang of himself on your tongue. "good girl."

-

divider credits: cursed-carmine